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BELLE L 
AUDUBON MAGAZINE 
My 

PUBLISHED IN THE INTERESTS OF 


ieee ee DUBON SOCIE FY 


FOR THE 


PROGEBETION OF BIRDS. 


VOLUME. [es 
FEBRUARY, 1887, TO JANUARY, 1888. 


NEW YORK: 
FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


Vee 


° 2 y r ’ 
Copyrighted, 1587. 
Forrest AND STREAM PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


GON TENT SeOrF VORUNEE: I. 


ILLUSTRATIONS OF BIRDS. 


PAGE 
BAU TIMOREORTOHE MAND MINES Tcmeievpatretarcrs7eiceretolers = =) s!e\s erahetchaterecsisr-opay sia) siisidicr A clel Vote, & sfeierotey efoneie emetetnee 2 
(Groviar Nts «6 eacoccondu Goons Og OO do GE OO COD ne REESE ooo nn ete ROSS ene ease mannan inc oar oS 26 
(China BR. o5enop Ab oD ONO DOODD ES DODO E | OSI Ratio ers ee ae ae meee aa eee An a 50 
Eman? Siihity 4 .oadtea Op ao Un Ope SOG 0 <> OC aes 4.5 > Se cic Se Spc e een tonto o/Dii 56 74 
SCiBAT ENV INGE) WWOORPDIOSR concbooesomo oon omagoadam 6 c0co Sb ooDndneo dr doeouGoMdodocep NE 98 
FES THR IGIOMMVCAURETIONGeroscnin enh cys arey sveravel tsi. ores se croncrouesamencne Sec ray aya) Sitid salah Syanedanetaceyera ere avatar aye acs selena: ecehsswhelateanaliehahe 122 
Wile OPENS Baie tong tn RO EEnIOte Groen FICC eo + Choe ae eee eatin Cr odes ieee EAP RIS on wee 246) 
SORTED) EVANDER on ocd sobano b.ob.00'0 1c + 00.6 CORRE ean © DOA a Dea onblioniaminc cman 4 ccna I7I 
TERROTWAN MERAGHIDS. ca gonads concab os an oopoe 1 TUS CR MUDD Bre on Oo ee DEG oO UDUDOS ho Sor oan EG AocoL 195 
INTC NAR ce gadanse acacdcedog oon buoeers ob oped aEee ou S EO doucopbrcussoopEdeaueDDuDpeT 219 
(Shite Shyu ooteaovgscescsccccgoCeRBonct 6 ROD MED SoODmbae tilde antec Sono RSbnne Aste SAS dacsr 242 
BRAY OLS HAUNMIVIEA GG DLE etarsrey torte tteretetererstciayeterclclstevcyic(e/escrs o"speicisisic axosehetensiencresalesenetoleveleralesatare leis ietomearcmetttonsys 268 
EERO BAIN OOD ate seleicinte aisle ciecietercisisielereiaisicie eisreiese es as nig leVe, sisi efevere Syeicra wfetershe/eveiave lol lear avo la ole ele vetolexere 270 

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. 
v1 Ge NUAEVIRORSCAU DU BO Now ic) steheveleiehetettn stole) «\st-1aiefefesals, 1s aiarsj=istmsieve"afelojchautiars By 27), SL 75s CON Ley a4 ye ley 
CARs OR O Kin) OHNGM PANIES MAUD TBO Nate etoralofoieleteisis «/-talnet« oF iajaieielerstolslageiate) atalolsialeQote(otaioyeisieteyefarele 197, 219 
EN GUNES MO Ker AUDUBONS! GIHE stores crisis! sieve sis chefeiere~ <1 8 iote s-e)seieleitienensie ese Pa epsieterals eile ester eCroere.t 243 
JHORTRALT Oh LNG OURON, obs 00500 pHa Kooba cou sgetnE o006 unmocc Conoune panos modadcQdnooDoOO 266 
PACD CAB CEN TONS Kio CELE Sens) =| ciohejerscoisiw sfovere.ors ci slei siviere!s +, cieysnc sim sis ereiehsy sis als ole fase le steer nya'ehcinsetoin a wlntolele 00 267 
DESCRIPTIVE ORNITHOLOGY 

out TORS ORIG oooc0bn00adpopoaDABbodoons deusoboGoRoceouS eyetetossisinjel= o(eselniaiate nie !njoisrsie\s\efsielat= 6 
ROS a Fee se MPN UT Gone eto ats =i Pfal ci ciel ohne o\s 0) (sie"s 0) 61s sjpte sia 2i5,0/o1a ie sisree einiale wis eieinieisianbid.d o[sieiere vielnanie avaere 29 
eA ae St RDP IPT RTS TPE aici abs ia fale Sraicin  o:« lnnavete ross. Stotersoalebalereveverotel selereyele eid ele auanererm) oevereuhe 53 
CHIMNEY SWIFT. o005 ccc SON Sob CUO GUO CONGO GUCO Goth Or Ar ORO Bae ere CM REE RT 3.0 c 77 
(GOUDEN NV IIN GEO WOODPECRRMN Yar are sre sicieie s) nistece:s.c sien cleieielate:cccYoselers areTelstoiers a's ojossvejate wi elaru/sia’ eek IOI 
IAGRES MUON hoe coon do odno og OUO COC UGE DC HESEICA DO Seca Daa aE eam eneeenec nn yoo 125 
WOOD HRUSHermm eRe epi iicraitrciieteie sissies <.cisis Se sre)SS isle. ata eevee wa ds nel Se.sleeela nemepeS 149 
SPORTED 10 AND PIERRE teptelrate erie lel clel EMME: atl, <. > cis eleyeisidieie s wjclaic.cie sisieis os Sc cies ios Memes Sera 173 
ISROWIN) “DLEERWASELER cr ateyetetreyetenaa fered Toe ROEM EPRI Ts 's, 2ra's < cists steyersisisi cre Siaidease here sniore:$ Masel dvaretaberavane ORE 197 
INSEAD Ae Bite per ig adSe cc cm aodab0 do.0~. +n - 5 (ED ORD RCE aoe eae ae EAC eeecon 2518 355 221 
ROTATES WAL L-OWosraiaicioetovere sere cite Tere eRe REMI sis icieae oles sd drei a ne x as Seis sw Heaters Ad aed canes 246 


iv Contents. 


BIRD STORIES. 


, Pace, 
A Birp AMONG Birps. SHO OO ODDODOROAS EDS oor: cgtpoes coe8 a4 4 PRR Oct ee 166 GO yO OMe 10 
ISGGERS (OF HE MEEXAS (GOAST. scat vec: oie oS = - =n eee Auth Hoa aoe atiein SAS Aenea 34 
CHE) TERNS ‘OM IMUSKEGED [ISLAND % io 0-2 ain) rae s > > 0 (eke te See eee ee oe 48 
AN BLUETAMIS | OROLL. ADVENTURE. «\2\0:5:cis/eioie alter > << Se Sele one eee 4 44 
A. O. U. CoMMITTEE ON BirpD PROTECTION...... 2. SERREGE ROU e oben Ia5Ooccs vaddppe eto ae 44, 55 
LEE ESULPHUR-CRESTED (COCKATOO). .c- (a\-cteteireeteees- > + «= \-laree < oi- =). Eee een eer eee aS 
TD WO UGNDIAN IBIRD) STORIES... or <\s\eloiess inlets RMR» Wc, <r<=ie]= 215/97 ee ere aaa ieee 45 
Dip VoueDver (Carcm A\CROW BY: "DHE IATR AMER 6s sie c« 10 orc)ouie ashe «so se eevee rele eee J.) 66) 
PRAIRIE OWLS AND SCORPIONS........-----.- 000 60 SEQRERSE ABA RR Ranta em ero aoa de reneioc.. 2 - 68 
ODDPAN TICS TOW IBIRDS 2 tretsteteee telco eyelets ie oe ee eee tot eee =e 00) 
EBEY KNEW THEIRS FRIEND pp 2-1 sfeie1- ee eR EERIE as ose « cies ais) eee ss ois wel eee eee > 69 
IROBINS) NORD ANDES OUMEe rfc es) <li eee 16 OGRA AO ID SUOMI COE Eso acids 6 te ee 
ALIN MECN MoV EVID So SpadabagM esa eoD Ess 905 FN Nha bance nb aesg hobs ages eRodemasso6s : 92 
Ibo ANC oo cp pac ced oodagmEsDbomdgsctc c+ binge esesaccss Topas UeqIneosetmbaaseesoe = 92 
TEOST AND! TH OUND i aiere aie istoc isis tee ele! 2 2 acs Ce eR e's 0's a ose eater uated SIE erceeye een ns ite ner 116 
GING THE TEVERGLADES esis ar fejaie lo stele nyo 2 01a RRS 2 = <= one reves acateeas ote Miata eae ie nekcict= ios eens 117 
SonGc Birps IN EUROPE AND AMERICA pre 7) 
Wiittinanoecdenacescostcad PAGES DO OOS OBCO MNOS © 00 (OCG PREDEEME aS Sooanag S6SRaaGaye sass cence tte) 
MLAUGHIPER: TNL OR TINA Sara yeye aye ent /> aie «l= alepsTRMRMESENE De Seer nye eel steed = ee eee ee a 139 
AUR) (GIRS I OMe oroareray oe eboyetet sks 1 te MME = 6 <olae sheisgepacet=)e/atceia ee eee ~ 239 
RIGHT BETWEEN VONAKIE PAIN) IBTRD) 310 eto clots eR emMeeees, ole, =:nle octayer se tecersrcclera\ eter oles teenies ete (tee - 164 
WOXOLESALE! DESTRUCTION, OF) BIRDS UN sHEORMO Btn «{leia- <.)octe oe si o/) + =) olatadetey = pete eee Booey 27)" 
ASEBAD AS: ENGLISH U SPARROWS. =. .vcr-teieic1c eEReReAME elas 2/2)? <0e sc, 012- ahs fs 2.572 ae alee eee eee 3 212 
ERECT, OF “THE ECUIRSE) ON) BIRDS ice). << eeepc ~~ <i-ce se ste > os 3 eer Sree Tape ez 
SPARROWS AND) ROBINS EAT CHE) AWE oy ecpapneenemete nee «oils bela! <2 </-1 ove. eevee ete nte vain ets tee rete Sacgs 2 
REMAN: <A SPARROW, cAND, cA SURPRISE ja preeminent ec) 13 g0) 2) esetctarG acts ata. 359 gee pte ie 2202 
MIGRATORY NOTES. oie ayotes elenalo)clo.sler2/o) hele =< = tele oi <, ¥en Fn vere e.6 ecole ete ee ete eee Som is 
ENO INES Rib (CHCA LON EM AR ere A 5 DAO OO Moc gaol > > [COU IDO OM ASE AOOOMnMOGOORbOOs Gabe sy o6- «259 
ATECABOUL) SOME (CANARY. BIRDS sex. oncteieicte tet teememeterey «je c otevsre tate tela) avers” 2) <sebegePmenelats vale tereea Boose le) 

AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

FOR TIDUBONG MAGAZINE "s/c: 5:5:ispa:tit. alete lon tee TOR ee MEMMEME Ret <0" ='2.> =ce%a\ ciate oes els sp uate eselete le teretenor eae BS 5 
SAVIN SH Do WG oS So Reo giadd gO Addon bo 0000 oS UIDG SOU En Soe Fae. stets Sad0 doco Hop dosaecE ot 
J. RSS 6 5 6 COE RO IORMACIA CD SOOOCO HOS Sac ooo Eopeogoansapp op ayo DIO SOO OUI Se 5b more pes 
ATDUBON) NOME: BOOK. .c)s:0:.,6 Sees ores oats sles 19, 43, 68, 92, 116, 139, 164, 189, 212, 236, 260, 284 
Avupuson Society (List of Honorary Vice Presidents)... ....- 2. +--+. 0 ssc cce eres eee eees Wes 
INGA MK) We 15} 0:50) NEA RAR BPE O ORO 000 29> 1c 29 ce oon Hong ge a0 I 5090 (bag INS OeeBee 2 + sists ee 
ORGANIZATION) OF THE) BUFFALO, BRANCH as epeperieteiee = aetetnteneiese alee) = le gledelsin wis o) rj .ee le « ms tere = Sy aebe eS 
GONDITIONS OF MEMBERSHIP .).)./.%...-1= «/-- > eiaiaiarel a iets etal fe tien eA cele a cs 0 ee - 43 
UAereD YS LAT Sey vere ter sers rete ease) jie. s) is oy ce a CO Oe SRAM is eal ae as oe. 9s, oxen Prcoy | 8! 
SUBSCRIBE (TO! THE) AUDUBON i... ... .07. <aeeen nahi he sae. d.otc/ a6 OPO ODO ac. 6 +93), ane 
ASMAUDUBON IBADGE ciicratelarmiei nieve ate 0 sle/prarps+ cat WetaNMaemtelits = omit tanga re lah icin sien (e'#) el Winners ++. .116, 139, 189 
SMASHED TBIRDS22/55 c-ciccteeiecteleie lose tarstnt= ena mln. <a oa er =e == =, > (oc ee Aono it) 
THE DRADE WIN (BIRD WSKINS 2s wyeiecr oye) ilies), scepelevay ties (ete keeeeteene 12 61-5 ss) 5 pata 35 axe) 
Our SMITH COLLEGE AUDUBON SOCIETY...... ets 


ite 


) 


Contents. Vv 

Pace 

Henini scenes SHON, BEADHER. MILUINERY 5.0. /cipanele < sicisereees ete Wile 2 ace 8'< « kccihae a(ete ofsie ve Ee RR 189 
PRERTEM ES Ce NPPEAL) TO) WOUNG AMERICA (2 oo <5 o/c edtesiq si teteie fc re ene oe os ie vin ain cursapelemeale 230 
2 WD ES. - - aycdk(es do nS Gn Soe eR DD DU RCRBHEDOSE: “BEBE! ¢ cabane Saosocn dacs aoe enn Ee SA heel 236 
PMRNMCREE ROR MTHS PD NGLISH, SPARROW soc, << cfc es eis sieciacaie cb aa eeamitcis ca sn views ecco eee neaes 254 
MEEISED a ONUMENT: TO) AUDUBON: .-<icicisc seitens => © 5 omlominisis oe AO eee ens aie slew esies Gade eRe nee 260 
PEP LUENURED PO OREARS IME WARD saiciiciclsibeeiters ») « Societies cra PE IR SICH YO RISE slajave: «fone eet 282 
NC OGRONE IRON LSSS certs creepers + *iclect nce seals elcie airone eae slatakk ane eco 283 
Ln TRISTE SEY pe Boaropcaphq6.0a66 DED ae USoN tt 6 SEER OAR eSEH AEM Op oe bernonscnsbecenanasees 285 


SSRRGGIGES ORM EUAWIKGHANDE OME Setetcyaietetsle/oleleisiwicis's ©, + «= sistafel sja1=/2)2)< Sieleisie,e 2c 4 os ele gs vs eeieemibece ne 57 
IBTRDS) ASP PROPRGATORGIORME RUIN UREES c.f. cc5 +)<:0'0 115 :c1ajsic/apepsieiste sieve aig dieo 2 «sooo wd ee eee 67 
BARRE SO by CATR 0G OMe NI eV ee [eee ow oao aa jaere) cs =<. v,2 5 foi Syelece} sisters aa) s'~i syays, bye love's siclclec ois Nee a eae 87 
10}e) IMG Latin, Dis OWS cdpedossee46p bec one ReneeeDo dso a 5 Sane sa SaRay See BeAMeeE Agu cconc 5 - 93 
iin ANON GmOLIES DAE ANCE OL IGIREs 12) soyslorjatersie, + soe. 2 to Meets: sieis eicie'di ee ace oa ov asics cee 106 
DUDS Os. INSITE ss oSe63055 pond pecpaigd 6 oc pene oo Scie eee ee ener Brey LOS 
[GON AGE (ORATION NE Ss pee op ace ote RoC 070 eee coasts oe Sneon eo aEAneeonee == aHoae 211, 284 
Lise, IRNOS, TEED s Sopgidod edge ama eneoBbD.040 0.9 (SRS sea ARO GORE ESeRA CUBE Geer oocsc 235 


TRS, WAS: TEIN CBSSSSE ese cortoatcose ceo vcd Dap ano ene BE qOeee coms Te MEERA nea asa mer se i7/ 
PES IVADENS OO Wal €) Ke VASYSES CSET OLD er aetebeneestateral iesieiatere ic cote elacs,/-/) 2am wdicve es sratn: apo ale mich sie els aievelei oo oeveweae 36 
GHARTEV:S WONDERFUL JOURNEYS. (Illustrated)... 2... 2.0.0.2 eens cesses 40, 63, 82, 160, 208 
NOTEGTe Titi, TROT TOS BI Aiog eruaness 3.5 Oly CRD IS OG Oe eae eee aaa en nen aera Segment ea 59 
ESSE? JS A Ci@ ORAS Bbooohr = 6666 DOD ROSS SOO eee ere 61, 85, 103, 151, 185, 204, 227, 277 
Suita JJaxtie,  (CNTSGEGS) Besos 36 pesooegdce” oo Gone ae on oee saaaeobeaas SoBoRasGrnG -Anecoae go 
LAS STIS INGO? IRIOMIR. 5 Saglbpea+o coc SOUS SUE ED 50S ce eEE BEDS aE aPescealnSaereEanernereosaacas 113 
SMa O MA CoH ONG AGI OLIN ALIN  eyeyelctaecie/eisss i; 2s, ciate iore.s ¥ dG. See be sie Sie Saya rere nee ddr oars orale toes 232 
ERINGESSMRUBN—tROAMS,  (IMltstrated) s2 5 jcccrs sce cic. oS ese oieerieiese edie eislvie.e vs cise cease dew cs 249 


DOS? See, DIS LOO) TS or eee ess 6 eee ae ee 9 
“UNIT. STEDOIRNTS ROLLS og ns de Sho oct HORI SOCEO b CIIILCIS eG ERS TERRES Ren Par oe 18 
“ELAT TS. AC LAIR GpoGnee go 0rs See ese OBEsS Cit hic Senet Cre at ae reser a 31 
“OL NSEIT GE SIREROTOS SO GGReE oncee SAU See pea Geeks eee ae nea 69 
ube TST TOMS. oo odco.dbbhee o0edo 5 hog RE OGD S Se Act MES Seater ee ese eae a 93 
NBIMORAUEIGNORY MUSEUM RECEPTION, « . <....c0< <vccccscpe se Sereccie cece cencieecccasssucusesee 117 
INGEN ABR) Ney Tel ANT = Sg GOSS OOS OE AEE ee sete ees nen 164 
RCNA OMAN DM LOTS IROM SIG See Pea els ecisiota ies, vio asik cos ove wi siste due bBo ede Gelquwede ne da qeloce ee 214 
NVI Os ORRIN O RUBE AGT RT CAINE BURID SHEE Rete) ec): cts \cfe Saicysia juss, seicinsucdoareie a fhateed ea oe eo Sa 236 
SEUD Va ORs NA@ OR Ata E MSU ROWMIN IES GHODES cia ratte Se. oc aw ssegiecsre sis atvie.ok csc «av eeb cw te eslenenan 260 
PAGE ISIUMUAINIZING ALU SEMEN Tee ce ISS 5 Sais Gare wins oe wieice < das ecziec au cue ove dened 261 


i > oa a 
= 
' 


g 


TN EO 


Audubon, Life of, 3, 27, 51, 75, 99, I2I, 147, 172. 
Character of, 197, 217. 
Incidents of Life, 243. 
Portrait of, 266. 
Audubonian Sketches, 267. 
Audubon Magazine, 5. 
Note Book, 19, 43, 68, 92, 116, 139, 164, 
189, 212, 236, 260, 284. 
Society, List of Vice-Presidents, 20. 
Society, Smith College, 175. 
Badge, 116, 139, 189. 
Proposed Monument to, 260. 
A Bird Among Birds, Io, 
A Bluejay’s Droll Adventure, 44. 
A Dishumanizing Amusement, 261. 
A Little Girl’s Owl, 139. 
All about some Canary Birds, 285. 
All Night on a Mountain, 232. 
A Man, a Sparrow, and a Surprise, 212. 
A Memory of My Boyhood, 36. 
An Earnest Appeal to Young America, 230. 
Annie’s New Home, 113. 
A. O. U. Committee on Bird Protection, 45, 55. 
A Review, 15. 
As Bad as English Sparrows, 212. 
A Talking Crow, 259. 
“Audubon,” The, for 1888. 
Audubon Workers, Hints to, 108, 132, 155, 181, 
200, 224, 256, 271. 
Auk, The Great, 29. 
A Word for the English Sparrow, 254. 


Badge, An Audubon, 116, 139, T89. 
Balance of Life, Maintaining the, 106, 
Baltimore Oriole, 6. 

Bird Among Birds, A, 10. 

Bird Helpers, 285. 

Bird Law, New York, 21. 

Bird Nomenclature, Local, 164. 

Bird Skins, Trade in, 159. 

Birds as Fertilizers, 163. 

Birds as Propagators of Fruit Trees, 67. 
Birds, Effects of Eclipse on, 212. 
Birds, Odd Antics of, 69. 


Birds, Smashed, 140. 

Bluejay’s Droll Adventure, A, 44. 

Brown Thrasher, 197. 

Buffalo Branch Society, Organization of, 43. 
Byram and Ghopal, 61, 85, 103, 151, 185, 204, 227. 


O77 


277+ 


Canary Birds, All about some, 280. 

Cedar Bird, The, 53. 

Character of John James Audubon, 197. 

Charley’s Wonderful Journeys (illustrated), 40, 63, 
82, 160, 208. 

Chimney Swift, The, 77. 

Cliff Swallow, The, 246. 

Cockatoo, Sulphur-Crested, 45. 

Conditions of Membership, 43. 

Coot, European (illustration), 270. 

Cranks, 236. 

Crow, A Talking, 259. 

Crow, Did you Ever Catch a — by the Tail? 66. 


Did you Ever Catch a Crow by the Tail ? 66. 
Dishumanizing Amusement, A, 261, 
Do Not Kill the Owls, 93. 


Earnest Appeal to Young America, 230. 
Earth Builders, 87. 

Economic Ornithology, 211, 284. 

Effect of the Eclipse on Birds, 212. 
Eggers of the Texas Coast, 34. 

English Press on Feather Millinery, 189. 
English Sparrow, A Word for the, 254. 
European Coot, 270. 

European Magpie, 268. 


Feather Millinery, English Press on, 189. 

Fight Between Snake and Bird, 164. Ps 
Five Hundred Dollars Reward, 282. 

Florida, Slaughter in, 139. 

Florida, Wholesale Destruction of Birds in, 178. 


Garden Bird, 92. 
Golden-Winged Woodpecker, 101. 
Great Auk, 29. 


Hattie’s New Hat, 61. 


Index. ; 


Hints to Audubon Workers, 108, 132, 155, I81, 200, Review, A, 15. 
224, 256, 271. Rice Bird, The, 235. 


Robins North and South, g2. 
Incidents of Audubon’s Life, 243. Sek. 


Indian Bird Stories, Two, 45- Sailor Jack (illustrated), go. 
In the Everglades, 117. Services of Hawks and Owls, 57. 

, Skunks and Potato Bugs, 214. 
Jim, 136. Slaughter in Florida, 139. 

Little Tom, 93. Smashed Birds, 140. 
Lost and Found, 116. Smith College Audubon Society, 175. 
; Song Birds in Europe and America, 127. 
Magpie, European (illustration), 268. Sparrows and Robins at the Bath, 212. 
Maintaining the Balance of Life, 106. Spotted Sandpiper, The, 173. 
Man the Destroyer, 9. Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo, 45. 
Manual of North American Birds, 236. Study of Natural History in Schools, 260. 
Membership Conditions, 43. Subscribe to the ‘‘Audubon,” or. 
Membership Returns, 19, 43, 68, 92, 116, 139, 164, 

189, 212, 236, 260, 284. Talking Crow, 259. 

Migratory Notes, 236. Texas Coast, Eggers of the, 34. 
Mountain, All Night ona, 232. The Oriole’s Prayer, 42. 
Muskeget Island, The Terns of, 43. The Rice Bird, 235. 
My Pet Rats, 93. The Selborne Society, 18. 


The Terns of Muskeget Island, 43. 
The Trade in Bird Skins, 159. 

The Two Princesses, 17. 

They Knew their Friend, 69. 


Natural History Museum Reception, 117. 
New York Bird Law, 21. 
Nighthawk, 221. 


Organization of the Buffalo Branch, 43. Two Indian Bird Stories, 45. 
Oriole’s Prayer, The, 42. ae : 
Owl, A Little Girl's, 139. NEES 3 BNE ae 
What the Robin Saw, 59. 
Portrait of Audubon, 266. Wholesale Destruction of Birds in Florida, 178. 
Prairie Owls and Scorpions, 68. Winscombe Sketches, 69. 
Princess Ruby-Throat (illustrated), 249. Woman’s Heartlessness, 13. 
Proposed Monument to Audubon, 260. Woodpecker, Golden-Winged, ror. 


Purple Martin, 125. Wood Thrush, The, 149. 


WOODPECKER. 


GOLDEN-WINGED 


s auratus (LINN.) ) 


Colapte 


( 


THE AupuBoN MAGAZINE. 


WiOL.. 1. 


JOHN 


Wis 


T was in October, 1820, that Audubon 
started from Cincinnati with an expedi- 
tion which had been sent out to make a 
survey of the Mississippi River. He was 
furnished with letters of recommendation 
from General Harrison and Henry Clay, 
and had in mind a long excursion through 
the Southern States, which was to include 
Mississippi, Alabama, Florida and Arkansas. 
Captain Cumming was at the head of the 
surveying party. The journey from Cincin- 
nati to the mouth of the Ohio was made ina 
flat boat and occupied fourteen days. 

Arriving at Natchez, Audubon made this 
town his headquarters for a time, and re- 
ceived much kindness there. Mr. Berthoud, 
a relative, resided here, and did much to 
make his stay pleasant. Natchez seems to 
have delighted the naturalist, not less on 
account of its beautiful environs and the 
abundance of its bird life, than by its size, 
it having then 3,000 inhabitants. 

Although his surroundings were in many 
respects pleasant, he was greatly troubled 
by the lack of funds, for he had been un- 
able to collect money which was due him at 
Cincinnati, and was really penniless. An 
incident which occurred here shows how 
reduced were his fortunes. It happened 
that his shoes, and those of one of his com- 
panions, were worn out, and neither of the 
two had money enough to purchase a new 
pair, Audubon stopped ata shoemaker’s and 


JUNE, 1887. 


JAMES 


No. 5. 


AUDUBON. 


stated the case, informing him that they were 
without money, but offering to sketch por- 
traits of the shoemaker and his wife in return 
for two pair of boots. The offer was ac- 
cepted, and in a short time the portraits were 
finished, and the travelers were furnished 
with new foot gear. 

Some time in December, 1820, the natu- 
ralist left Natchez for New Orleans in a keel 
boat with Mr. Berthoud, in tow of a steamer. 
Here, by an unlucky accident, a portfolio of 
his precious drawings was left behind, and 
its loss caused much anxiety, but the prompt 
dispatch of letters to Natchez resulted in its 
recovery, and on his arrival at New Orleans 
he found the portfolio awaiting him there. 
The voyage down the Mississippi was full 
of charms for the naturalist, and he writes 
of it in most enthusiastic terms. 

Upon reaching New Orleans he at once 
set out to find work, but at first without 
success. At length, however, he was for- 
tunate enough to obtain an order for a por- 
trait from a well-known citizen of New 
Orleans, and this proving a good likeness 
he received a number of orders, which at 
once put him in funds, and enabled him to 
give some time to his favorite pursuits. He 
obtained a number of new birds here. 

In March he learned of the conclusion 
of the treaty between Spain and the United 
States, by which a considerable portion of 
the Southwest was ceded to the latter 


100 


nation, and hearing that an expedition was 
to leave Natchitoches next year to survey 
the boundary line, he determined to try to 
obtain permission to accompany it as nat- 
uralist and draughtsman. He _ therefore 
wrote to Mr. Monroe, who was then Presi- 
dent, asking for this appointment, but 
received no reply. Audubon remained 
in New Orleans until June of 1821, 
and his life there was one of ups and 
downs. Sometimes he was_ penniless, 
and at others had enough for his wants. 
He started to return to his family in Ken- 
tucky on the 16th of June, but while on 
his way up the river he accepted the posi- 
tion of instructor in drawing to the daugh- 
ters of a Mr. Perrie, who owned a planta- 
tion at Bayou Sara, in Louisiana. Here 
his duties were very light, and a consider- 
able portion of his time was occupied in 
roaming the woods looking out for new 
birds. The time passed pleasantly. Just 
about a year after his departure from Cin- 
cinnati, he left Bayou Sara for New Or- 
leans. Here he rented a house and sent 
to Kentucky for his family. In an entry 
in his journal October 25, he gives a state- 
ment of what he has accomplished during 
the year. Hesays: “Since I left Cincin- 
nati, October 12, 1820, I have finished 
sixty-two drawings of birds and _ plants, 
three quadrupeds, two snakes, fifty por- 
traits of all sorts, and have subsisted by 
my humble talents, not having a dollar 
when I started. I sent a draft to my wife, 
and began life in New Orleans with forty- 
two dollars, health, and much anxiety to 
pursue my plan of collecting all the birds 
of America.” 

In December Mrs. Audubon and her 
children reached New Orleans, and the re- 
union of the family after fourteen months 
of separation was a great delight to all of 
them. But now once more money troubles 
began to oppress the naturalist, and before 
long his affairs became so desperate that 
Mrs, Audubon took pupils to help matters 


John Fames Audubon. 


along. In March her husband determined 
to return to Natchez, where he believed his 
prospects for obtaining work would be bet- 
ter. Hereached this city March 24, 1822, 
and after some discouragements and de- 
lays, obtained an appointment as drawing 
master in a so called college at Washing- 
ton, nine miles from Natchez. He sent 
for his sons and put them to school here. 
But although he had work, he was dissatis- 
fied, for his employment left him little time 
to work at his birds. On the whole, his time 
at Natchez was so far well spent that he was 
earning some money, and after a while Mrs. 
Audubon joined him there, and for a short 
time was governess in a clergyman’s fam- 
ily; but at length Audubon’s desire to pro- 
ceed with his work could no longer be 
restrained, and his wife’s faith in him in- 
duced her to propose that she should 
remain in Mississippi as governess in the 
Percy family at Bayou Sara, while her hus- 
band should go to Europe and perfect him- 
self in painting in oil colors. This course 
was finally determined on, and in October, 
1823, Audubon left New Orleans for Ken- 
tucky, taking with him his son Victor, 
a boy not yet fourteen years old. 

This journey was notable as terminating 
in a walk of about two hundred and fifty 
miles, made, not over roads, but through 
forests, canebrakes and along stony river 
beds, and was accomplished in ten days. 
From the village of Trinity, where, on ac- 
count of low water, the steamboat was forced 
to stop, four of the passengers started to 
walk to Louisville; but before the journey 
had been completed Audubon and his young 
son had left their companions far behind, 
and were the first to reach Louisville. Here 
Audubon succeeded in getting his son into 
the counting house of a friend, and then en- 
gaged to paint the interior of a steamboat. 
That autumn and the winter of 1823-4 was 
spent in Kentucky painting to accumulate 
funds for his travels, and in April, 1824, 
Audubon found himself in Philadelphia, 


THE GOLDEN-WINGED WOODPECKER. 


HIS is a bird which has many titles. 
Most of our common birds have 
different English names in different parts 
‘of the country, but perhaps none have as 
great a variety as this species. Here is a 
list of thirty-six which was recently sent 
to the Natural History department of the 
Forest and Stream, by Mr. W. W. Colburn, 
of Springfield, Massachusetts : 


1. Clape. 

zee GKESCEME MITC) .toyaahe ehckelotelieleteyetelons.#/*\et West. 
Qs (CAGED 5 Scosdn 4d goo ocooneUeOUOTOnAS Maine. 
4. English Woodpecker............ Long Island. 
Gi Istblote ocosecagoenureceocoupueaG Cape Cod. 
oy IMME Mer. sodecddaeapovsdnaondeeD In general use 
7. ¥rench Woodpecker......... New Hampshire. 
3 IsBigy Mis RS io noenioe co ocooo New Hampshire. 
Gj, ANGE os eagampnsansogcounso Connecticut. 
Toy, label oonaaepocoodcoauUG In general use. 
fi. Ialpaee@)Gl So psooeecnocueuogs In general use. 
i) Ibis Cocgcoousteponrecccan In general use. 
WRy IMTOO 5 Se onpboecosne coe panoooconE Canada. 
cul, (Gall S\yweelPteotesqoecopbocoboac Pennsylvania. 
mG. OMGHINCSS 6 Keconeebeeeo cos SU eDOOnae Maine. 
16. Partridge Woodpecker......... New England. 
17. Pigeon Woodpecker........... New England. 
RO EIGWe-DOIS-JAUNE <niee © .  teleiisiss sien c Louisiana. 
rpm INterOL eere csi eceisieee New England. 
Foy SHOWER ponooosopeouS oooUDOOUGEC Florida. 
Ai Saal Silico oononeoesonHeuoo New England. 
22. Tapping Bird.................Massachusetts. 
23. WWelkestisisossuaunonuagouce cece New England. 
Di, WEINER Ganoascconorcn ope oon Vermont. 
as, Wiieliteiancos ohacgsnpe oeavdacdounegs Maine. 
AAs), (NI OARS NS eciaoooueaaoouscocopeadoeD South. 
27. Woodcock (misnomer)......... New England. 
As, WCOG eat aeoasoEuesuencone New England. 
ZO OOG-DIP EON. lape ceieie ele ee. eieeei)= New England. 
Bom Woodpecker Wark yoy15 6.2 61 slice eels Georgia. 
Hits WW@SSEE WON nooaa succdddeonanose Connecticut. 
DEMOW AIHE yetar siege etal sxciehe; sis stajecs eisrersisl ste Connecticut. 
2g% MEOHDsocccsaesobodnoons cava. Middle States. 
34. Mellow; blammern-n ss <(. 1-1 - In general use. 
Bpeey cllowall aysesters et sere tisrccrcte New Hampshire. 
3 Gap WUCKEK cote oh s/a¥ay a alles her oicle epaiels: = In general use. 


Most of these names are given from the 
habits of the bird, or from some physical 
characters, or arise from some popular idea, 
which is founded on a supposed habit. 


Thus “high-hole” and “tapping bird” 
refer to the nesting place of the bird and 
to its custom of drumming on the limbs of 
trees; “crescent bird,” “pigue-bots-jaune,” 
“yellow hammer” and “yellow jay” to 
its plumage, “clape,” “piute,’”’ “yarrup,” 
“yucker,” and perhaps “ flicker ”’ to its cries. 

One of our most beautiful and most 
abundant birds, the “yellow-hammer” is 
found with us of the Middle States almost 
the whole year round. In Connecticut 
and southern New York, we have seen it 
every month in the year, though it is un- 
usual to find it earlier than April or later 
than November. 

The courtship of the Golden-winged 
Woodpecker is very amusing. The ardent 
male pursues the female through the 
forest, and alighting on the branch near 
her, moves backward and forward before 
her with most grotesque bowings, uttering 
all the while his shrill cackling notes 
which Audubon compares to “a prolonged 
and jovial laugh, heard at a considerable 
distance, and which may be fairly repre- 
sented by the syllables whzt’-tvo, whit'-too, 
whit’ -too rapidly repeated many times.” 

The Golden-winged Woodpecker builds 
its nest in a hole, dug usually in a dead 
tree, sometimes quite high up from the 
ground, and at others so low down that 
one, can reach it with the hand. On the 
chips which form the floor of this hole, the 
eggs are laid. These are about the size of 
a pigeon’s egg, and are pure white and 
beautifully smooth and glossy; the shells 
are so translucent that sometimes, when 
fresh, the color of the yolk shows through, 
giving the eggs a beautiful creamy tinge. 
Just how many eggs the “ high-hole”’ lays is 
not certain, but we are sure that they are 
fac more numerous than those of most wild 
birds. The greatest number of which 
we have ever heard as being taken from 


102 


any one nest were reported by Mrs. Violet 
S. Williams, of Coralville, Iowa, who says 
in a note to Forest and Stream: “ A col- 
lector of this place has thirty-five eggs 
which he obtained from a single nest of a 
Golden-winged Woodpecker, while another 
collector obtained ten from the same nest, 
making a total of forty-five eggs from a 
single bird in one season. I will copy his 
notes, as it may interest some of your 
readers: ‘May 13, 1884, found nest and 
obtained six eggs; to-day, May 17, took 3; 
May 23, 6; May 28, 1; June 2, 5; June 9, 
Be june 13394) ume: ro, 2 i|menzos Geren: 

Scarcely less remarkable is a case reported 
in the same journal, of the finding by Mr. 
Stewart Ogilby of a nest of this species 
which contained nineteen young ones, alive 
and in good condition. 

When the young ones are pretty well 
grown they often scramble up to the mouth 
of the hole and even out on the tree and 
the branches near at hand. From these 
perches they watch for the approach of 
their parents as they return with food, 
saluting them, as they draw near, with shrill 
cries of welcome and entreaty. 

The food of the “yellow-hammer ”’is chief- 
ly insects. They devour great numbers of 
those species which infest our forest trees, 
but do not depend wholly on these for 
food. They spend more time on the ground 
than do most of our woodpeckers, devour- 
ing great numbers of ants, and even digging 
industriously in the ground for those crea- 
tures which live just beneath the surface. 
Often their bills are incrusted with earth to 
the nostrils, showing how energetically they 
have been at work among the grass roots. 
But although their food is principally in- 
sects, they live to some extent on fruit. 
In the late summer they frequent the choke- 
cherry trees, and in the autumn, when the 
dogwood berries are ripe, the trees which 
bear them are favorite stopping places for 
the migrating “high-holes,” and on these 
berries they feed very amiably with the 


The Golden-winged Woodpecker. 


robins, cedar birds and other species that 
frequent them. They eat the fox grapes 
too, and the berries of the blue gum and 
of the cedar. They are credited, also, with 
sometimes attacking the corn when it is “in 
the milk,” and tearing open the tops of the 
husks, but we have never known of their 
doing this. On the whole they are useful 
birds, and do little or no harm. They 
should never be destroyed. 

Its great abundance and its striking colors 
have made the Golden-winged Woodpecker 
a favorite ornament for hats, but it is to be 
hoped that the depraved taste which sanc- 
tioned this barbaric style of ornamentation 
has become a thing of the past. 

The Golden-winged Woodpecker is 
about twelve inches in length and twenty 
in spread of wings. ‘The bill is long and 
slightly arched. The feet are different 
from those of most birds, having two toes 
before and two behind. ‘The upper part of 
the head and neck are light purplish-gray, 
a transverse band of scarlet passes about 
the back of the head. The upper parts are 
greenish-brown barred with black. There 
is a tuft of white feathers at the root 
of the tail. The tail coverts are white, 
spotted with black; quills of the wing and 
tail black; their shafts orange. Sides of 
head and neck are cinnamon color, tinged 
with gray. There is a black streak on 
either side of the throat, and a crescent 
of the same color on upper breast. The 
lower breast and body are yellowish-white, 
each feather with a circular spot of black, 
The under sides of the wings and tail are 
golden yellow. Bill brown above and light 
blue beneath. ‘The iris brown. The female 
differs from the male in being slightly 
smaller and in having the breast crescent 
smaller and less distinctly marked, and in 
lacking the black patches on the sides of 
the throat. 

The illustration, reproduced from Audu- 
bon’s plate, represents a family of Golden- 
winged Woodpeckers on an old dead tree. 


BYRAM 


AGNEDE (Gab O MP TAR. 


Ill. 


GHOPAL AS BYRAM’S DISCIPLE. 


REAKFAST ended, Byram called two 
poor women who had come into the 
Serai, and sat waiting for the conclusion of 
the meal, and bade them take away the 
remnants, and all the uncooked food, and 
then bade Ghopal prepare to take him the 
round of the Bazaar preparatory to leaving 
the city. 

Ghopal was soon ready, and approaching 
Byram’s cot the latter took a grip of Ghopal’s 
hair, and sprang to his shoulders with an 
activity you would hardly have given him 
credit for, but he was very light and wiry. 

The news of the contract had reached the 
Bazaar before them, and the merchants 
were very much amused over Ghopal’s vain 
hopes, for although Byram described him- 
self as “the legless one,’’ he was universally 
spoken of as Byram the Wise, or Byram 
the Disciple of Brahma; and no one be- 
lieved that Ghopal would ever get the better 
of him in argument. 

Every shopkeeper gave a copper, and al- 
though some gave only one-quarter of a 
cent, and no one more than three cents, the 
total contribution amounted to a trifle more 
than three rupees, equal to a dollar and a 
half. At the corner of the Bazaar there 
was a money changer with his table, and 
Byram, taking the coppers from his girdle, 
exchanged them for silver. Ghopal’s eyes 
glistened with pleasure and astonishment at 
the sight of so much wealth, for four rupees, 
or two dollars a month, was the most he had 
ever earned by hard work. He was so 
elated that he did not heed Byram’s weight, 
and was anxious to set off at once on their 
journey, for Byram never staid long in one 
place, and had told Ghopal that they were 
to sleep that night at a village about ten 
miles distant. 


At the outskirts of the town they came to 
the house of a Brahmin, and Byram asked 
for water. The Brahmin filled an earthen 
chatty and handed it up to Byram. After 
he had drunk, the Brahmin replenished the 
chatty and handed it to Ghopal, who drained 
it and then threw it on the ground and 
broke it; for although he was a potter and 
made pots for Brahmins to drink from, he 
could not raise them to his own lips with- 
out defiling them. 

The Brahmin then handed his hookah to 
Byram, who took a few whiffs, and Ghopal, 
placing a live coal in the chillum of his 
own hookah, turned his back upon the city, 
and trudged steadily along the dusty 
road. 

During the first mile, not a word was 
spoken on either side. 
calm reflection, and Ghopal was speculating 
on his chances of being able to claim the 
three rupees at eventide. It was difficult 
to refrain from broaching a subject of so 
much interest, but he was a shrewd fellow, 
and remembering that Byram had to con- 
vince him or forfeit the money, he smiled 
to himself as he thought what a good joke 
it would be if the Brahmin, lost in medita- 
tion, should forget the whole matter. 

The sun was now rising high in the 
heavens, and as Ghopal wiped the sweat 
from his brow, he bethought him of the say- 
ing of the Faquir at Halla, that “they only 
are wise men who earn their bread by the 
sweat of other men’s brows.” There ap- 
pears to be no escape from labor for me, 
thought he; for carrying a Brahmin on 
one’s shoulders from town to town is quite 
as tiresome as kneading clay. Perhaps 
some day I shall find the secret of riding 
on other men’s shoulders ! 


Byram was lost in 


104 


Mile after mile he plodded along the 
dusty road in silence, and towards noon 
drew near a forest of acacias, which, inter- 
spersed with other trees, extended from the 
road to the river. 

“Tet us rest awhile in the shade of the 
forest,” said Byram, “and see what the 
white ants are doing. We will finish our 
journey when the day gets cooler.” 

It was cool and pleasant in the shade of 
the forest, and our travelers had not pene- 
trated far into its depth before they saw a 
tree, which had been blown over by the 
wind, but which, having some of its roots 


in the ground, was still green. This made 
a capital seat for Byram, who sat on the 
trunk resting his head against the roots, 
while Ghopal stretched himself on the 
ground and was soon fast asleep. 

Ghopal slept more than an hour, and 
then opening his eyes and looking toward 
the upturned roots of the tree, was not a 
little astonished to observe that Byram had 
vacated his post. But the Faquir was not 
far off. Laboriously he had crept to the 
other end of the trunk, where he had again 
seated himself, with his back against a 
branch. Seeing Ghopal sit up, the Faquir 
called him to him, and pointing to a heap 
of dry dirt just below him, asked Ghopal 
if he knew how it came there. 


Byram and Ghopal 


“ No very hard riddle that,” said Ghopal. 
“Here,” pointing with his staff, “a big 
branch was broken off when the tree fell, 
and that branch had already been eaten up 
by the white ants, all but athin outer shell, 
which they filled up again with dirt. With 
the shock of falling the branch was broken 
in pieces and the dirt fell all in a heap. 
The trunk is hollow, too; here, where the 
branch broke off, is a great hole, and white 
ants going in and out.” 

“ You see that fallen trunk,” said Byram, 
pointing to a low ridge about fifty paces 
distant. ‘ Let us go and examine it.” 

On nearing the fallen trunk they saw 
that it was a trunk in broken outline only. 
Nothing but a very thin shell remained, 
and this had broken down in many places. 
A very little labor sufficed to break down 
the last vestiges of the log, leaving a ridge 
of earthy looking matter in its place. 

“What do you think has become of the 
wood?” asked Byram, 

“Your friends, the white ants, have 
eaten it,” replied Ghopal. 

«“ And what is this ridge that now takes 
the place of the log ?” 

“That, I suppose,” said Ghopal, is the 
remains of the tree after passing through 
the white ants.” 

“Yes,” said Byram, “but mixed with 
some earth which the white ants apparently 
eat to facilitate digestion. | Now,” contin- 
ued he, “as all the timber of this forest, 
from time immemorial, has been eaten by 
white ants, the surface must have been 


covered to a considerable depth. Is it not 
so?” 
“Yes,’”’ said Ghopal,” I should think 


they could cover the surface with a consid- 
erable coat of this stuff in a century; a 
couple of inches perhaps.” 

“But,” said Byram, “if you dig a hole 
three or four feet deep you reach sand or 
gravel, or stiff clay, or something not fit to 
grow plants or crops on,” 

“That is true,’’ conceded Ghopal. 


Byram and Ghopal. 


“Then,” said Byram, “if the white ants 
have been a century covering the surface of 
this forest two inches deep with their drop- 
pings, how long do you suppose it would 
take them to cover the forest floor to a 
depth of two or three feet?” 

“T don’t know,” said Ghopal, meditatively, 
“may be a thousand years, may be four or 
five thousand years or more.” 

“Well, allow that the white ants have 
built up the upper two feet of the soil with 
their droppings in the last five thousand 
years. What sort of crops do you suppose 
men could raise in the sub-soil if all the top 
two feet of soil were removed ?”’ 

“But,” said Ghopal, “if the white ants 
had not been there the timber would have 
rotted and made soil.” 

“Not so,” said Byram, you can grow 
nothing in rotten wood except worthless 
fungi, but unless the wood is covered up by 
the soil it will not remain, it crumbles away 
to nothing, just as if it were burnt in the 
fire. Nothing goes back to the earth except 
the ashes which the tree took from it in 
growing; all that it got from the air goes 
back to air, unless some living creature eats 
it. Now which makes the best manure for 
crops any way,” asked Byram, “animal or 
vegetable refuse?” 

“Animal refuse, most assuredly,” said 
Ghopal. 

“Then,” said Byram, “try to estimate the 
services rendered to man by creatures that 
from the foundation of the world have been 
busy converting every particle of timber 
that dies into good animal manure, mixing 
it with soil, or burying it beneath the sur- 
face. Do you suppose man could ever 
have raised crops upon the bare sub-soil; do 
you suppose man could have existed unless 
the white ants and other small creatures had 
prepared the earth for his necessities?” 

“You present the matter in a new light,” 
said Ghopal gravely. “I will meditate on 
it; but it is now time to set out on our 
journey.” 


105 


The high road was soon gained and 
Ghopal plodded along sturdily, but no 
more with the light springy step of the 
morning. Then he had great hopes that 
he would win the three rupees in Byram’s 
girdle, but now these hopes had vanished. 
The top soil to a considerable depth was 
certainly made by white ants, that was clear 
enough, and what appeared equally clear 
was that neither man nor beast could live 
on earth if that soil were removed. The 
journey was long and weary. Byram ap- 
peared to grow heavier at every mile, and 
at times Ghopal asked himself whether it 
would not be wiser to return to the pot- 
tery. 

But after reaching the Serai, and eating 
a hearty supper of bajree bread and milk, 
and soothing himself with his hookah, his 
spirits revived. 

“T have lost the first throw,” said he, 
“bué it will go hard with me if I don’t put 
him into a corner before many days are 
over. But who would have thought that 
those wretched little white ants were so 
useful to man? Who would have dreamed 
that they make the soil we live on?” 

“You do not claim the money, I sup- 
pose,’ said Byram, before he lay down for 
the night. 

At this the travelers in the Serai laughed 
merrily, for although Ghopal felt his dis- 
comfiture too sorely to discuss the matter, 
his contract with Byram was the news of 
the day, and had provoked general discus- 
sion. 

“No, Byram,” said Gophal, “I too ama 
man of understanding, and know when the 
facts are against me. I gave judgment on 
the facts which had come under my ex- 
perience; on those facts my judgment 
was sound. In the light of fresh facts I 
reserve my judgment and admit that your 
little white ants deserve a place among 
the gods. Still, I would have thought 
better of them if they had spared my 
slippers.” 


MAINTAINING THE 


N the attempt to acclimatize animals 
from other countries, the first condi- 
tions of success are that climate shall be 
suitable, food abundant, and the imported 
animal so generally adapted to his environ- 
ment that he will be able to hold his own 
in the struggle for existence with the indi- 
genous animals subsisting on similar food. 
Sometimes, in the case of successful accli- 
matization, the value of the experiment to 
man depends on its being kept within due 
bounds, that is to say, on the presence of 
predaceous animals, which, increasing in 
the ratio of the new means of subsistence 
afforded them by the introduced animal, 
shall serve to restrain the successfully ac- 
climated species within due bounds, and 
thus preserve the balance of life. 

It is only in thinly settled countries free 
from beasts of prey that we are brought 
face to face with the fact that animals do 
tend to increase by geometrical progres- 
sion, and that even those which increase 
least rapidly, as the horse and the ox, 
would in a comparatively few years, reach 
the limits of their subsistence in any coun- 
try, however vast its area, and require to 
be exterminated before man could protect 
his crops or secure any adequate area of 
pasture for his own flocks and herds. 

Some thirty or forty years ago, when 
travel over the settled parts of Australia 
was performed wholly by stage coaches, 
it was an openly expressed maxim among 
“horseflesh was 
In pursuance 


the stage owners that 
cheaper than horse food.” 
of this maxim, horses were driven their 
daily stage of eight or ten miles and turned 
loose to feed in the bush. Sick horses and 
mares heavy with foal were left to roam at 
will until they should be again fit to work; 
other horses strayed away, and ina very few 
years there were little troops of wild horses 
roaming all over the country, sometimes 


BALANCE OF LIFE. 


settling for months on the best grazing 
and best watered lands of the squatters’ 
runs. It was not worth while to run them 
down and lasso them—the squatter had no 
sufficient market for his domestic stock ; 
but twenty years later this little incident of 
a squatter’s experience became a very for- 
midable one, calling for prompt measures 
to avert the common ruin of horse and cat- 
tle and sheep farmers all over the country. 
The wild horses then, in troops of several 
hundred, took possession of all the water 
holes in the dry season, and roaming from 
place to place kept in admirable condition, 
while the herded cattle by thousands died 
of drought. The difficulty was met deter- 
minedly, and by combination among the 
squatters the wild horses were hunted and 
shot down systematically. 

Under favorable conditions a troop of 
horses will double its number in five years, 
and on this estimate a single pair of horses 
would increase to five hundred in forty 
years, and to two thousand in fifty years, 
but systematically hunted they are easily 
shot or driven from the haunts of men. 

Undeterred by the lesson taught by this 
evidence of the tendency to natural increase 
among horses, the squatters of New Zea- 
land, having neither kangaroos nor opos- 
sums, and pining for something to shoot, 
introduced the English rabbit into their 
stations. Why should they not? ‘The rab- 
bit affords capital shooting, and although 
his flesh is not highly esteemed it neverthe- 
less constitutes an important item of food 
supply in its English home. Its fur too has 
some small value. Rabbits are by no means 
a nuisance in England, they are not pro- 
tected by game laws, and although of course 
they feed more or less on the crops, the 
farmer sees both pleasure and profit in 
leaving a strip of gorse or patch of moor- 
land for his rabbits, which in many cases 


Maintaining the Balance of Life. 


furnish his table two or three days a week. 
But their introduction into New Zealand 
is by no means regarded as a blessing, now 
that experience has shown not only that 
they are easily acclimatized in that country, 
but that in the absence of ferrets, stoats, 
weasels, polecats, foxes, or other predaceous 
animals suited to maintain the balance of 
life by increasing numerically with their 
means of subsistence, the law of geometri- 
cal progressions holds as good for rabbits as 
for horses, only in an enormously higher 
ratio. Under favorable conditions, that is to 


say with ample food supply and no foes, a ~ 


pair of rabbits will multiply four fold in one 
year, at which rate a single pair would in- 
crease to two millions in ten years, and to 
two thousand millions in fifteen years. 

By shooting and trapping, these figures 
are being to some extent modified, but al- 
though man is more than a match for horses 
or tigers, he cannot spread himself out in 
the ratio of the geometrical progression of 
rabbits, nor cope with them unaided. 

If along with each hundred pair of rab- 
bits the New Zealand squatters had turned 
loose a pair of ferrets or polecats, the former 
would never have become a national pest, 
as they now admittedly are. They are 
rapidly tending to become the “bloated 
monopolists’’ of New Zealand, and the soon- 
er the colonists give their attention to the 
acclimatization of polecats, ferrets and other 
animals of that class, the better for the well- 
being of the colony. 

Some years after the establishment of 
rabbits in New Zealand, and before they 
were recognized as a danger to the agricul- 
tural future of that country, the Queensland 
farmers introduced them into their colony. 
The conditions are by no means the same, 
for although Queensland has no ferrets or 
minks or animals of that genus, it has the 
dingo or wild dog, and innumerable snakes 
large enough to prey on rabbits, so that al- 
though rabbits cannot possibly monopolize 
the country as they are doing in New Zea- 


107 


land, the balance of life will be obtained by 
a very undesirable increase in snakes and 
wild dogs. 

This result has not been foreseen in the 
colonies; the one anxiety is lest the rab- 
bits should overrun Australia as they are 
overrunning New Zealand, and an enormous 
outlay for close wire fencing is being incur- 
red to confine the danger to Queensland, 
but it may be predicted with confidence 
that the tendency of the rabbits to increase 
will be kept in check by a corresponding 
increase in the snakes which prey on them. 

In this country we are blindly tending to- 
ward similar results, by a somewhat differ- 
ent method. We do not refer to the pro- 
posed importation of European hares. There 
is nothing to apprehend from that measure 
if carried into effect. If easily acclimatized 
they would form a valuable addition to our 
game supply, and the mink may be relied 
on to maintain a just balance, and prevent 
any undue increase. 

But we have in North America field mice, 
shrews, and other small rodents, with a meas- 
ure of fecundity quite equal to that of rab- 
bits, and equally ready to become the “ bloat- 
ed monopolists”’ of this country, if man will 
only interfere and exterminate the hawks 
and owls which prey on them. The earth is 
preserved in a fitting condition for human 
progress, by the maintenance of the balance 
of life among the Iower creation, and any at- 
tempt to upset that balance by exterminat- 
ing birds or the smaller predaceous animals, 
should be engaged in very cautiously 

In this country we may exterminate wolves 
and panthers with impunity, because we 
ourselves are capable of performing their 
functions, and can keep the creatures they 
prey on within due bounds, but when it is 
proposed to exterminate hawks, owls, or 
insectivorous birds, we should hesitate to 
act until we are quite sure that we are 
capable of successfully grappling with the 
geometrical increase of mice and insects by 
our own unaided resources. 


(CopyriGHT, 1887, By FLoRENce A. MERRIAM.] 


BLED YY — COMO INESBAGReD Ss), 


AND HOW TO KNOW THEM. 


HEN you have saved a man’s life 

you naturally take a new interest in 
him, and feel that you would like to know 
him; and so it is with the birds the mem- 
bers of the Audubon Society have been 
trying to rescue. You are so in the habit 
of discriminating between men, and study- 
ing their individual peculiarities, that it ap- 
pears a comparatively easy matter to know 
them; but with birds the case is entirely 
different. There are so many kinds, and 
yet they seem to look and to sing exactly 
alike. Your task seems a hopeless one at 
the outset. After a little, a new world of 
interest and beauty opens before you, but 
at first the difficulties you meet are almost 
overwhelming. 

The best way is the simplest. Begin 
with the commonest birds, and train your 
ears and eyes by classifying every bird you 
see, and every song you hear. Generalize 
roughly at first, and finer distinctions will 
easily be made later. Suppose, for in- 
stance, that you go out in the fields ona 
spring morning. From seven till ten is the 
best time for beginners, and it is well to 
commence with the birds you will see when 
you have a house in sight. Stand still a 
few moments and you hear what sounds to 
you like a confusion of songs. You think 
you can never tell one from another. But 
listen carefully and you will notice a dif- 
ference at once. Some are true songs, with 
a definite melody—and tune, if one can use 
that word—like the song of some of the 
sparrows, who always give three high notes 
and then run down the scale. Others are 
only monotonous ¢r7//s, always the same two 
notes on the same key, varying only in 
length and intensity; such as that of the 
chipping bird, who makes one’s ears fairly 
ache as he sits in the sun trilling away 


I, 


with the complacency of a prima donna. 
There is always plenty of talking going on, 
chippering and chattering that do not 
rise to the dignity of a song, but add to 
the general confusion of sounds. This 
should be ignored at first, and only the 
louder songs listened for. 

When the trill and the elaborate song 
are distinguished, other classifications are 
easily made. The ear then catches the 
difference in the quality of songs. On the 
right the plaintive note of the meadowlark 
is heard, while out of the grass at the left 
comes the rollicking song of the light- 
hearted bobolink. 

Having made a beginning with your 
ears, the training of the eye can be taken 
up in the same way. Here the crude dis- 
tinctions of size and color are the first 
steps. As the robin is the best known bird, 
he serves as a convenient unit of measure, 
an ornithological foot, so to speak. If 
anything from a hummingbird to a robin, 
is called smad//, and from the robin to the 
crow /arge, a ground for practical dis- 
tinctions is made that will be useful in get- 
ting your bearings. And when you watch 
carefully for colors, the birds will no longer 
look all alike. The éright birds can be 
put by themselves—the oriole with his 
orange and black coat, the scarlet tanager 
with his flaming plumage, and the common 
bluebird, who, as Mr. Burroughs says, has 
“the earth tinge on his breast and the sky 
tinge on his back’’*—all these can be 
classed together; while the sparrows, fly- 
catchers, thrushes and vireos can be dis- 
tinguished from the bright, as the dud/ 
colored birds. 

When the roughest part of the work is 
done, and your eye and ear easily catch the 


*“ Wake Robin,” p. 12. 


fifty Common Birds. 


most obvious differences in size, color and 
sound, the interesting part of your work 
begins. 

You will soon learn to associate special 
birds with certain localities, and once know- 
ing their favorite haunts, you find other 
clues to their habits; and before long they 
stand out before you as distinctly as indi- 
viduals. By going among the birds, watch- 
ing them closely, comparing them care- 
fully, and writing down all the peculiarities 
of every new bird seen while you are in 
the field, locality, song, size, color, details 
of markings, food, flight, eggs, nest and 
habits, you soon come, naturally and easily, 
to know the birds that are living about you. 
The first law of field work is EXACT OBSER- 
VATION, and this is learned soonest by habit- 
ually writing down all the details you need 
for identification. 

With these hints in mind, take an opera 
or field glass, and go to look for your 
friends. Don’t start out before breakfast 
at first, because the confusion of the 
“matins” is discouraging—there is too 
much to see and hear. But go as soon 
after breakfast as possible, for the birds 
quiet down and go into the woods for their 
nooning earlier and earlier as the weather 
gets warmer. 

You will not have to go far before you 
find your first bird: 


THE ROBIN. 


He is, as every one knows, a domestic 
little fellow, and very fond of society. He 
considers it no liberty to take his dinners 
in your front yard, and build his house in a 
crotch of your piazza with the help of the 
string you have inadvertently left within his 
reach. 

Next to the crow, he is probably the best 
known of our birds; but some of his city 
friends have never been fortunate enough 
to meet him, and as he is to be our “unit of 
measure,” it may be well to describe him 
carefully. 


109 


He is nine to ten inches long, and as he 
is a general favorite, and has the courage 
of his conviction that man is a “good fel- 
low,” he fares very well, and keeps fat on 
cherries and strawberries if the supply of 
fish wormsruns low. Everything about him 
bespeaks the favorite of fortune. He is 
not always looking for food like the wood- 
peckers, nor flitting about with nervous 
restlessness like the warblers; but has plenty 
of repose of manner, although he has a 
nervous habit of jerking his tail when he is 
excited. 

He has time to meditate when he chooses, 
but like other sturdy, well-fed people, his 
reflections generally take a cheerful turn; 
and when he lapses into a poetical mood, 
as he often does at sunrise and sunset, sit- 
ting on a branch in the softened light and 
whispering a little song to himself, his 
sentiment is the healthy, every day home 
sort, with none of the sadness or longing of 
his cousin thrushes, but full of conten. and 
appreciation of the beautiful world he lives 
in. 

Unlike some of his human friends, his 
content does not interfere with his activity. 
He is full of vigorous life, and his voice is 
always to be heard above the rest of the 
daybreak chorus. He has plenty of industry 
and energy, too, for every season he quite 
cheerfully shoulders the responsibility of 
seeing three or four broods of bird child- 
ren through all the dangers of cats, hawks 
and first flights; keeping successive nests 
full of gaping mouths supplied with worms 
all the summer through. 

His proverbial red breast belongs to his 
English cousin; and it must be confessed 
that his isa homely reddish-brown, and that 
his back is a dull blackish-gray. But per- 
haps if he had been beautiful he would 
have been vain, and then alas for the robin 
we know and love now. 

His wife's breast is still less red, in fact she 
looks as if she had been out in the rain so 
much that most of her color had been washed 


Ito 


off, and when their children first come out in 
the world, they are more strikingly homely 
than their parents, perhaps, because we 
have known the old birds so long that, like 
some of our dearest friends, their plainness 
is beautiful to us. In any case, the emi- 
nently speckled young gentlemen that come 
out with their new tight-fitting suits and 
awkward ways do not meet their father’s 
share of favor, 

Perhaps the nest they come out of ac- 
counts for their lack of polish. Even Mr. 
3urroughs regrets its coarseness.* It is 
stout and strong, built to last, and to keep 
out the rain; but with no thought of beauty. 
The outside. is a framework of twigs and 
stems of large weeds. ‘Then comes a plas- 
tering of mud, that the bird moulds with 
her breast till it is hard and smooth. 
Inside is a soft lining of dried grass. This 
is the typical nest, but of course, there are 
marked variations from it; Mr. Burroughs 
speaks of one nest composed entirely of 
hair and grass.+ From its nature, the nest 
has to be firmly fixed in the crotch of a 
branch, or close to the body of the tree, 
where its weight will be supported ; and if 
it happen to be built over a blind, or win- 
dow frame, it is always securely fastened. 

You may look for robins in almost any 
locality, but they generally prefer dry open 
land, or the edge of woods; being very 
averse to the secluded life of the other 
thrushes, who build in the deep woods. 

The flight and song of the robin are in 
keeping with his general character. His 
flight is rapid, clear cut and straight. Un- 
like many of the birds, he flies as if he were 
His voice is a strong 
He is not 
His 
commonest call has two parts, each of three 


going somewhere. 
clear treble, loud and cheerful. 
a musician, and has no one set song. 


notes run together; the first with a rising, 
the last with a falling inflexion: 7¢r7/-da-rée’, 
tril-la-ran' ; tril-la-rée', tril-la-rah’. But 
* “Wake Robin,”’ p. 15, The Return of the Birds. 
+ ‘‘ Wake Robin,”’ Birds’ Nests, p. 126. 


fifty Common Birds. 


he has a number of calls, and you have to 
be very familiar with the peculiar treble 
quality of his note to avoid confusing it 
with others. : 


THE BLUEBIRD 


is usually found further from the house, 
and your attention is attracted to his cry as 
he flies over the field. It is a plaintive con- 
tralto call, just the opposite of the robin’s. 
Mr. Burroughs describes his first song in 
early spring as “‘a note that may be called the 
violet of sound, and as welcome to the ear, 
heard above the cold damp earth, as is its 
floral type to the eye a few weeks later,” * 
He quotes Lowell’s lines: 

The bluebird, shifting his light load of song 

From post to post along the cheerless fence.” 
In “A Bird Medley” Mr. Burroughs says: 
“The bluebird cannot utter a harsh or un- 
pleasing note. Indeed, he seems to have 
but one language, one speech for both love 
and war, and the expression of his indig- 
nation is nearly as musical as his song.’’+ 

The bluebird is smaller than the robin, al- 
though of a similar build; and his flight is 
more undulating. If you catch a glimpse of 
his breast as he goes over your head, you will 
see that it is brick red, changing to white be- 
low; and as he flies down and turns quickly 
before alighting, you will get a flash of dark 
blue from his back. It is a rich color in 
the male, but the tints are all softened in 
the female, giving the faded effect noticed 
in the mother robin, and characteristic of 
the majority of female birds. , 

The bluebird is much shyer than the 
robin, and generally hides his nest in a hole 
of some fence rail, dead stub or tree; al- 
though he occasionally builds in knot holes 
in the sides of barns or even in bird boxes. 
Sometimes when the nest is in a stub or 
tree, it is so shallow that the father and 
mother birds feed their young from the 
outside, clinging to the sides of the hole 


**Birds and Poets,’’ Chap. I., p. 45. 
+**Birds and Poets,’ Chap., A Bird Medley, p. 96. 


Fifty Ce ommon Birds, 


and reaching in with their heads to drop 
the food into the open mouths below. 

For a charming description of the habits 
and character of the bluebird read Mr. Bur- 
roughs’ chapter on “The Bluebird,” in “Wake 
Robin,” and pp. 39-42 of “Sharp Eyes,” in 
“Locusts and Wild Honey.’ 


KEEL-TAILED BLACKBIRD; CROW BLACK- 


BIRD; PURPLE GRACKLE, 

In the field or about the house, wherever 
one is, this noisy fellow is sure to insist on 
recognition. His voice is cracked, and is 
painfully suggestive of the creaking of a 
door, or a machine that needs oiling. Mr. 
Burroughs says: “His voice always sounds 
as if he were laboring under a severe attack 
of influenza, although a large flock of them 
heard at a distance on a bright afternoon 
cf early spring produce an effect not un- 
pleasing. The air is filled with cracking, 
splintering, spurting, semi-musical sounds, 
which are like pepper and salt to the ear.’’* 

The crow blackbird is a half larger than 
the robin, toward whom he acts the part of 
the big boy bully, in the most cold-blooded 
way. He comes north soon after the robin, 
torments him while he is building, and then 
amuses himself by breaking up his nest, 
throwing out the eggs and young until 
driven away by some exasperated human 
lover of justice. He is a great awkward 
fellow. Like the crow, and a few other 
birds, he walks instead of hopping, but as 
he ambles along on the branch of a tree, 
one feels that he might better hop, he makes 
such stupid work of it. When he flies, he 
can be known at a distance by the peculiar 
way in which he uses his tail. He is called 
the keel-tailed from the circumstance. From 
the horizontal he gives it a vertical direc- 
tion, so that he can steer with it, as you 
would witha rudder. If he is flying straight 
ahead you do not notice it, but the moment 
he turns or wants to guide himself you see 
his tail change into a keel. 


***Wake Robin,” Chap., Spring at the Capital, p. 158. 


JIU DE 


When you get near him the falsity of his 
name of blackbird is revealed; and at the 
same time you discover his chief virtue— 
his beauty. He has a remarkably hand- 
some iridescent coat, “bronzy, purplish or 
violet,” but always intense and beautiful. 

Bold, as well as quarrelsome, he would 
build in the center of a village if he were 
tolerated, but from his cruelty to the robin 
he is frequently driven away. 


CHIPBIRD OR CHIPPY ; HAIRBIRD ; CHIPPING 
SPARROW ; SOCIAL SPARROW, 


Although one of those “ little gray birds” 
that vex the soul of the tyro, chippy is well 
known as the smallest and most familiar of 
our sparrows. He has a reddish-brown 
cap, a delicate white line separating it from 
his eye and cheek. His back is streaked 
with grayish-brown and black, and _ his 
wings are crossed by narrow whitish bars. 
Underneath he is a pure light ash color, 
the absence of markings distinguishing him 
from the tree sparrow and others of his 
less domestic cousins. 

His trill, too, is individual. He has no 
song, like his rustic looking cousin, the 
bush sparrow, whom he resembles in some 
respects, but trills away monotonously—by 
the hour, one is inclined to think—with 
cheerful perseverance worthy of a better 
cause. 

He is called the hairbird because his 
nest, built in shrubbery, is made of dried 
grass lined with cow or horse hair, and 
when you think of the industry and obser- 
vation required to find this hair, you will 
not only be convinced of the powers of in- 
herited habit, but will conclude that the 
little fellow has been appropriately named. 
His eggs—four to five in number—are a 
pretty bluish color, delicately speckled 
with brown and black. 

Chippy is characterized by his intelli- 
gence. The turn of his head, the quick 
glance from his eye, show that his familiar 


112 


bravery is due to no thoughtless confi- 
dence, but is based on keen observation 
and bird wit. He is always about—in the 
garden, on the lawn, and around the house. 
The back door, with its boundless possi- 
bilities in the line of crumbs, attracts him 
strongly. An instance is given where he 
came regularly every day at the time when 
the chickens were fed, sat on the fence till 
the first rush and scramble were over, and 
then flew down among the hens to get his 
dinner. Where he finds friends he will not 
only twitter on the lawn, haunt the back 
door, and get acquainted with the hens, but 
come on to the front piazza within a few 
feet of the family, if they humor him with 
an offering of crumbs. 


SONG SPARROW. 


A larger cousin of chippy’s—about half 
the size of arobin—the song sparrow differs 
from him in almost every particular. We 
admire chippy for his bravery and intelli- 
gence, but we do not love him as we do 
this simple little fellow, with his homely 
cheeriness. In the spring he comes north 
a few days after the robin and although 
the chill from the snow banks gives him a 
sore throat that makes his voice husky; you 
will hear him singing away, as brightly as 
if he had come back on purpose to bring 
spring to the poor snow-bound farmers. 
Even his chirp—of rich contralto quality 
compared with the thin chip of his little 
cousin—has a genuine, happy ring that 
raises one’s spirits; and when he throws up 
his head and sings the sweet song that 
has given him his name, you feel that the 
world is worth living in. 

His brown coat has little beauty, but his 
dark breastpin, surrounded by brown streaks, 
sets off his light gray waistcoat to great ad- 
vantage; and the brown topknot that he 
raises when he gets interested, gives him 
an air of sympathetic attention that is very 
winning. 


Fifty Common Birds. 


His song is the first set song that is likely 
to attract your attention as you listen to the 
birds near the house. It consists of one 
high note repeated three times, and a rapid 
run down the scale and back. 

In choosing the site for his nest, the song 
sparrow is a true philosopher, adapting him- 
self to circumstances with easy grace. At 
one time he contents himself with making 
a rude nest of straw at the bottom of a 
roadside brush heap; at another he builds 
in a willow, using the woolly catkins to 
soften his bed; and when particularly for- 
tunate, he has been known to protect his 
young and indulge his own esthetic sense 
by nesting in a sweet-brier bush. Mr. 
Burroughs speaks of the sparrow’s careful 
workmanship on page too of “ Birds and 
Poets.” 


REDWING BLACKBIRD, | 


The large flocks of blackbirds seen com- 
ing north in the spring are confusing at 
first, but if you use your opera glass care- 
fully—and though its rapid adjustment is 
so troublesome at the outset that one is 
tempted to trust to his own eyes, a good 
glass is really almost indispensable—you 
will soon be able to discriminate the char- 
acter of the majority of the birds of a 
flock. 

Sometimes the crow blackbird and the 
redwing fly together, but they more com- 
monly go in separate flocks. Ata distance, 
the flight of the two species is perhaps the 
most distinctive feature—the “keel-tail’’ 
steering apparatus of the crow blackbird 
marking him anywhere. Then the keel- 
tailed is a half larger than the robin, and 
the redwing a trifle smaller than that bird. 
Known more familiarly, the redwing lacks 
the noisy obtrusiveness of his awkward 
cousin, and generally prefers the field to 
the dooryard. Here, as Emerson says, 

“The redwing flutes his 0-£a-/e,” 
and that in itself would be enough to dis- 
tinguish him. 


Annie's New Home. 


Aside from this, however, his red wing 
marks him as effectually as a_ soldier's 
epaulets. In the male, the scarlet shoulder 
cap makes such a striking contrast with his 
shining black coat that the careless observer 
does not notice its border of brownish-yel- 
low, even when it shades into white, as it 
does in some of the eastern species. In 
the female, the contrast is not so great. In 
the first place, she is not such a pure black 


ANNIE’S NEW 


HE had not always been lame. A few 
years before, no foot so light, no 
step upon the stairs so swift and sure as 
Annie’s. But one cruel winter’s day, a slip 
on the icy pavement changed all her life, 
and from a brisk, bonny lass she silently 
faded into a pale, patient cripple. Her 
father had died long ago, and her mother, 
after a weary struggle against adverse fate, 
gladly followed him. The neighbors were 
kind, of course, and Mrs. Lynch, the widow, 
took Annie into her home; but it was not 
like having one’s own mother. Kindness, 
not love, prompted every act. The days 
passed very slowly and monotonously for 
Annie. Every morning she was helped 
into her cushioned chair by the window, 
and there she sat all day, with no outlook 
except at a blank wall, while her patient 
fingers fashioned the artificial flowers that 
helped to pay her board. It seemed so 
strange that she should be so terribly 
afflicted that it made her sad sometimes, 
and she could not help murmuring a little, 
but she was generally very patient, and 
then there was always Jim to be thankful 
for. 

He was the idol of Annie’s life, and his 
devotion to her was beautiful to see. His 
hands, though big and rough, were gentle 
as a woman’s when they touched Annie; 
his deep voice softened and his heavy step 


113 


as the male, having brownish streaks that, 
even at a distance, give her a duller look. 
Then her epaulets are more of a salmon 
color than scarlet. Still the effect is very 
pleasing, and it is only a matter of taste if 
one does not admire her as much as her 
husband. 

The redwing nests in tufts of sedge, low 
bushes, or other places in open fields. 


FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. 


HOME. 


grew light when he entered Annie’s room. 
As for Annie, he was not only her brother, 
but her father, mother, and a whole host of 
other relations besides. He was her light 
and strength and very life. He worked in 
the mines, and was away all day, and some- 
times all night, but when he did come home, 
no matter if it was midnight, then and then 
only the sun shone for Annie. 

Jim was always trying to think of some- 
thing that would shorten her long, weary 
hours. One day he would bring her an 
apple whose polished sides fairly glistened. 
Again it would be a flower, a rose or a 
pansy, which Annie always put before her 
and copied at once, and she always thought 
that none of her flowers were so natural as 
those she copied from Jim’s boquets. 

One bright, warm May Sunday, he took 
her to the country. What a day that was 
for Annie! It was years since she had been 
beyond the grimy, smoky streets of the min- 
ing town, and she could only faintly remem- 
ber how the country looked. She could call 
up dim memories of fields of fresh green 
grass, of flowers really growing, and of soft 
warm air musical with the songs of birds, 
but it all seemed very distant and unreal. 
How she had looked forward to this day. 
Jim borrowed the overseer’s wagon, took the 
cushions from Annie’s chair and made a 
seat for her, and together they drove away, 


II4 


out of the dirt and noise into the sweet 
fields, starred with violets and bluettes, and 
where the air was laden with the perfume of 
lilacs and apple blossoms. Jim did all the 
talking, Annie said very little, but her eyes 
were never still. They saw every minutest 
detail, and the reality far exceeded her 
dreams As they were driving slowly home- 
ward, the old brown horse, who was stum- 
bling along half asleep, suddenly swerved 
to one side. Jim, leaning forward to find 
out the cause, exclaimed : 

“Oh, its a bird, a baby robin. Do you 
want it Annie? You can keep it in that 
old cage Mrs. Lynch has, and by and by it 
will grow tame, and be a nice pet for you.” 

Annie clapped her hands with delight at 
the idea, and Jim carefully picked up the 
bird, and they took it back wrapped up in 
a handkerchief. 

The next night when Jim came home 
from work, Annie thought he was more 
quiet than usual, and finally he said : 

“Annie, how would you like to havea 
little home in the country, just you and me 
together?” 

“Oh! Jim!” said Annie, clasping her 
hands and flushing with excitement, “ What 
do you mean?” 

“Well, yesterday, when we were out 
there in the fields, I suddenly thought that 
if I got this promotion Mr. Jenks spoke of, 
perhaps we could afford to have a little 
home somewhere out there. Mrs. Lynch 
would come with us to look out for the 
house, you could raise chickens—that would 
be something to keep you busy all day, and 
I venture to say there wouldn't be any 
chickens in the market as fat as yours— 
only I don’t suppose, with your tender heart, 
you'd ever let any be killed.” And Jim's 
hearty laugh made the glasses on the shelf 
dance and jingle. 

From that time Annie thought of nothing 
else. She talked of it by day and dreamed 
of it by night. She told her few friends of it, 
and what she was going to do when they 


Annie's New Home. 


had a home in the country. And at last it 
really seemed as if the dream might come 
true. Jim got his promotion and his salary 
was raised. They drove out together to 
the country and finally found a little cot- 
tage that seemed as if it had been made for 
them. It had a pretty sloping roof, and a 
little porch covered with rose vines, and a 
nice chicken yard, and, best of all, it was not 
too far away for Jim to walk in and out 
every day. They were both delighted, and 
decided to take the cottage at once. 

There was no lack of interest in Annie’s 
life now. She and Jim had so much to 
talk about, and so many things to plan, that 
finally Mrs. Lynch declared Annie talked in 
her sleep about tables and chairs. She was 
not strong enough to go out to the cottage 
often, but every Sunday Jim went out, and 
he made a little plan of each room, and 
Annie wrote down just where she wanted 
every piece of furniture. Her own chair was 
to stand by the sunny kitchen window, and 
above it should hang the robin’s cage. He 
had not been happy in his cage, nor become 
tame. Perhaps, like Annie, he longed for 
the fresh, breezy airs of the country, for the 


rustle of the green leaves and the scent of 
flowers. 


At last everything was ready, and they 
were to move the next day. Annie was 
sitting in her easy chair waiting for Jim to 
come and pack the last few things. She 
was so happy that she could not believe it 
true. When she shut her eyes she could 
see the little sunny kitchen, the table set 
for supper, and herself sitting in the door- 
way, watching for Jim tocome. And then, 
when Jim came, she knew just how he would 
say, “ Well, little sister, isn’t this nice? How 
are the chickens?”’ And then he would run 
up-stairs, whistling at the top of his voice— 
Hark! What was that? A dull, jarring 
rumble, then a little silence, and then cries 
and screams of women. 

Annie’s heart stood still for a second ; 
then went on again at double rate, and she 


Annte's New Home. 


started from her chair. The sound was not 
unknown in that little miningtown. Annie 
had heard it once before, when she was very 
young, and she had never forgotten it. It 
meant death—sudden, terrible death—to 
strong, hearty men; it meant crushed lives, 
broken hearts and hopeless futures to poor 
women, wives and mothers of miners. Al- 
ready crowds were running through the 
streets toward the mines, and the cry “The 
mine has caved !” filled the air. 

Annie limped to the door, and pulling it 
open tottered out. Mrs. Lynch, who had 
been paying a farewell visit to a neighbor, 
came running toward her. 

“Oh! Mrs. Lynch,” gasped Annie, “which 
is it? Is it Jim’s shaft?” It seemed as if 
her very life hung on Mrs. Lynch’s answer. 

“Annie! Oh, poor child, poor child;” 
and Mrs. Lynch, whose husband had been 
killed in just such a way, burst into tears. 

That was enough, Annie was answered. 
She gasped for breath, and caught at the 
door post for support. Then suddenly she 
started forward, “Oh! it may not be true. 
I must go, I must find out for myself. Jim! 
Jim!” Then her strength seemed to fail, 
and she sank down at Mrs. Lynch’s feet sob- 
bing, “I cannot, I cannot.’’ Mrs. Lynch 
lifted her up and carried her back into the 
room, and then there came a time of hor- 
rible waiting. 

The reports from the mine were con- 
flicting. One man hurrying by would 
say that hundreds were killed; the next 
one said there was hope of saving all; 
the rescuers were working as hard as 
men could work to reach the shaft. Then 
came word that it would be days before 
the men could be found, and then almost 
at once came news that they had been 
reached and that some were alive. The 
slow night wore away and daylight broke— 
the day that the new life was to have begun 
for Annie and Jim. As she saw the first 
beam of sunlight come in at the window, 
Annie turned her head aside and two bitter 


115 


tears rolled down her cheeks. But she 
could not cry—the weight on her heart that 
seemed crushing out her very life, was too 
great for tears. 

Presently Mrs. Lynch rose and stole out, 
and Annie was left alone. She lay there in 
her chair and watched the shadows of the 
window bars slowly creep along the wall. 
She felt strangely weak and numb. She 
could not understand why she did not sut- 
fer more. How could she sit there, quiet 
and tearless, when Jim might be lying dead, 
crushed under some terrible beam. Or 
perhaps not dead, but prisoned, helpless, 
only to suffer lingering tortures worse than 
death. As this thought came to her, she 
started forward with a groan, and her eyes 
fell on the robin pining in his cage, his head 
bent, and his eyes dull, looking so unhappy. 

“JT will let him out,” thought Annie, and 
she rose slowly and painfully, and limped 
across the room to where the cage stood ona 
chest of drawers, and carried it to her chair. 

She felt so strangely weak that she could 
hardly open the window, but at last she 
managed to, and then she opened the door 
of the cage and waited. At first the robin 
did not see, but suddenly he understood 
that freedom lay there before him; he 
hopped out, stood for a moment on the win- 
dow ledge, then fluttered unsteadily down 
toward the ground and was lost to sight. 

Annie, lying in her chair, followed him 
with her eyes until he had vanished, then 
a still, sweet smile crept on to her lips, the 
thin hand dropped from the cage door, her 


eyes opened wider and wider 


Up the street, nearer and nearer, and 
then into the house, came the slow tramp 
of men carrying a‘heavy burden; in many 
a home there were tears and anguish, mourn- 
ing for those who had gone before ; but for 
Annieand Jim, safe in that new home where 
suffering and sorrow are unknown, there 
would be never any more parting, nor any 


more tears. NeBs Ge 


THE) AUDUBON NOTE BOOK 


AN AUDUBON BADGE, 

From time to time we have had inquiries as to 
‘whether the Society has any distinctive medal or 
badge, and in many cases there has been a very 
strongly expressed desire for something of the sort, 
which might be worn on the person as an open de- 
claration of principles. Latterly these applications 
have been so numerous that we have been tempted 
to consider the matter from the practical standpoint, 
and have decided on a design which we publish be- 
low. It isa brooch pin in coin silver, with raised letters 
and monogram as in the design, the cost, fifty cents. 


The preliminary costs of preparing the die, etc., 
would be something considerable, and we should not 
feel justified in undertaking it unless assured that there 
would be something like a general demand for the 
badge. All our readers who are in favor of the new 
departure are consequently invited to send in their 
applications, and local secretaries are solicited to as- 
certain the wishes of such of their members as are 


easily accessible. 
C. F. Amery, General Secretary. 


MEMBERSHIP RETURNS. 


THE number of registered members on April 30 
was 29,956, showing an increase during the month 
of 3,206 members. New York and Pennsylvania 
maintain their relative positions as first and second, 
and the Southern and Western States contribute as 
usual only units or tens. New Jersey would have 
shown a considerable falling off but for the exertions 
of Principal E. O. Hovey, of Newark High School, 
who enlisted most of the members credited to the 
State in April. Since the close of April the Society 
has lost a valuable coadjutor in the person of Miss 
Anna F. Davis, of Easton, Pa., whose charge of an 
aged mother leaves her no leisure for the duties of 
local secretary, but we may hope to replace her, and 
her loss to the State has been compensated for by 
the acquisition of Dr. R. L. Walker, of Mansfield 
Valley, who enlists all his patients, and prescribes 
THE AupuBON for their ailments. There are still 
some two or three thousand Michigan members 


awaiting registration. The returns for the month - 
by States and Territories are as follows : 


Pennsylvania.............. 460 
Tilinois!es-pacacnsesmeeces 223 


Michigan’ cece wessnence cis California ... cre 
Maryland s.0<ciceleas. ice x3) (Nebraskas. 7. os-sueeeeeeiee 
Rhode Island............. 460: ‘Georgia ---. eneeeeeeee tom 3 
Wirginlaseeaenn sneer se 26 Florida 

Maine (2c2sciiecids caw 30 Dakota 
Missouriteemerees\s-riccsiers 29 England 

New Hampshire.......... 1o Dominion of Canada 


3,206 
C, F. AMEry, General Secretary. 


LOST AND FOUND. 


ONE pleasant summer afternoon, as Mr. and Mrs. 
W. were taking a stroll in Brooklyn’s beautiful 
cemetery, Greenwood, they were overtaken by a 
shower. Standing beneath the spreading branches 
of a large tree, under which they had sought shelter, 
they were surprised to receive upon their shoulders 
a shower of birds. The force of the wind and rain 
had dislodged a robin’s nest and a brood of young, 
almost fully grown, but scarcely able to fly, had fallen 
from the tree. 

Mr. W. took one of them in his hand, say- 
ing to his wife, ‘‘We will take this one home 
and put it in a cage.” Mrs. W. assented thought- 
lessly, and when the rain had ceased they started 
away with their little captive. They had not pro- 
ceeded far, however, when they observed that the 
parent birds were following them, coming close to 
them and crying piteously. Mrs. W.’s heart was 
touched, and she appealed to her husband to let 
the little one go free, but he wanted the robin, and 
assured her that the old birds would soon forget 
their grief. The robins followed them until they 
had passed through the cemetery gate, never ceasing 
their cries. 

Reaching home the little captive was placed in a 
gilded cage and tenderly cared for, but Mrs. W. 
could not enjoy her evening meal, and when she re- 
tired she was unable to sleep. She could not drive 
that cry of the mother bird from her ears. She 
called to her husband in the middle of the night and 
entreated him to take the little creature back to its 
mother in the morning. Touched by his wife’s sorrow 


The Audubon Note Book. 


he promised to do so, and at six o’clock he carefully 
wrapped the young bird in a cloth, and walked two 
miles to the spot whence he had taken it. 

To his surprise and delight the entire robin family 
were assembled, as if to meet him. He placed the 
young bird upon the ground, and the joy manifested 
by the parents at the unexpected return of their lost 
one was something he could not describe, and well 
repaid him for his morning journey. They actually 
screamed with delight as they fluttered around and 
caressed the little creature, and Mr. W. was almost 

_as happy as the birds, witnessing their enjoyment 
of the reunion. 

Mr. and Mrs. W. felt that they could never for- 
give themselves for the grief they had so thought- 
lessly caused the robin family to suffer, and I am 
happy to say, that when the pledge of the Audubon 
Society was placed before them, they unhesitatingly 
signed their names, and are to-day proud to be num- 


bered among its members. Mrs. J. DUER. 
Brooxtyn, N. Y. 


IN THE EVERGLADES. 


I TAKE the /vess, a sprightly little paper published 
in the most southern incorporated town upon the 
mainland of Florida—for of course the large and 
growing city of Key West is much further toward the 
tropics—Fort Myers, on the Caloosa River, to wit, 
and only sixty miles west of the Everglades. The 
Press is a little paper, but large enough for several 
advertisements for unlimited numbers of birds and 
bird skins. Also, for items such as this: ‘‘Jim 
Bledsoe and Bill Rollins start next week for Lake 
Okeechobee on the hunt for bird skins. They say 
they know some mighty fine ‘rookeries,’” by the 
last word meaning the roosting places, 7. ¢., homes 
of the poor unsuspecting herons, etc., that once 
brightened up an otherwise too monotonous land- 
scape. These advertisements call especially for egrets. 
If Florida permits the slaughter to continue she will 
make a terrible mistake, beyond recall. Her egrets 
will be gone but her regrets will never die. 

What a relentless pursuit. ‘‘Fashion” in New 
York slays her millions in the remotest corners of the 
globe. Lake Okeechobee and the Everglades are 
to-day full of blood, torn feathers and screams of 
anguish, that staring little corpses may cry for ven- 
geance from the bonnets of what we satirically term 
the ‘‘gentler” sex. O fashion, O woman, how many 
crimes are done in your names! May the AUDU- 
BON accomplish its glorious mission in (Ist) teaching 
us to admire and appreciate the infinite grace and 
variety of animated creation, and (2d) that in this 
matter ‘““Want of thought is want of heart.” 

T. May Tuorp, 


Ey 


NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM RECEPTION. 


THE Board of Management of the Natural His- 
tory Museum of New York gave its annual reception 
on Tuesday, May 10, exhibiting to the public for the 
first time the beautiful collection of eighteen species 
of American birds, collected and prepared by Mr. 
Jenness Richardson, late of the Washington (D. C.) 
Museum, each species amid surroundings modeled 
from nature by Mrs. E. S. Mogridge, formerly of 
the South Kensington Museum, England. 

The birds were mute, but each group with its 
surroundings exquisitely modeled from nature, the 
nest just exactly where a bird’s nester would look for 
it, each nest full of eggs, and a well preserved male 
and female of each of the eighteen species repre- 
sented, perched in the immediate vicinity, looked so 
lifelike that one was prepared to see the birds start 
from their perch at any minute, or to hear them break 
forth in song. 

First in order came the robins, then wood thrushes, 
brown thrashers, yellow warblers, redstarts, Louisi- 
ana water thrushes, swamp warblers, oven birds, red- 
eyed vireos, white-eyed vireos, field sparrows, song 
sparrows, Swamp sparrows, seaside finch, sharp- 
tailed finch, cardinal birds, rose-breasted grosbeaks, 
long-legged clapper-rail. 

The charm of the collection and its value for edu- 
cational purposes consist in the perfect reproduction 
of the surroundings, amid which the several species 
build their nests. The nest of the Louisiana water 
thrush, concealed beneath an overhanging bank, the 
oven bird with its quaint nest in woodland grove, the 
nest of the sharp-tailed sparrows amid the coarse 
grass and reeds of the salt marsh, were all repro- 
duced with conscientious fidelity to nature. 

With this collection accessible to the public, there 
is no need for the embryo ornithologist to trudge 
afield gun in hand, shooting every bird he sees for 
“scientific purposes.”” The birds can beas well studied 
in our public museums as in private cabinets. The 
amount of collecting for the dona fide scientific pur- 
pose of keeping our museums supplied is very trifl- 
ing, and a student having learnt all that can be learnt 
from a study of dead specimens, should take the field, 
not with the murderous shotgun, but with the field 
glass, and surveying the birds from a distance, study 
their habits while they disport themselves in unre- 
strained freedom. 

The opening of the museum was a great success, 
attracting some five thousand persons. In the even- 
ing there was some discussion of the proposal of 
opening the museum on Sunday, and it was gathered 
that the Board did not favor the proposal, but would 
submit to it if the Board of Apportionment would 
meet the necessary costs, 


118 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY FOR THE PROTEC- 
TION OF BIRDS. 


HE AUDUBON SOCIETY was founded in New York 
city in February, 1886. Its purpose is the protection of 
American birds, not used for food, from destruction for mer- 
cantile purposes, The magnitude of the evil with which the 
Society will cope, and the imperative need of the work which 
it proposes to accomplish, are outlined in the following state- 

ment concerning 

THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS. 

Within the last few years, the destruction of our birds has 
increased at a rate which is alarming. This destruction now 
takes place on such a large scale as to seriously threaten the 
existence of a number of our most useful species. It is carried 
on chiefly by men and boys who sell the skins or plumage to 
be used for ornamenta purposes—princi ally for the trimming 
of women’s hats, bonnets and clothing. These men kill every- 
thing that wears feathers. The birds of the woods, the birds 
of the field, the birds of the marsh and those of the sea are 
alike slain, at all times and at all seasons, It matters not if 
the bird be a useful one which devours the hurtful insects 
which destroy the farmer's crops, or a bright-plumaged song- 
ster whose advent has been welcomed in spring, and which has 
reared its brood in the door yard during the summer, or a 
swift-winged sea swallow whose flight along the shore has often 
with unerring certainty led the fisherman to his finny prey— 
whatever it be, it must be sacrificed to the bird butcher's lust 
for slaughter and for gain. Besides the actual destruction of 
the birds, their numbers are still further diminished by the 
practice of robbing their nests in the breeding season. 

Although it is impossible to get at the number of birds killed 
each year, some figures have been published which give an 
idea of what the slaughter must be. We know that a single 
local taxidermist handles 30,000 bird skins in one year; that a 
single collector brought back from a three months trip 11,000 
skins; that from one small district on Long Island about 70,000 
lirds were brought to New York in four months time. In New 
York one firm fad on hand February r, 1886, 200,000 skins. 
The supply is not limited by domestic consumption. Ameri— 
can bird skins are sent abroad. The great European markets 
draw their supplies from all over the world. In London there 
were sold in three months from one auction room, 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazilian bird skins, and 356,389 East Indian birds. 
In Paris 100,000 African birds have been sold by one dealer in 
one year. One New York firm recently had a contract to 
supply 40,000 skins of American birds to one Paris firm. These 
figures tell their own story—but it is a story which might be 
known even without them; we may read it plainly enough in 
the silent hedges, once vocal with the morning songs of birds, 
and in the deserted fields where once bright plumage flashed 
in the sunlight. 

BIRDS, INSECTS AND CROPS. 

The food of our small birds consists very largely of the 
insects which feed on the plants grown by the farmer. These 
insects multiply with such astoundin rapidity that a single 
pair may in the course of one season he the progenitors of six 
billions of their kind. All through the season at which this 
insect life is most active, the birds are constantly at work 
destroying for their young and for themselves, tens of thou- 
sands of hurtful creatures, which, but for them, would swarm 
upon the farmer's crops and lessen the results of his labors. 

A painstaking and ardent naturalist not very long ago 
watched the nest of a pair of martins for sixteen hours, from 4 
A.M. till 8 P. M., just to see how many visits the parent birds 
made to their young. He found that in that time 312 visits to 
the four young were made, 119 by the male and 193 by the 
female. If we suppose only six insects to have been brought 
at each visit, this pair of birds would have destroyed, for their 
young alone, in this one summer's day, not far from 2,000 
insects. The important relations which our birds bear to the 
agricultural interests and so to the general welfare, are recog- 
nized by the governments of all our States. Laws exist for 
their protection, but these laws are rendered inoperative by 
the lack of an intelligent public sentiment to support, them, 
They are nowhere enforced. It is for the interest of every 
one that such a public sentiment should be created. 

It is time that this destruction were stopped. 

PURPOSE OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

To secure the protection of our birds by awakening a better 
sentiment, the Audubon Society, named after the greatest of 
American ornithologists, has been founded. The objects 
sought to be accomplished by this Society are to prevent as far 
as possible — 

(x) The killing of any wild bird not used for food. 

@) The taking or destroying of the eggs or nests of any wild 
birds, 

(3) The wearing of the feathers of wild birds. Ostrich 
feathers, whether por wild or tame birds, and those of domes- 
tic fowls, are specially exempted, 

The Audubon Society aims especially to preserve those 


The Audubon Society. 


birds which are now practically without protection. Our 
game birds are already protected by law, and in large measure 
by public sentiment, and their care may be left to the sports- 
man. The great aim of the Society is the protection of 
American non-game birds, The English sparrow is not 
included in our lists, 

PLAN OF THE WORK. 

Obviously the Society cannot supply any machinery of com- 
pulsion to lead individuals and communities to a higher 
regard for bird life and to efforts for its protection. Nor are 
compulsory measures thought necessary. The wrong is toler- 
ated now only because of thoughtlessness and indifference. 
‘The birds are tilled for millinery purposes. So long as fashion 
demands bird feathers, the birds will be slaughtered. The 


‘remedy is to be found in the awakening of a healthy pub- 


lic sentiment on the subject. If this enormous destruction of 
birds can once be put in its true light before the eyes of men 
and women and young folks, if interest be aroused and senti- 
ment created, the great wrong must cease. To so present the 
case to the people as to awaken this corrective sentiment is the 
special work contemplated by the Audubon Society. The 
methods adopted are very simple. Pledges are furnished, sub- 
scription to which constitutes membership, and certificates 
are issued to members. 
TERMS OF MEMBERSHIP. 

The signing of any of the pledges will qualify one for mem- 
bership in the Society. It is earnestly desired that each mem- 
ber may sign all three of the pledges. Beyond the promise 
contained in the pledge no obligation nor responsibility is in- 
curred. There are no fees, nor dues, nor any expenses of any 
kind, There are no conditions as to age. The boys and girls 
are invited to take part in the work, for they can often do 
more than others to practically protect the nesting birds. All 
who are interested in the subject are invited to become mem- 
bers, and to urge their friends to join the Society. If each 
man, woman or child who reads this circular will exert his or 
her influence, it will not take long to enlist in the good work a 
great number of people actively concerned in the protection of 
our birds. It is desired that members may be enrolled in every 
town and village throughout the land, so that by the moral 
weight of its influence this Society may check the slaughter of 
our beautiful songsters, The beneficent influence of the 
Audubon Society should be exerted in every remotest by-way 
where the songs of birds fill the air, and in every crowded city 
where the plumes of slain songsters are worn as an article of 
dress, 

ASSOCIATE MEMBERS. 

As there are a very great number of people in full sympathy 
with the Audubon movement, and ready to lend it their moral 
support, but who refrain from joining the Society simply be- 
cause they find it distastefal to sign a pledge, it has been 
determined to form a class of Associate Members. Any one 
expressing his or her sympathy with the objects of the udu- 
bon Society and submitting a written request for membership 
to any local secretary, will be enrolled on the list of Associate 
Gnlgss All such applications for membership received by 
local secretaries of the Society should be forwarded to the 
General Secretary for registration. 

LOCAL SECRETARIES. ‘ 

The Society has local seeretaries in cities, towns and villages. 
The local secretary will furnish this circular of information 
and pledge forms; will receive the signed pledges, keep a list 
of the members, forward a duplicate list with the pledges for 
enrollment and file at the Society’s office; and will receive in 
return certificates of membership, to be filled out and signed 
by the local secretary and given to the members. No certi- 
ficate of membership will be issued to any penon except upon 
the receipt of a signed pledge at the office of the Society. 
Where no local secretary has yet been appointed, individual 
applicants for membership may address the Society at its 
office, No. 40 Park Row, New York. s. 

If there is no local secretary in your town, you are invited 
to act as such yourself, or to hand this to some other person 
who will accept the office. Upon application we will supply 
copies of this circular and pledge forms. 

THE AUDUBON SOCIETY CERTIFICATE. 

The Society furnishes to each member a handsome certificate 
of membership, This bears a portrait of the great naturalist, 
John James Audubon, after Whom the Society very appro- 
priately takes its name. 3 

The office of the Society is at 4o Park Row, New York city. 
All communications shoal be addressed 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY, 
No. 40 Park Row, New York. 


Print Your Own Cards! 


PRESS $3, Circular size $8, Newspaper size 
$44. Type setting easy; printed directions. Send 
2 stamps for list presses, type, etc., to factory, 

KELSEY & CO., Meriden, Conn, 


AUDUBON 


MAG AZINE ADV ERTISER. 


119 


(O) Ste eracsecuraSH—c | GF 


A 


OFFICES:COR. FULTON &WILLIAMSSS 
NEW YORK; 


AR TSaom 
) MATERIALS. 


re 
bt 


OF ALLKINDS 
TUBE CLORS' WATER COLORS CRAYONS] 
DRAWING PAPER: CANVASDRUSHES 01b53 MEDIUMS: 
MATHEMATICAL INSTRUMENTS 


HOUSE PAINTERS COLORS 
FRES€ CLORS: FINE VARNISHES |f 


Gorresbondence inviled- Catalogues ef our different 


departments 16 responsible parties. 
COFFIN DEVOE & Ce-176 RANDOLPH'S® ChICAGO 


EE a 
c a a “ : 


E. & H.T. ANTHONY &CO. 
591 Broadway, N.Y. 


Manufacturers and Importers of 


PHOTOGRAPHIC + 
+ INSTRUMENTS, 


Apparatus and Supplies 
OF EVERY DESCRIPTION, 


Sole proprietors of the Patent Detec- 
\- tive, Fairy, Novel and Bicycle 
4 Cameras, and the Celebrated Stan- 
\zley Dry Plates. 

Amateur Outfits in great variety 
from $9.00 upwards. Send for catalogue 
or call and examine. 


= 8 "More than Forty Years Estab- 

lished in this tine of bustness. fs 

FOUR FIRST PREMIUM MEDALS AWARDED 
AT EXHIBITIONS. 

HUSBAND’S More agreeable to the taste and 

smaller dose than other Magnesia. For 

CALCINED sale at Druggists and Country Stores, 

in bottles only, with U. S. Govern- 

ment Registered Label attached, with- 

» bout which none is genuine. 
And by T. J. HUSBAND, JR., Philadelphia, Pa. 
. . 5 

8) Ti @) 

The Universal Fashion Co.'s 

Cut Paper PATTERNS, for Ladies’ and Children’s Gar- 

ments, are acknowledged to be the best in existence. Correct 

styles and perfect fit. Ladies, send for a Catalogue of 

UNIVERSAL PATTERNS free to any address, or 15 cents 

for the ALBUM OF }k ASHIONS, a handsome folio book 
with over 1,000 illustrations and descriptions. 

UNIVERSAL FASHION COMPANY, 
40 East 12th st., New York. 


A. 3 Cammeyer, 


165, 167 & 169 SIXTH AVE., 


Cor. 12TH STREET, New York CITY. 


Achilles, the greatest warrior of the elder world, could only 


receive his death wourd in his heel 
have died since his day 


Many men and women 
by receiving their death blow also 
upon the foot, discovering all too late that this was a vital 
part of the body. Wet feet, cold feet, hot and perspiring feet, 
are as dangerous to health and lif: 
Achilles. 
protect them from the rapid and extreme changes of our 


as the wound that slew 
Be wise in time and cover your feet properly, and 


climate. 

I have every sort and variety of Shoes for Men, Women and 
children, thus providing 
and safeguards for the feet in every necessity and emergency 


the amplest care, comfort, protection 


Ladies Hand-Sewed 
Welt Button Boots, 


$2.00 


Pet Raine 


Ladies’ Kid-Top, Straight Patent Leather Tip, Hand 
Sewed Welt Button Boots...... 


3 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Straiz cht ( Goat Button Boots - 3.00 


p> 


Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Curacoa Kid Button Boots 3.00 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Straight Goat, Foxed Kid- 
Yop, Waukenphast Button Boots..... ............-. 3-00 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt Calf, Foxed Kid- ace Wau- 
kenphast Button Boots..................... - 3-00 


These Shoes are especially designed to take the place of the 
highest grade custom work of the finest material and finish, 
and the best workmanship that can be produced. I do not 
hesitate to warrant them equal to any custom made that are 
sold from $6 to $7 per pair, and at almost half the price. They 
are made in every variety, shape and form, and it makes no 
diffe:ence what the preference may be, I can guarantee a per- 


fect fit and satisfaction in every instance. 


CANVAS SHOES. 

My stock of Canvas Shoes of every description for Ladies, 
Misses and Children is now complete, such as Lawn Tennis, 
Bicycle, Yachting, and for all outdoor sporting purposes, at 
astonishingly low prices. 

I have tireless shoes for walkers, wires ee slippers for dan- 
noes for the comfort- 
; in fact every kind of foot covering for Men, Women 
and Children, and at prices much lower than the same quality 
and make of goods are sold for elsewhere. 

People out of town should send for Illustrated 
Catalogue, which is mailed free on application, 


A. J. CAMMEYER, 


Sixth Avenue & Twelfth Street. 


cers, dressy shoes for promenaders, low 


loving ; 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


THE SCHOOL VOR Soir: 


Let the school of home be a good one. 
Let the reading at home be such as to 
quicken the mind for better reading still; 
for the school at home is progressive. 


The baby is to be read to. What shall 
mother and sister and father and brother 
read to the baby? 

BaByLANb. Babyland rhymes and jingles; 
great big letters and little thoughts and 
words out of BanyLAND. Pictures so easy 
to understand that baby quickly learns the 
meaning of light and shade, of distance, 
of tree, of cloud. The grass is green; the 
sky is blue; the flowers—are they red or 
yellow? ‘That depends on mother’s house- 
plants. Baby sees in the picture what she 
sees in the home and out of the window. 

BABYLAND, mother’s monthly picture- 
and-jingle primer for baby’s diversion, and 
baby’s mother-help. 

Babies are near enough alike. 
LAND fits them all; 50 cents a year. 
to D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 


One Bapsy- 
Send 


What, when baby begins to read for her- 
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= 
“~— © 


pe 


MARTIN. 


PURPLE 


THE 


(Progne subis (L.) ) 


Tue AupuBOoN MAGAZINE. 


Vou. I. 


JOHN 


UDUBON had now fairly started on 

the journey which was ultimately to 

lead him to the successful accomplishment 

of his great work; but the way before him 

was long and difficult, and his triumph 

came only after years of delay and disap- 

pointment. Nothing but his indomitable 

energy enabled him to conquer the obsta- 

cles and discouragements which at every 
step stood in his way. 

He reached Philadelphia April 5, 1824. 
Here he made the acquaintance of a num- 
ber of men who were his fast friends ever 
afterward. Chief among these were Sully, 
the painter; Prince Charles L. Bonaparte, 
the ornithologist; Le Sueur, the natural- 
ist; Dr. Harlan and Mr. Edward Harris. 
Here, too, he met his old friends Rosier 
and Joseph Mason. He at once began to 
look for an engraver who should reproduce 
on metal his drawings of birds, but was 
quite unsuccessful. In the meantime he 
supported himself by giving lessons in 
drawing. The Prince of Canino expressed 
his doubt about the possibility of properiy 
engraving the plates in this country, and 
recommended that the work should be done 
abroad. Unable to accomplish anything in 
Philadelphia, he went to New York, having 
with him letters of introduction to persons 
residing there, but his efforts to find an 
engraver were quite as unsuccessful as they 
had been in Philadelphia, and though he 


JULY, 1887. 


JAMES 


AUDUBON. 


received much kindness, and his drawings 
were everywhere admired, he soon became 
discouraged and started for Albany to pre- 
sent letters to De Witt C. Clinton and Dr. 
Beck. Both of these gentlemen were ab- 
sent, and as his funds were getting low, he 
determined to see Niagara, and then to re- 
turn South. His comments on the then 
villages of Rochester and Buffalo read 
curiously to-day. Of the former he says: 
“Five years ago there were but few build- 
ings here, and the population is now five 
thousand;” and of Buffalo: “This village 
was utterly destroyed by fire in the war of 
1812, but has now about two hundred 
houses, a bank, and daily mail.” 

After a few days at Niagara Falls, Audu- 
bon sailed from Buffalo for Erie, Penn., 
and proceeded thence on foot to Mead- 
ville, Penn. Here his money gave out, 
and he took steps to replenish his purse 
by portrait painting, and with his usual 
success. Proceeding southward to Pitts- 
burgh, he spent a month there, collecting 
birds and making drawings, and toward the 
end of October started down the Ohio ina 
skiff. Rainy weather, however, soon put 
an end to this mode of traveling, and at 
Wheeling he sold his skiff and took passage 
in a keel boat for Cincinnati. Here he 
was obliged to borrow money to get to 
Louisville, and before long he determined 
to return to Bayou Sara, open a school, and 


124 John Fames Audubon. 


defer the pursuit of his ornithological pro- 
ject until he had accumulated sufficient 
money to carry out his plans. It was late 
in November when he reached Mr. Percy’s 
plantation at Bayou Sara, and once more 
held in his arms his beloved wife. It was 
not long before he had established classes in 
dancing and fencing, which brought him a 
considerable income, which, with the savings 
of Mme. Audubon, enabled him to foresee 
a successful issue to his great ornithologi- 
cal work. 

In May, 1826, having left his wife and son 
at Bayou Sara, Audubon sailed for England 
on the ship Delos. The voyage, though 
interesting, as shown by the journal, was 
uneventful, and on the 2oth of July Audu- 
bon landed in Liverpool. On presenting 
some of his letters he was received with 
great cordiality, and was introduced to 
many eminent people, all of whom admired 
his work and seemed anxious to aid him. 
He exhibited his drawings at the Liverpool 
exhibition, and afterwards at the Royal 
Institution, and received about £100 as the 
result. From Liverpool he proceeded to 
Manchester, where his drawings were again 
placed on exhibition. 

On October 25 the naturalist left Man- 
chester for Edinburgh, where his stay was 
a succession of brilliant successes and his 
work met with instant appreciation. Here 
he almost at once made the acquaintance 
of literary and scientific men who were ina 
position to be of the greatest assistance to 
him. Such were Professor Jameson, Dr. 
Knox, Mr. Francis Jeffrey, Sir William Jar- 
dine, Sir Walter Scott, Professor Wilson 
(Christopher North), Lord Elgin, Mr. Selby, 
the ornithologist; the Earl of Morton, Dr. 
Brewster and many others. As elsewhere, 
his drawings attracted great attention in 
Edinburgh, and a committee from the Royal 
Institute of Edinburgh offered him the use 
of their rooms for the exhibition of his 
He soon received an offer from 
Mr. Lizars, an engraver, to publish the first 


drawings. 


number of his “Birds-of America,” with life- 
size figures, and the work was at once put 
in hand. Inthe meantime the exhibition 
of his drawings was bringing him in some 
money. His portrait was painted and placed 
on exhibition, Professor Wilson wrote an 
article about him and his work, for Black- 
wood’s Magazine, and the whole town was 
talking of him. The first proofs of the 
initial number of his work were ready late 
in November, and in December some of 
them had been colored and seem to have 
delighted him. All the while he was paint- 
ing with energy, and preparing papers on 
the habits of various birds. 

Toward the close of his stay in Edin- 
burgh, in March, 1827, Audubon issued his 
prospectus, and the courage and hopeful- 
ness of the man are well shown by the 
tone of this document. As his wife says: 
“He was in a strange country, with no 
friends but those he had made within a 
few months, and not ready money enough 
in hand to bring out the first number pro- 
posed, and yet he entered confidently on 
this undertaking, which was to cost over a 
hundred thousand dollars, and with no 
pledge of help, but on the other hand, dis- 
couragements on all sides, and from his 
best friends.” 

After leaving Edinburgh, Audubon vis- 
ited a number of manufacturing towns and 
secured a few subscribers at #200 each. 
At length he reached London, and here he 
was more successful. Here he met Mr. 
Havell, the engraver, who finally carried 
through his great work to its completion. 

In June, 1828, he received letters from Mr. 
Lizars, his Edinburgh engraver, intimating 
that there were difficulties in the way of 
completing the work then, and an arrange- 
ment was made with Mr. Havell for color- 
ing the plates in London. The work was 
now fairly under way, for subscriptions had 
been liberally taken in London, the King 
and the Duchess of Clarence being among 
the subscribers there. 


_— 


RT By VE UR Pe 


HE Purple Martin is the largest of the 

swallow tribe. He is also one of the 
most useful of this extremely serviceable 
group of birds. Not only does he destroy 
vast numbers of hurtful insects, but from 
his ready adaptability to changed con- 
ditions, and his willingness, if encouraged, 
to make his home on or near man’s dwel- 
lings, he becomes the guardian of the 
poultry yard. No hawk or owl or eagle 
is daring enough to approach a farmhouse 
where one or more pairs of this courageous 
and swift-winged species are rearing their 
broods. If a bird of prey, ignorant of the 
presence of these protectors, comes near 
to see what opportunity there may be to 
pick up one of the young chickens that 
are wandering about the door yard, the 
Martins discover him at once, and sally 
forth with angry twitterings, to give battle 
to the intruder. Their powerful wings 
bear them swiftly toward their enemy, who, 
too late, turns to fly. They easily overtake 
him, and dart down from above, buffeting 
him savagely. The intruder wastes no 
time in trying to give battle to his small 
but dreadful assailants, and with all the 
speed that he can command, hurries to 
the nearest shelter. When he reaches the 
woods or some thicket into which he 
plunges, the victorious Martins rise high 
in air, and side by side, calling to each 
other with notes of triumph and congratu- 
lation, wing their way back to the home 
which they have so boldly defended. 

But the Martin is not a quarrelsome 
fellow at all. He is just a sturdy, hard- 
working citizen of the bird world, who is 
determined to stand up for what he con- 
siders his own rights, and who is afraid of 
nothing that flies. Sometimes when he 
arrives from the south in April, he finds 
that the home in which he reared his 
brood last summer has been taken posses- 


MARTIN. 


sion of by a pair of bluebirds or perhaps 
by English sparrows. If this is the case, 
he prepares without loss of time to eject 
the usurpers, and he usually succeeds in 
doing this very easily. Then he pulls out 
and throws to the ground all the material 
that has been brought into the chamber by 
the previous occupants, and goes calmly 
ahead with his own housekeeping arrange- 
ments. It is rather an amusing spectacle 
to see a conquering Martin, perched in the 
entrance of his home, chattering threaten- 
ingly at a lot of sparrows, who sit about 
abusing him with all the strength of their 
small lungs, but quite powerless to do 
anything to help themselves. 

The Purple Martin arrives from his 
winter home, far to the south of the 
United States, early in February, and soon 
spreads over the whole of the country, 
reaching the falls of the Ohio, according 
to Audubon, about March 15, and New 
York about the middle of April. 

Before the settlement of this country, 
the Martins reared their young in holes 
in the trees, or in rocks, and even now, in 
wild regions, they make use of the holes 
excavated in trees by the woodpeckers. 
Often, however, the farmers, appreciating 
the services rendered by this useful bird, 
put up houses for it, and these are occu- 
pied by the same colony year after year. 
The birds dwell together in the utmost 
harmony, and seem never to quarrel among 
themselves. 

Their nests are prepared soon after their 
arrival and are simple affairs of dried grass, 
just enough to keep the four or six white 
eggs from resting on the floor of the house. 
When the young are hatched the old birds 
are kept very busy suppiying food to the 
yawning throats that ever cry for more. 
Some observations made by Mr. O. Wid- 
mann, of St. Louis, and published several 


126 


years ago in the Forest and Stream, give an 
idea of the unceasing way in which the 
old birds perform this labor, and of the 
vast number of insects—many of them 
hurtful—which are destroyed daily by a 
pair of these useful birds. Writing from 
St. Louis under date of July 2, 1884, he 
says: 

It may be interesting to many of your readers to 
know more about the family cares of our birds. In 
order to find out how often young Martins are fed 


by their parents, and at what times the principal 
meals are served, I watched my sixteen feeding pairs 


The Purple Martin. 


day, and the young Martins may well call it their 
dinner. 

After this the parents took a well-deserved rest, 
but when the sun neared the horizon they were all 
off again, preparing for supper, which was not so 
hearty as one might expect. 

As a rule, the older the birds in the nest, the 
oftener they are fed, and from the size of the insect 
which the parents bring, the age of the young may 
be judged. 

The youngest birds are fed at longer intervals with 
crushed insects, mostly small beetles, from the craw. 
About a fortnight old, they are fed from the bill 
with soft insects of the size of large flies; but insects 
with stings, such as bees and wasps, are never 


| | | | 

No.| No.| No.| No.) No.) No.) No.) No.| No.| No.) No.| No.| No.| No. No.) No.| -» 

WEATHER CONDITIONS. TIME. 7lxaill xz 5 | 1 | ro | 24 | 25 | 22 | 16 | 36 r| 14] 26/19 | 6 abt 
— 1 | | — —— 

A.M. | | | | | | 

75°, calm, clear, . 4 to 5 | 13% I Oee4 || 4 exon a7 5 6| 2 6] 6| Gi 4} g x | (85 
ean atccat ns Ada 5 to 6 12 5 9 g|1i12|x2| 8 7 PEERS 8 6 6| 6) 4 5 | 1x8 
77° to 84° , wind light, Ss. 6 to 7) 19| 4/36/15] 9 | 22! 32] 10/ 7 | 7] 8] 9 | x2] xx 6} 4| x71 
84° to 7 to 8! 22 | 17} 22 | 18 | 14) 17| 9 | 1 7|14!314| 8] 8] x0] 6] 5} 202 
85° to 86°. 8 to g | 26 | 18 | 16 | 19 | 18 | 2x |} 9] x4 | 13] 13! 319] 9 7 | x0] 1 9 | 232 
86° to 87° g tozo |} 28} 25 | 22 | 27 | 25 | 17 | 35 | 25 | 20 | 22 | x2 | 14 | 1x | 7| 6| xo | 276 
87° to 89° wind increasing S...... | xo torr | 27 | 32 | 20 | 20 | 27 | 20| 12 Qh x3) | 27 r7 | 3 6) | cross 7 | 255 
CPE a aiboeis Sono nQbeIOd SAMOS ir tor2 | 17 | 18 | 23 | 14 | 24 | ro | x6 | 14 | 18 | 13 | 12 | 10] 8 4 6 5 | 217 

g2°, storm approaching, wind) pm. | | 1 | | | 

shifting to W Bo etic sGeren ote zz to x | 28! a7 | 22, 22 | 17 | 23 | 15 | 43 | 20! x4] 13! xo | xr! 4] 6; 5 | a50 
83° rain commencing at 1:25.. r to 2;16|]17|13/12| 9] 7 5 Al 7, 8 8 6 7 3 5 2) 132 
78°, rain ceases at 2:45 Saiee tannins 2 to 3 7 5 8 | 7 | 9] 4| 2] 10 )1r!] 7 7 2! 9 | 12 3 6 | 119 
80°, clearing, calm.. ... ...-.-- 3 to 4 | 4r | 38 | 35 | 45 | 31 | 38 | 35 | 40 | 32 | 24 | 22 | 23 | x8 | x5] x4 8 | 459 
IO oie sane ireciosc item's = avie)ieiel==i=inie 4 to 5! 25 | 32] 20 | 22 | x4 | r7 |] 14 | 13] 33] 6] xr! 5| 8B} xx 8| 5 | 224 
79° to 82°, wind S, W.........+- 5 to 6) 7|20/xr|x5|32|32| 9 | x4 | x2) 11 | 7/10/10) 3 | 7) @| x66 
82° to 8x°, calm, clear........... 6 to 7 | xx | x4 | 23} a5 | 12 | x5} 24] xx | 10 | x4] z2] 8] 4] 9} 7) 5 oe 
8r° to 80°) calm, clear........... 7 to 8 rs | 1x | 1 | II | 37 4 | 15 | x0 | ro] to 9 | Io} 16 | 35 | 6 7 | 177 
|— —'—' — — — — —— = |——| | ——— 

312 284 |280 275 254 249 |217 |203 fe 192 |185 ‘149 147 |134 |103 9° |3277 

Number of visits by male ....... -.--+. +++ Ss 164 |140 |128 |127 83 |119 | 08 6x | 73 | 39 | 63 | 58 | 57 | 33 |r454 
Number of visits by female.... . ...-.----+ [193 Rao X40} 47 127 |157 |134 | 84 |x05 | 13x [222 110 | 84 | 76 | 46 | 57 |1823 

1 | 

during an entire day, June 24, from 4 A. M. till 8 brought. When four weeks old, large dragon- 


P, M., marking every visit of the feeding parents, 
males and females, separately. 

The Martins began hunting at 4:15, but no food 
was brought until 4:30. 

The accompanying table shows that our young 
Martins had to put up with a light breakfast, but the 
visits became more and more frequent as the sun and 
mercury climbed up, and reached their liveliest time 
between g and 10 A. M., i, e., lunch time. After 
that a lull was noticeable, broken only by an ap- 
proaching storm, which brought new life into the 
feeding business, but for a short time only, and to be 
reduced to a minimum during the light rain, 1:25 to 
2:45. Even after the rain had ceased, little feeding 
was done until the sky begun to clear up and the sun 
reappeared. 

From that moment the number of visits swelled 
with great rapidity, and kept me hard at work for 
over an hour. It was the substantial meal of the 


flies, grasshoppers and butterflies make the principal 
food. The young Martins do not leave their box 
until they are six weeks old. 

The table itself needs no further explanation, 
except that the occupants of the sixteen boxes were 
of all ages, from one week old in No. 6 to five weeks 
old in Nos. 12, 16, 17. 

The number of hungry mouths has something to 
do with the frequency of the visits. No. 7, which 
heads the list, has four young ones (four weeks old), 
while most of the other boxes have three. No. 16 
has only two. 


This gentleman, who has made a very 
careful study of this interesting species 
during the whole of its stay near St. Louis, 
gives in the same journala most interesting 
account of the roosting habits of this bird 
when on its southward migration. This 


Song Birds in Europe and America. 127 


takes place late in the month of August, 
and for several weeks previous to their 
departure the Martins in great armies 
resort to the willows growing on the sand- 
bars on the opposite side of the river to 
roost. From Mr. Widmann’s description 
it would seem that the number of birds is 
quite beyond estimate. Previous to re- 
tiring to their sleeping places on the twigs 
of the willows, they sit upon the sandbars 
until it is almost dark, and then in a body 
take flight and disappear among the 
shrubs. 

The voice of the Martin is not unmusical. 
He has a cheerful twitter at all times, and 
his note at the breeding season really 


deserves to be called a love song, it is so 
sweet and pleasing. Its flight is easy, light 
and graceful, differing in this respect from 
that of the chimney swift, recently de- 
scribed in this magazine, which seems to 
be somewhat labored, though in reality it 
is not so. 

The Purple Martin is from 7¥ 


2 to 8in. 
in length and measures 16in. across its 
extended wings. The color of the male is 
deep bluish-black with purplish reflec- 
tions. The female is paler throughout, 
and lacks the iridescence of the male, its 
throat and breast are dark gray and the 
other under parts lighter gray. The young 
are gray streaked with darker. 


SON Geb RaD Sim lN BU ReOsesR, “ACN! CAUMCH Ron@ Ae 


T has been repeatedly stated by writers 
who have had the opportunity of mak- 

ing the comparison that the United States 
is very deficient in song birds as com- 
pared with Europe—the British Islands in 
particular. One writer even goes so far as 
to say that “it may be safely asserted that 
in the midland counties of England the 
skylark alone, even in the month of March, 
sings more songs within the hearing of 
mankind than do all the songsters of the 
eastern United States’’—which, of course, 
isan exaggeration. The same writer* says: 
“Tt is, no doubt, very patriotic to prove 
that the woods and fields of North America 
are as vocal with bird song as those of 
England. The attempt has been made, 
but it is only necessary to cross the Atlan- 
tic, stay a month in the British Islands, 
and then return, taking frequent country 
walks on both sides of the water, to be- 
come convinced that the other side has all 
the advantage in quantity of bird song. 
Let us grant that the quality is equal— 

*W.H. Lockington,in The Churchman, 


though it is difficult to understand where 
in America the peer of the nightingale can 
be found—let us grant that the United 
States possesses a list of song birds larger 
than that of the British Islands—all this 
does not prove that the quantity of bird 
song is greater. * * * In England 
bird voices are everywhere. The chaf- 
finch is more abundant than the sparrow 
save in the centers of cities, and his cheery 
notes can be heard at all times; the robin 
redbreast is common in suburb and village 
and is not chary of his voice; and as for 
the skylark—it is hard to go anywhere in 
the country without hearing him. How is 
it here? Does any one pretend that bird 
song is common in the suburbs of our 
cities? Do robins and catbirds, our most 
plentiful singing birds, often treat us to a 
song as we sit on the piazza of our semi- 
detached cottage, or as we walk adown 
the tree-lined streets ?”’ 

It is not stated in the article from which 
the above is quoted where the writer's ob- 
servations in this country were made, 


128 Song Birds in Europe and America. 


except that a “ Pennsylvania wood” is 
incidentally referred to. It is difficult to 
believe, however, that he can have had 
much, if any, experience with other por- 
tions of the country east of the Mississippi, 
for his comparisons certainly will not hold 
good fora large number of localities both 
east and west of the Alleghanies, however 
applicable they may be to the immediate 
vicinity of our larger Eastern cities. His 
comparison is also unfair in that, while 
questioning the existence in America of 
any “peer of the nightingale,’ he neg- 
lected to inquire where, in England—or 
the rest of Europe for that matter—can be 
found even any approach to our mocking- 
bird, although since it is tacitly granted 
that in the two countries the quality of 
bird song “ is equal,” we can afford to pass 
this by. It may also be remarked that the 
comparative number of species which can 
properly be ranked as songsters belonging 
to the United States east of the Mississippi 
River is about twice as great as that be- 
longing to the entire extent of the British 
Islands, counting in each case every species 
the male of which utters notes peculiar to 
the breeding season, or, in other words, 
has a song, however rude. It is conceded 
by the writer to whom I have referred that 
the quality of their song is equal. Is there 
not, therefore, apparently some inconsist- 
ency in the statement that the United 
States is so greatly deficient in bird song 
as compared with England? Or, should 
the statement be true, is it not an 
anomaly which requires explanation? Al- 
though no explanation has, so far as I am 
aware, been attempted, the. reason seems 
very obvious. In the first place, it would 
be almost impossible in most parts of 
thickly populated England, for a bird to 
sing without being heard by human ears. 
In the second place—and what is by far 
the most important factor in the case— 
birds in England have for many genera- 
tions been protected in numerous ways, 


until, in their almost absolute immunity 
from the perils to which they are in this 
country constantly exposed, a compara- 
tively large number have become accus- 
tomed to the society of man. Laws pro- 
tecting all kinds of song birds, and their 
nests and eggs are there enforced with a 
strictness which is absolutely unknown in 
any portion of the United States; and, 
in the numerous carefully policed public 
parks and thoroughfares and extensive pri- 
vate grounds, which ample wealth and long 
cultivation have made a veritable para- 
dise for birds, they live in full knowledge of 
their security, and with nothing to check 
their natural increase. The extreme scarcity 
of predatory birds and mammals, which 
have been for a long time nearly exter- 
minated throughout England, has also 
assisted to bring about that affluence of 
bird life which is so justly the pride of the 
English people. 

In the United States, notwithstanding 
the derogatory comparisons which have 
been made—and which, it is true, will, 
for reasons stated above, apply to the 
vicinity of our more densely populated 
centers, and also to regions of extensive 
forests—a condition at least closely ap- 
proaching that which is claimed as peculiar 
to the British Islands may be found in cer- 
tain favored sections; that is, in those 
parts where bits of deciduous woodland 
and open country alternate, with plenty of 
local variety in the landscape. Such a 
description will apply to a very large por- 
tion of the United States situated between 
the Alleghanies, on the one hand, and the 
Great Plains on the other, although not by 
any means exclusively to that region. The 
writer was once informed by a young Cana 
dian ornithologist—a specially observant 
“ field naturalist ” with a remarkably fine ear 
for bird notes, and able to imitate many with 
great exactness—that during several years’ 
residence in England he never heard finer 
nor more abundant bird music than on the 


—s, 


Song Birds in Europe and America. 


prairies of Manitoba, where the melodious 
and powerful warblings of the Western 
meadowlark were, to his ear, superior in 
richness and strength to the song of the 
famed nightingale, while the silvery trills 
of the Missouri skylark also exceeded in 
sweetness the more powerful, but far from 


musical, rattling warble of the English 
species. 
The writer has on many _ occasions 


heard, early on mornings in May and June, 
grand concerts of bird music, which prob- 
ably would challenge comparison, both as 
to quality and quantity, with any to be 
heard in other portions of the world, ex- 
cepting, probably, the highlands of Mexico, 
which are said, and probably with truth, 
to be without a rival in number and quality 
of songsters. The following list is copied 
from my note-book, and was made during 
the progress of such a concert, the birds 
named singing simultaneously in my 
immediate vicinity. The locality was not 
a particularly favorable one, being two 
miles from a small village, and at least 
three-fourths of the vicinity either heavy 
woodland or wooded swamp. The date 
May 12, and the locality southwestern 
Indiana: 

Four cardinal grosbeaks, three indigo 
buntings, numerous American goldfinches, 
one white-eyed vireo, one Maryland yellow- 
throat, one field sparrow, one Carolina 
wren, one tufted titmouse, one gray-cheeked 
thrush, one yellow-breasted chat, one Lou- 
isiana water-thrush, one red-eyed vireo, 
and two mourning doves—in all thirteen 
species, and at least twice that number of 
individuals! And here is a list of birds 
heard singing one day in June, about the 
edge of a prairie in southern Illinois: Two 
mockingbirds, one brown thrasher, three 
yellow-breasted chats, one warbling vireo, 
one Baltimore oriole, several meadowlarks, 
numerous dickcissels and Henslow’s and 
grasshopper sparrows, one lark sparrow, 
one robin, one towhee, one catbird, one 


129 


wood thrush, one oven bird, one summer 
tanager, several tufted titmice, one red- 
eyed vireo, one Bell's vireo, one white-eyed 
vireo, One cardinal grosbeak, one indigo 
bunting, two Maryland yellow-throats, one 
field sparrow, and one prairie lark—the 
latter a true lark, singing while suspended 
in mid-air, exactly in the manner of a sky- 
lark ; in all, twenty-five species and _per- 
haps fifty individuals. Is such a rich med- 
ley of bird music often, if ever, excelled 
in England? It is true that neither the 
skylark nor the nightingale nor the 
song thrush were included, but they were 
each represented, and well represented 
too; the first, if not by the prairie lark, 
whose manner of singing is identical, but 
whose song is comparatively feeble, then by 
his namesake the meadowlark, of which 
Wilson—himself a Scotchman—says that, 
although it “cannot boast the powers of 
song” which distinguish the skylark, “yet 
in richness of plumage as well as 1 sweet- 
ness of voice * * * stands eminently its 
superior” (italics our own); the second by 
the mockingbird, whose song is unrivalled 
for its combination of richness, variety, 
compass, volubility and vivacity; and the 
third by the brown thrasher, whose ener- 
getic, powerful and untiring melody is 
said to closely resemble in modulation that 
of the song thrush. Not less than half a 
dozen of the remaining species are song- 
sters of very pronounced merit, probably 
equalling, in one quality or another of 
song, the best of European singers, except- 
ing that celebrated trio, the nightingale, 
song thrush and skylark. 

It thus appears that the apparent defi- 
ciency of singing birds in the United States 
is an artificial rather than a natural condi- 
tion, characteristic, so far as the settled or 
cultivated portions are concerned, of the 
more densely inhabited centers, where 
birds have been actually driven off by the 
persecutions of the pot-hunter, to whom 
anything with feathers is game, and by the 


130 


indifference of the population in general. 
There can be no question that the boxes 
put up in the parks of our larger cities for 
the imported European house sparrow, 
which has not a single commendable qual- 
ity, would have attracted bluebirds and 
house wrens, two of our most attractive 
and useful birds, until these would by the 
present time have become as common and 
familiar as their true representatives in 
England—robin redbreast and kitty wren. 
The purple martin—grandest of the swal- 
low tribe—could in the same way have been 
attracted in large and useful numbers to 
the very centers of our largest cities. 

Alexander Wilson, the “ Father of Amer- 
ican Ornithology,’—a Scotchman, by the 
way—and Thomas Nuttall, an English- 
man, both praise our bluebird in unquali- 
fied terms, and also the house wren, the 
purple martin and some others. Hear 
what another Englishman (Captain Saville 
G. Reid, Royal Engineers), says of our 
bluebird, as observed by him. in Ber- 
muda, where it is resident, and, in accord- 
ance with the English custom, rigidly pro- 
tected: 

‘ This is, to my mind, the most delight- 
ful of birds, and certainly the flower of the 
limited flock of Bermuda residents; its 
brilliant plumage, vivacious manners and 
pleasant warble render it an object of in- 
terest to all, while its confiding and fearless 
nature in the breeding season, and the 
number of noxious insects it destroys, cause 
it to be strictly protected throughout the 
islands. The male bird in spring, when 
the sun’s rays illumine his dazzling blue 
plumage, is perfectly lovely; he flashes 
across the road like a ray of azure light, 
and seems actually to blaze with intense 
color from among the sombre foliage of the 
cedars,” 

There is no bird in England—not even 
the semi-domestic robin redbreast—which 
is more easily encouraged to seek human 
society than the bluebird; certainly none 


Song Birds in Europe and America. 


are so beautiful and none more lovable in 
every way. The modest little chipping 
sparrow is even more easily encouraged, 
and it is equally deserving of encourage- 
ment, for, though neither beautiful in plum- 
age nor sweet of voice, he has a trim little 
form, a saucy red cap, and the most confid- 
ing manner, often, in the villages and at 
the farm-houses, attending the meals of the 
family and picking up crumbs which are 
thrown out the door, or, should the table 
be set out on the verandah or beneath the 
arbor, gathering them from among the 
feet of those sitting at the table. This 
trim little bird, which can so easily be made 
a household pet, is extremely useful in de- 
stroying injurious insects, is particularly 
beneficial to the garden, and is specially 
fond of the cabbage worm, of which one 
pair would keep a moderate sized garden 
quite free. The house wren is, as _ his 
name implies, one of our semi-domestic 
birds, and, being exclusively insectivorous, 
is one of the most useful, while his cheer- 
ful, sprightly warble renders him excellent 
good company. Wilson characterizes the 
song of the house wren as “ loud, sprightly, 
tremulous, and repeated every few seconds 
with great animation,” and says that “in 
strength of tone and execution, it is far 
superior” to that of the English species. 
The purple martin, largest, handsomest 
and most musical of all the swallow tribe, 
is not only an agreeable companion, but is 
also extremely useful as a destroyer of in- 
sects, which exclusively constitute its food, 
and as a protection to the farmer from 
hawks and crows, against the depredations 
of which there can be no better safeguard, 
since not one of these predatory birds 
dares approach the vicinity of a pair, much 
less a colony, of purple martins. 

The birds which are specially mentioned 
above are, with the robin and catbird (and, 
west of the Alleghanies, the bluejay), pre- 
eminently our most familiar species; but 
there are many others which are most at 


Song Birds in Europe and America. 131 


home in our orchards or among the shade 
trees along the streets of villages and 
towns, or even sometimes within large 
cities. A good example of this latter class 
is the warbling vireo, which Nuttall char- 
acterizes as a bird “almost confined to our 
villages and even cities.” He says that it 
is “rarely observed in the woods; but 
from the tall trees which decorate the 
streets and lanes, the almost invisible musi- 
cian, secured from the enemies of the for- 
est, is heard to cheer the house and cottage 
with his untiring song,’’ and that he has 
heard it singing as late as October 2. Its 
song, says Mr. Thomas Mcllwraith (in 
“Birds of Ontario’’), “is soft, subdued and 
flowing, like the murmuring of a hidden 
brook in the leafy month of June.’ The 
beautiful yellow warbler is one of our com- 
monest orchard birds ; and if the bluebird is 
the most delightfnl of our birds, this is the 
most lovely, with his plumage of mellowest 
gamboge-yellow, streaked with richest 
chestnut-red on breast and sides, and 
pretty, cheerfulsong. He is not only 
beautifui and tuneful, but useful as a de- 
stroyer of insects infesting fruit trees, 
which constitute his only food. 

This list of familiar, attractive and use- 
ful songsters might be greatly extended ; 
but enough have been mentioned to show 
that the United States is not so badly off 
in the matter of song birds as might ap- 
pear. We have them in abundance, but 
they are treated with indifferen¢e—or, what 
is worse still, subbed by the perverted sen- 
timent which prefers the detestable house 
sparrow to the bluebird, the house wren or 
the purple martin. When that worse than 
useless foreign vagabond was introduced 
to this country, boxes were immediately 
put up for his accommodation, and every 
means taken to protect him. Yet, none of 
our native birds, no matter how useful, 
beautiful or melodious, was considered 
worth the trouble. Had the same steps 


been taken to encourage and protect those 
of our native species which are most wor- 
thy of such attention, there is no question 
that our towns and villages and city parks 
would by this time have become full of 
bluebirds, wrens and other attractive and 
useful birds, whose place is now taken by 
that rank weed among birds, the European 
sparrow. Successful as has been the intro- 
duction of the latter pest, attempts have 
been made to naturalize various European 
song birds, but they have all proven fail- 
ures, as might have been expected had the 
matter been properly considered. It should 
be remembered, in this connection, that 
the climate of this country is exceedingly 
different from that of Europe—especially 
the British Islands—which is characterized 
by milder winters and cooler summers, 
while our winters are severe and with fre- 
quent changes of temperature, and our 
summer heat of tropical intensity. There- 
fore, few of the resident European species 
could stand the vicissitudes of our climate. 
Again, birds which in the mild climate of 
England are resident throughout the year 
would, if brought to this country, be forced 
to migrate or else perish; while migration 
being but an inherited instinct, followed by 
the predecessors of existing individuals of 
each species for thousands of generations, 
this instinct serves them to no purpose ina 
strange country, but, on the other hand, is 
apt to lead them to destruction, since, 
when the season for migration arrives, they 
are as apt to fly directly out to sea as not, 
and thus be destroyed. 

Let us, therefore, instead of continuing 
to deprecate our supposed scarcity of song 
birds and attempting the remedy by futile 
importations of foreign species, encourage 
and rigidly protect those which the bounty 
of nature has provided for us, and of which 
we have every reason to be proud. 


RoBeRT RipGway, 


EN aS ne 


FIFTY COMMON BIRDS 


HEN you begin to study the birds 

in the fields and woods, you should 

make yourself as much a part of the 

scenery as possible, so that they will not 

be frightened by something striking and 
unusual. 

The majority of birds are not afraid of 
man as a figure, but as an active, aggres- 
sive object. The observance of a few sim- 
ple rules will help you to become incon- 
spicuous. 

First—Avoid very light-colored clothing. 

Second—Walk slowly and noiselessly. 

Third—Avoid. all sudden, jerky move- 
ments. 

Fourth—Avoid all talking, or speak only 
in an undertone. 

Fifth—If the bird is singing, and stops 
on your approach, stand still for a few 
moments and encourage him by answering 
his call. If he gets interested, you can 
often creep up within opera glass distance 
without his objecting. 

Sixth—Make a practice of stopping 
often, and standing perfectly still. In that 
way you will hear voices that would be 
drowned by your movement; and the birds 
will come to the spot without noticing you, 
when they would fly away in advance if 
they were to see and hear you walking 
toward them. 

The best way of all is to select a favor- 
able place, and sit there quietly for several 
hours, to see what will come. Then you 
get at the home life of the birds, not mere- 
ly seeing them when they are on their 

(Owing to an oversight the complete title of Miss Merrie 
am’s series of bird sketches was not given in the June Aupu- 
BON, but appears this month, Several of our common birds, 
sketches of which have already appeared in the MaGAzineE, 


will be omitted from Miss Merriam’s series. —Ep1Tor AUDUBON 
MAGAZINE. ] 


*CopyriGHT, 1887, By Florence A. MeRRIAM, 


AUDUBON 


AND HOW 


Il. 


WORKERS.* 


TO KNOW THEM. 


guard. For careful observation in general, 
three rules may be given. 

First—In clear weather be sure to get 
between the sun and your bird. In the 
wrong light a scarlet tanager or an indigo 
bird will look as black as a crow. 

Second—Gaze. Let your eyes rest on 
the trees before you, and if there is any 
movement, you will soon discover your bird, 

Third—Beware of the besetting sin of 
observers. Never jump at conclusions. 
Prove all your conjectures. 

If you take these simple precautions, 
the success of your work will be greatly 
increased. 

PHBE, 

If you class the robin, the bluebird, and 
blackbird together, on account of their strik- 
ing colors, and distinguish the sparrows by 
their striped backs, the common flycatchers 
will readily stand out as unstriped, dull, 
dark, grayish birds, that have light breasts. 
Knowing that their vocal organs are unde- 
veloped, you are not surprised by the abrupt 
call of the phcebe. Although it resembles 
a jerking repetition of pha-de’, pha-be’, it is 
not exactly what the word would indicate. 
The first part of the call is comparatively 
clear, but the second is a longer rasping 
note, making the whole more like pha-rée’, 
pha-réé’, with a heavily trilled r. 

When the birds first begin coming north 
you will hear this, and you will soon re- 
cognize it from barns and sheds, or on 
lawns, in open fields, and along the sides of 
streams. When you have traced the call 
to its source—and it is an excellent habit 
to see every bird whose notes attract your 
attention—the dull slate-colored coat and 
the whitish vest, with its washing of pale 
yellow, is soon forgotten in watching the 
curious habits of the little fellow. 


Flints to Audubon Workers. I 


Somewhat longer than a song sparrow— 
twe thirds as large as a robin—he is strik- 
ingly unlike that cheery, busy little bird. 
There he sits on a branch, in an attitude that 
would scandalize the neat songster. His 
wings droop listlessly at his sides, and his 
tail hangs straight down in the most untidy 
fashion. He seems the personification of 
negligent indifference; but if you focus 
your opera-glass upon him, you will see 
that his wings are vibrating, and his tail 
jerking nervously at intervals. Suddenly 
he starts into the air, snaps his bill loudly 
over the unsuspecting fly he has been 
lying in wait for, and just as suddenly 
settles back on his branch, with a spasmodic 
jerk of the tail. 

And now, as he sits there, looking 
about for another victim, you have a good 
chance to study him through your glass, 
and observe the peculiarities of the bill that 
gave such a resounding “click.” If you 
noticed the bills of the robin and bluebird, 
you saw that they were long, thin and slen- 
der—well fitted for their worm diet—while 
the sparrows, who live mostly on seeds, had 
the short, stout, characteristic finch bill. 
The flycatchers’ bills are especially adapted 
to catching the insects upon which they 
live. At the base there are long, stiff 
bristles, and the upper half of the bill hooks 
over the lower one so securely at the end, 
that when an insect is once entrapped it has 
a small chance of escape. 

The pheebe is very fond of making its 
nest on the beams of horse sheds and under 
bridges, apparently indifferent to the dust 
and noise of its position. 

The nest is an unusually pretty one, and 
looks very soft and luxurious. Both the 
moss that trims it, and the long horse hairs 
that hang from it add to the appearance of 
careless ease. Even the five large white 
eggs have a generous alr. 

Mr. Burroughs describes its nest and hab- 
its in “Wake Robin,” pp. 16, 63, 139, and 
“Birds and Poets,” p. 37-38. 


ios) 
ies) 


MEADOWLARK. 


To a great many people the meadowlark 
is only a voice, but if you follow the rule 
laid down at the beginning of your work 
and are determined to see as well as hear, 
you will have little trouble in finding the 
owner of the plaintive call, that rises so 
mysteriously out of the grass. 

Focus your glass on the meadow and 
then listen carefully for the direction of 
the sound. The lark is a little larger than 
a robin, but, as he is very much the color of 
the dead grass that covers the ground when 
he first comes north, and the dry stubble 
left after the summer mowing, he is hard to 
When you have found him, you dis- 
cover that his general brownish-yellow 
color is relieved by a bright yellow throat, 
below which is a large black crescent. 
When he flies, you recognize him as one 
of the few birds characterized by white 
tail feathers. He nests in the field, laying 
his white speckled eggs in a coil of dried 
grass on the ground. 

The peculiarities of his labored flight are 
exactly described in Shelley’s “Ode to the 
Skylark,” when he says, “Thou dost float 
and run.” Flying seems hard work for 
him, and he does as little of it as possible. 
When he starts up from the meadow, he 
goes in a straight oblique line to the tree he 
wishes to reach. 

The famous song of the European lark 
may be superior to that of our own, but 
the mournful melody of the meadowlark 
is full of poetic suggestions. He is the 
hermit thrush of the meadows, as solitary 
and pensive where the light-hearted bobo- 
link’s song jostles the sunbeams, as the 
lonely hermit is in his dusky forest clois- 


see. 


ter. 
CATBIRD. 


The catbird is one of the most interest- 
ing, and at the same time, most exasperating 
of birds, to the tyro. Like some people, 
he seems to give up all his time to the 


134 Flints to Audubon Workers. 


pleasure of hearing himself talk. He isa 
first cousin of the mockingbird—whom he 
resembles in person much more than in 
voice—and the relationship may account 
for the overweening confidence he has in 
his vocal powers. As a matter of fact, his 
jerky utterance is so strikingly harsh that 
some one has aptly termed it asthmatic. 

The catbird is unmistakably a Bohemian. 
He is exquisitely formed; has a beautiful 
slate-gray coat, set off by a black head and 
tail; by nature he is peculiarly graceful; and 
when he chooses, can pass for the most pol- 
Jshed of the cultured Philistine aristocracy. 
But he cares nothing for all this. With the 
laziness of a self-indulgent Bohemian, he 
sits by the hour with relaxed muscles, and 
wings and tail drooping listlessly. If he 
were a man, you are convinced that he 
would sit in his shirt sleeves at home, and 
go on the street without a collar. 

And his occupation? His cousin is an 
artist, but he—is he a wag as well as a cari- 
caturist, or is he in sober earnest when he 
tries to mimic a Wilson’s thrush? If he is 
a wag, he is a successful one, for he de- 
ceives the unguarded into believing hima 
robin, a cat, and—‘“a bird new to science!” 
How he must chuckle to himself over the 
enthusiasm with which his notes are hailed 
in their different characters, and the be- 
wilderment and crestfallen disgust that 
come to the more diligent observer when 
he finally catches a glimpse of the garrulous 
mimic. 

He builds his nest as he does everything 
else. The great loose mass of coarse twigs, 
heaped together and patched up with pieces 
of newspaper or anything that happens to 
come in his way, looks as if it would hardly 
bear his weight. He lines it, however, with 
fine bits of dark roots, and when the beau- 
tiful green eggs are laid in it, you feel 
sure that such an artistic looking bird must 
take a peculiar pleasure in the contrasting 
colors. 

High trees have an unsocial aspect, and 


so we find him in low bushes on the edge 
of a river, or even by the side of the gar- 
den, enjoying the sun and his own com- 
pany. 

In “Wake Robin,” in the chapter on the 
“Return of the Birds,’ Mr. Burroughs gives 
an interesting instance of the maternal in- 
stinct of the catbird. 


CUCKOO; RAIN CROW. 


A third larger than a robin, the cuckoo 
is a long, slender, olive-brown bird with 
a white breast, and white spots known as 
“thumb marks” on the under side of his 
tail. 

Unless you follow him to his haunts you 
rarely see him. Now and then, perhaps, 
you catch a glimpse of his long brown 
body, as he comes silently out of a clump 
of bushes to disappear with swift straight 
flight in a heavily leaved tree or mass of 
shrubbery where he suspects a fresh supply 
of insects. 

His presence is generally remembered 
by the proverbially prophetic call to which 
he owes the name “rain crow.” 

His nest and eggs resemble those of the 
catbird, but in general a greater contrast 
could not be imagined than between the 
two birds. 

Mr. Burroughs gives an especially happy 
description of him in his “ Return of the 
Birds.” He says: “The cuckoo is one of 
the most solitary birds of our forest, and 
is strangely tame and quiet, appearing 
equally untouched by joy or grief, fear or 
anger. Something remote seems ever 
weighing upon his mind. His note or call 
is as of one lost or wandering, and to the 
farmer is prophetic of rain. Amid the gen- 
eral joy and the sweet assurance of things, 
I love to listen to the strange clairvoyant 
call. Heard a quarter of a mile away, 
from out the depths of the forest, there is 
something peculiarly weird and monkish 
about it. Wordsworths lines upon the 


Tlints to Audubon Workers. 135 


European species apply equally well to 
OUurS:— 
*O blithe new comer! I have heard, 
I hear thee and rejoice; 
O cuckoo! Shall I call thee bird ? 
Or but a wandering voice ? 


‘While I am lying on the grass, 
Thy loud note smites my ear! 

From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
At once far off and near ! 


* * + * 

‘Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! 
Even yet thou art to me 

No bird, but an invisible thing, 


» 


A voice, a mystery. 


BLACK-CAPPED CHICKADEE; TITMOUSE. 


Read Emerson’s “Titmouse’’ and you 
will recognize this charming little creature 
without the help of your glass. Not only 
in the spring and fall, but in the coldest 
winter days his bright ‘ chick-a-dee-dee— 
dee-dee,’ that Thoreau calls “silver tink- 
ling,” rings through the air. When you 
hear it, if you look carefully over the tree, 
you will see a fluffy little body with a black 
hood that is-relieved by whitish side pieces; 
a vest to match the sides of the hood ; and 
a dark gray coat for contrast. 

He is flitting about hither and thither, 
clinging to the side of a tree one minute, 
and picking at the moss on a branch the 
next; and you will hardly catch more than 
a glimpse of his black cap and gray and 
white clothes, unless you come nearer to 
him. If you care for a better view you 
need not be afraid of frightening him, for 
he has the most winning confidence in 
man, inspecting the trees in your front yard 
or those in the woods, with the same un- 
conscious unconcern. 

‘You are inclined to think that the busy 
chickadee takes no time to meditate, and 
sees only the bright side of life; and when 
you hear his plaintive minor whistle echo- 
ing through the woods, you wonder if it 
can have come from the same little creature 


whose merry chick’-a-dee-dee’ you know so 
well. 

This little atom at full breath, 

Hurling defiance at vast death 
never does anything by halves. When he 
is happy, he is the best company one could 
hope for, on a winter’s walk; when he is 
busy he seems the realization of perpetual 
motion; and when he gives up his ordinary 
pursuits and prepares to rear a farnily, he 
goes to work in the same generous fashion. 
He leaves civilization with its many dis- 
tractions, and goes into the woods. Even 
there he is not content to sit on the top of 
anest; and as his bill is too delicate to be 
used as a saw, he fits up an old wood- 
pecker's hole in the side of a stump or a 
dead stub, and retires from the world with 
the determination of a hermit. 

In lining his nest he shows the delicacy 
of taste one naturally expects from him. 
Although the bottom of the nest is a foot 
or more below the hole, it is far prettier 
than most of the bird homes that are on 
exhibition in the forest. Bits of fresh 
green moss give it a dainty air, and bring 
out to the best advantage the dark gray of 
the squirrel or rabbit fur that makes it 
snug and warm One is tempted to won- 
der where the fur came from, and if the 
ardent chickadee tweaked it out of the 
back of some preoccupied squirrel. Per- 
haps the demure little recluse has a spice 
of wickedness after all, and his satisfaction 
in his secure retreat has something of ex- 
ultant mischief in it. 


YELLOWBIRD; AMERICAN GOLDFINCH ; 
THISTLEBIRD. 


Like the chickadee, this is one of the 
captivating little birds that make Audubon 
workers feel most strongly the barbarism 
of the bird-wearing fashion. A trifle larger 
than the titmouse—say a third as large as 
a robin—his slender form fits him for fly- 
ing about in the air, while the chickadee, 
who spends his time flitting around the 


136 


tree trunks and branches, is naturally plump 
and fluffy 

In summer the goldfinch’s black cap, 
black wings and tail set off his bright yel- 
low body to the best advantage, but in 
September he loses his beauty, and, until 
the next April or May, looks very much 
like his plain little wife. His black trim- 
mings are gone, and he has become flaxen- 
brown above, and whitish-brown below, 
altogether commonplace in appearance. 
Perhaps it is his annual humiliation that 
gives him such a sweet disposition ! 

He has the characteristic finch bill—a 
short stout cone well adapted for cracking 
the seeds that form the largest part of his 
diet. He is called thistlebird because of 
his fondness for the seeds of the thistles, 
and you will soon discover that his favorite 
perch is a thistletop. 

He builds quite late in the summer, 
generally in July, sometimes choosing a 
low apple tree and sometimes a crotch in the 
branch of a larger tree, for his nest. But 
wherever it is, the nest is always a dainty 


Sim. 


compact little one, lined with just such soft, 
downy things as one would imagine such a 
bird would select. There is only room for 
four or five eggs, and these are very pale 
blue, unspotted. 

In summer the yellowbird reminds you 
strongly of the canary, and his song carries 
the resemblance still further. His tender, 
plaintive call, however, is much sweeter 
than any of the notes of a canary. 

Bay-bee’, bay-ée-béé, he sings out while 
on the wing, and the rhythm of the notes 
corresponds to that of his peculiar undula- 
ting flight, which Mr. Burroughs has de- 
scribed with such careful detail. 

Of all our common birds, with the ex- 
ception of the hummingbird, the little gold- 
finch is the daintiest, the most fairylike. 
As he flutters his wings a few times, and 
then lets himself float down on the air, too 
happy to do anything but enjoy the blue 
sky and sunshine, he seems a veritable bird 
Ariel. Think of taking the life of such an 
exquisite little creature, to wear him on 


your hat ! 
FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. 


JIM. 


IM was our pet bird. I called him that 
after my boy Jim at home, far off in 

the States. Some day, when you grow up, 
my little friends, you will know what a 
man’s love for his children is, and may you 
be spared the pain of separation from an 
only son! Which would you like to hear 
about first, the boy Jim or the bird Jim? 
Probably the boy, because you will want to 
know why he was away up in the North, 
while his mother and I, and our little daugh- 
ter Ruth, lived in South America, in a city 
named Rio de Janeiro. This is the reason 
why: You know that Brazil is a great cof- 
fee-growing country, do you not? Well, 
my business was shipping coffee to the 
United States, and so we had to live in the 
tropics, where the people are neither indus- 


trious, nor active, nor progressive, and 
where there were no good schools. 

Jim was eight years old—just the age to 
learn, 1am sure you are thinking—so we 
were forced to send him home to a school 
in New York State, while Ruth, our bright, 
dark-eyed girl, was still so young that we 
kept her with us yet awhile. We knew well 
that the day would come, ere long, when 
we would have to send her, too; but we 
never spoke of it. 

Our house stood in a winding, rough- 
paved street, on a high hill leading up from 
the city, and overlooking the blue bay, in- 
closed in its frame of mountains, whose 
peaks are so rugged and fantastic in shape 
and outline. We could see the ships come 
in from sea, and sometimes, with the help 


Jim. 


of a field glass, we could even distinguish 
their names. We had a garden in front of 
the house, and one on either side, and one 
in the rear. In this latter garden we kept 
dozens of chickens—rare, fine breeds—and 
you should have heard how our bird Jim 
mimicked the timid “cheep! cheep!” of the 
tiny chicks, and the important, motherly 
“cluck! cluck! of the old hens, as they 
went bustling around the yard. Jim came 
to us in this manner: 

There is a time of year, in all hot coun- 
tries, when it becomes dangerous to remain 
in the cities, on account of the yellow fever. 
One summer, when I had taken my family 
up into the mountains to a place called 
Palmeiras, little Ruth one day found a 
wounded bird in the woods, near the house, 
where she was walking with Antonio, our 
copeiro, or man-servant. The bird was a 
big, plain, gray fellow—not handsome at 
all—and_ had evidently been bitten by a 
snake or tarantula, a large, hairy and very 
poisonous kind of spider—or some one of 
the venomous creatures that abound in the 
South American forests. Ruth picked him 
up and carried him home, and she nursed 
him, with our help, until ina few days he 
was hopping about and chirping, and was 
almost able to fly. There was a celebrated 
naturalist traveling in Brazil at this time— 
a man of sweet and kindly nature, who 
loved children, as well as all the rest of 
creation, and of whom the little ones were 
never afraid. You can all ask your moth- 
ers his name, little people, and read his 
books, when you are older, and learn about 
his wonderful knowledge and his discoy- 
eries, and above all what a good man he 
was. Well! This great and good man 
came to make usa visit of a few days, at 
our cottage, and small Miss Ruth, nothing 
dismayed, at once brought her half-sick 
bird, wrapped up in a shawl, to show 
him. The professor was delighted. “Why, 
my child, you have rescued a Sadia da 
Pria, the Brazilian mockingbird,” he said; 


137 


“you are a very fortunate little girl. Do 
not let him get away. Ask your father to 
buy you a large cage for him, and when he 
gets well, as he soon will, you will see what 
a famous singer he will prove to be.” Ruth 
clapped her hands and danced around the 
room for very pride and happiness. To 
think that she, her own little self, had found 
this precious Sadia / 

Now, Ruth already possessed a perfect 
menagerie of dogs and cats and birds, and 
a scrap of a monkey, and a naughty rooster 
that was the terror of the neighborhood, 
and what not, but she did not tire of her 
old pets when a new one was given to her, 
as so many children do. She was a loyal, 
faithful little soul, and if Jim was her great- 
est favorite it was not because he was the 
latest arrival in her family, but because she 
had saved his life. 

Jim did grow to be a famous singer. I 
had a roomy, comfortable cage made for 
him to live in, and as he was a young bird, 
he soon grew perfectly at home in his new 
quarters, and seemed bright and contented 
and strong. He began to sing at once, 
every day a little more, every day treat- 
ing us to prettier songs than before. 
After two or three months had passed 
over his head he began to astonish us 
and everybody with his exquisite wild 
notes and his fresh imitations, for you know, 
children, that these birds are called mock- 
ingbirds because they mimic or mock every 
sound they hear. There was nothing, from 
the mewing of cats, the barking of dogs, 
braying of donkeys, neighing of horses, and 
other noises, down to the cry or crow of a 
baby, or human laughter, but what Jim 
could imitate, and well, too. It would have 
made you all laugh to hear him. But be- 
sides these funny imitations, Jim could pour 
forth from his plain gray throat a flood of 
long, entrancing melody that I have never 
heard equalled, and as he was a loud, bril- 
liant and joyous singer, not in the least shy, 
he could be heard, when we took him back 


138 


to the city, after the intense heat and the 
fatal fever season were over, far down the 
hill and far up the hill and “across the hills 
and far away.’ And everywhere around 
our region people would say, “There goes 
little Ruth Mayfield’s wonderful bird Jim, 
singing away to his heart’s content.” 

In my few leisure hours I had tried to 
cultivate Jim's voice, too, and with such 
marked success that he could whistle “The 
Star-Spangled Banner” correctly and clearly 
when he chose. He did not always choose, 
though, and sometimes when we most 
wanted him to “show off,” no coaxing nor 
persuasion would induce him to whistle it. 
He was like some little boys and girls that 
you and I know of, wasn’t he? I believe 
that if my wife or I had had the time, or 
if Ruth, who possessed a perfect ear for 
music, had been old enough to teach him, 
Jim could have been taught to whistle 
any tune. You know, though, that to train 
any pet requires unwearying patience and 
time at one’s command. 

Altogether, Jim was a marvel, and he 
was so tame and had such an affectionate 
disposition, united with his many accom- 
plishments, that we all grew much attached 
to him, especially Ruth. She was very 
proud and very fond of him. Here is a 
letter she sent home to her brother. The 
words, if not the writing and spelling (she 
was only six years old), are strictly her 
own : 


“My DEAR BROTHER: 


“Thope you are well and enjoying yourself. I 
have a new bira, Jim papa named him. Heis ugly. 
Heis big. He has some long legs stiff, and he 
jumps from perch to perch. He is not quiet one 
single minute. Papa bought a great big cage, which 


Letersay 


Sin. 


is all he could live in [the only size that would hold 
him she means]. I admire him better much than all 
my pets. [You see, she would not acknowledge she 
loved him the best.] Mamma says I must give you 
their names. Jollie is a English lark Capt. Gar- 
dener brought to me. He is sad to go home again. 
Punch and Judy is two cardinals, and has red heads. 
Faith, Hope and Charity, and Pride and Prejudice 
[Pide and Pejjidish, in Ruth’s language], which is 
canaries, and sings beautiful, in spite of Jim. Bijou 
is a monkey marmoset, who is cross and snaps, but 
he don’t come up to Dom Pedro, a rooster, who 
fighted a boy. I called my lovely mastiff, that came 
on the ship, Monsieur, and Toddles is a little sweet 
Scotch terrier—oh! so small! Haven't I got a fine 
lot? Jim’s cage is grinded up to the top nights, so 
that no rats, nor cats, nor é/xes will eat him up, and 
he can whistle the Star-Spangled Banner [that Ruth 
pronounced Tar-Pangled Banner], and he can 
whistle and sing the greatest in the world. Good- 
bye. From your affectionate little sister, 
““RuTH MAYFIELD.” 


As Ruth stated, though perhaps you did 
not quite understand what she meant, we 
were so afraid lest any harm should come 
to our Jim from &xos (a Brazilian word, 
which means any kind of hurtful or despised 
thing, or animal, or insect), we had his cage 
fastened to ropes in the ceiling, and every 
night we lifted him gently up by means of 
pulleys. One night we heard a fearful 
crash. We hurried out into the room where 
Jim slept, and found that his cage had 
fallen clear down to the hard tiled floor. 
Whether it was that the rafters of the old 
house were rotten and had given way, or 
whether the rats had gnawed the ropes, or 
indeed what had caused the accident, we 
could never just tell. Certain it was that 
the cage was prostrate and Jim, our brave, 
noble singer, lay dead. ‘The fall had broken 
his neck. 

H. E. MAYFIELD. 


ao 


bt ACU DUE. O Ne NOU Ba. B.O'O'K, 


MEMBERSHIP RETURNS. 
THE number of registered members at 1st of June 
was 32,670, showing an increase of 2,714 for the 
month, distributed as follows : 


NWN OMG cies c= csteuizs ve 643) Minnesotave sce scree ee ce 13 
Pennsylvania............. 540) Loucsiania\cscscsciesseekcs 
Massachusetts............ 225 Connecticut .........-.... 
Dry] GES retoeeer Looaee 171 West Virginia 


OMG Ss). se25200 seasces 130 District of Columbia. 12 
VEICIIPANS «<= Ficieae civics in -% 1zt California I 
MISSOUKI. «<0 2 cen scons 193 Vermont....... 6 
New Hampshire.......... 45 Tennessee 
USS esac osenssa60555 720 Georgia -c<5 oes so cee 
PRCeIPTICIOV cin's o1iu tie /sisiore ce - 7M aKyiand ene cscci cone 
DOLE co acge anbeg Seonten 2Wlowaiscs.<.s-55 
North Carolina........... 12 New Mexico. 
Rhode Island............- ate Montane ae) aces 
SU MOISseaisisicl=m.-1-) sei) <= a\< 7B) Wisconsin’. --.5.-i..=secss<, XO 
‘ai Dominion of Canada ..... 113 
European Countries...... 23 
2,714 


C. F. AMERY, General Secretary. 


SLAUGHTER IN FLORIDA. 

AN extract from a letter written from Pinecastle, 
Florida, by Mr. J. Summerlin, gives some idea of the 
difference in numbers of the Florida birds now and 
a few years ago. No law and no sentiment protects 
the birds in that State, and they are butchered an- 
nually by tens of thousands. It is to be hoped that 
the Florida Legislature, which is now in session, may 
soon take steps to remedy this evil. Mr. Summerlin 
says: ‘‘Through my long meanderings I watched 
closely for birds and deer. I saw but a few hundred 
birds where formerly I had seen from ten to twenty 
thousand. I met plenty of hunters with buggies and 
wagons loaded with bird plumes. The birds were 
killed at a season of the year when they were rearing 
their young. On passing the rookeries where the 
hunters had been a few days previous, the screams 
and calls of the starving young birds were pitiful to 
hear. Some were just fledged, while others were so 
young that they could make but little noise. But all 
must inevitably starve to death. I asked several of 
the hunters how many young birds were thus des- 
troyed through their cruelty, and their estimation was 
two to four young birds for each plume they had 
secured. I cannot describe the horror it gave me to 
hear the pitiful screams of the dying little birds. 
From the number of plumes the hunters had it is but 
fair to estimate that within thirty days, in Brevard 
county alone, twelve hundred birds have been shot 
for their plumes. Cannot our legislators put a stop 
to this destruction of the birds, as they are innocent 


and do no one any harm, while their beautiful plum- 
age is one of the attractions of Florida. In the 
southern part of the State the birds begin pluming in 
February. Then the hunting begins and continues 
until May.” 


THE AUDUBON BADGE. 

Ir has been decided to issue the Audubon badge 
proposed in our June Note Book. Almost everybody 
seems to want it; the young because it is ornamental 
and distinctive, and the older ones because it is a 
silent assertion of principles, and calculated to pro- 
voke inquiry, paving the way to a natural and easy 


discussion of the Society and its objects. To the 
young, moreover, it will be a constant reminder of 
their pledges. The badge will be of coin silver as 
already stated. The die is in course of preparation, 
and orders will be registered forthwith. Price fifty 
cents. Send postal note or stamps to Forest and 
Stream Publishing Co., 40 Park Row, New York. 


A LITTLE GIRL’S OWL. 


RIVERSIDE, Ohio, June 2. 

My dear Amy—Do you remember the old tree that 
we used to climb last summer? Two owls have 
built a nest in it, and they have little ones. Last 
week one of the little owls got out of the nest and 
lost his way and we found him and we brought him 
home and put him in the hen coop in the yard. The 
next day what do you think we found? At the door 
of the coop a big fat mouse just killed. The next 
day two dead birds were lying by the coop. The old 
owls have found out where the little owl is and they 
come at night and bring him food. I think we shall 
keep him until he gets tame. I have never seen a 
pet owl, have never you? Don’t you forget to write 
to me about your birthday. ‘ 

Your loving cousin, 
Lucy 2 

This letter was never intended for publication; it 
reached Cousin Amy as directed, and we hope inter- 
ested her, but she lost it. Fortunately it was found 
on the street by one of our correspondents, who 
thought it would be a nice letter to send to all the 
readers of the AUDUBON. We donot know Lucy E., 
but for all that, we feel quite sure it is a true story. 
Evidently the old bird was satisfied that Lucy wanted 


to care for the young one and fill a mother’s place, 


140 The Audubon Note Book. 


but what could Lucy know about feeding young owls ? 
If the mother bird had fed the young one herself at 
night, Lucy would be none the wiser, but by putting 
the dead mouse and small birds down outside the 
coop she gave Lucy full instruction in her duties. 
Let us hope she did not get small birds for it, but 
that she kept the trap constantly set and provided the 
owlet with an abundance of good fat mice. 


SMASHED BIRDS. 


Tue following extracts from a paper by Mrs. H. 
R. Haweis recently printed in the London magazine 
#elgravia, will be sure to interest all members of the 
Audubon Society: 


A corpse is never a really pleasant ornament; 
most people with a real feeling for beauty will agree 
with me. Holbein painted one with terrible truth to 
nature. Other old masters, equally great, painted 
many corpses, but they were all painted with a motive 
—to startle, not to tickle, the pulses. All the ideas 
awakened by such an image are charne//e, not joyous; 
and the primary object of all decorations is to give 
joy and pleasure, to appeal through the eye to the 
happiest emotions, which a corpse does not do—even 
when it has glass eyes. * * * 

When I was in America two years ago, in many 
ways the pleasantest tour I ever made, I found a 
fashion rife which had not yet submerged England, 
the fashion of wearing huge birds, mostly ina rather 
smashed state, on the head gear. When I went into 
a car of a morning, I could not help immediately 
counting half a dozen smashed birds; I changed toa 
second, nine smashed birds met my gaze; went into 
a third, sixteen smashed birds. Along the street 
every other woman had a smashed bird on her head, 
every bonnet shop was full, and at Boston, where, 
the weather being rainy, black waterproofs were com- 
monly worn by all classes, this gay-colored smashed 
bird peering from the macintosh hood, ever and aye, 
struck me as quite comic. I have seen a gray parrot 
put to this use, and I constantly saw gulls towering 
two feet from the face. * * * 

Since then the disease has reached England. We 
too spatchcock on us, back or front, monstrosities 
which set some of us wondering whether they are 
most heartless or most hideous. The raggedest girl 
can clap a smashed bird on her smashed bonnet, and 
she does it. If she cannot afford to buy one, she 
can trap a young sparrow, tread on it, and pin it to 
her unkempt head. The richest leader of fashion is 
radical enough to keep her in countenance, for in 
England equality of women is a furor; and there no 
longer exists the prejudice that ‘‘what everybody 
does” is ‘‘vulgar’’—indeed, vulgarity is a cult in 
more ways than one, by reaction. From America 
comes our levelling tendency, from America our 
smashed bird. Let us take from America now the 
example set by her most cultivated ranks, and dis- 
courage the indiscriminate slaughter of creatures so 
useful and beautiful in their proper places, in order 
to put them to an unnatural use in pursuit of—it 
sounds ironical to say beauty and joy—so we must 
say ugliness and pain. America’s Audubon Society 
did not actually precede our Selborne Society; but it 
is ay times as active, and therefore fifty times as 
useful, 


Now, the reason I did not like these smashed birds 
was (1) because I am acquainted with live birds, 
and the agonized attitudes vexed my eye. The poor 
impaled beasts seemed to cry aloud from the hat, 
“Help me! I am in torture.” They seldom had 
their limbs in the right places; generally the head 
down, one wing up, the other—well, occasionally on 
the contrary side of a bow—and the legs splayed out 
like horns. Miserable it was toan art student. (2.) 
A big bird, even when properly placed, legs below, 
head up, and a wild hilarity in its eye, is a consider- 
able weight, and such a burden is out of place at the 
edge or front of a hat. A living bird could not stand 
there; the head could not bear the weight. A live 


pigeon weighs one pound, a gull from two and one - 


quarter to five pounds, and therefore its being there 
in effigy contradicted the canons of good taste. 

Visiting North Devonshire not long ago, Lee and 
Morthoe, I noticed that never a bird’s song struck 
the ear; one never sawa bird. I was told the wise 
and intelligent natives had long waged war on small 
birds; and what was the result? Why, that hardly 
a single walk could be taken in the woods for the 
mass of slugs that lay all over the rich grass every- 
where, sometimes in uncounted numbers, only four 
or five feet apart—slugs so huge that they reminded 
one of snakes, only that a snake is less disgusting, 
and has better manners; at least it will politely re- 
move itself when it sees you coming. The brutal 
slug is like the slimy lounger, heavy with drink or 
selfishness, who will bar your way without apology, 
when there is no road but past a public house. 

Pretty Lee was a purgatory tome thus; which 
ever green glade I sought to penetrate, Fafner 
barred my progress, and stretched and yawned in 
his vile content at being too horrible tocrush. Why 
were these disgraceful slugs fattening all over De- 
von? Because the birds were writhing on hats or 
hanging in tatters on barn doors, And snails, ear- 
wigs, all the grubs and beetles one can think of 
avenged the birds on the farmers’ crops and the 
gentry’s pleasaunces. The ‘‘caterpillars innumer- 
able’? eat more than the birds did. In vain the 
indignant farmer's wail! God is ‘‘on the side of the 
big battalions,” even when the army is of slugs, 
and it is of no use praying for good harvests while 
we make them impossible. Much of the failure of 
crops and the fall in the value of land and home 
produce is directly traceable to our interference with 
the proper balance of nature in her creatures. 

However, were the fashion of wearing mangled 
birds and beasts on the head really pretty and pleas- 
ant to the educated eye, no consideration for farmer 
or innocent pedestrian could be expected to touch 
the thoughtless votaries of 4a mode. Still less can 
they be touched on the sentimental side—have not 
some leathern girls danced at balls with a trimming 
of robin redbreasts on their half-clad forms ?—and 
questions of cruelty are certainly best discussed dis- 
tinct from questions of beauty. I have never been 
unphilosophic enough to argue the question of dress 
from the moral side, though I may nurse a private 
opinion that a moral side exists and has a most deep 
influence, because dress is an index to character. 
And it is only because so many pretty faces on both 
sides the Atlantic have been spoilt by this smashed- 
bird excrescence of sick fancy, that I venture to al- 
lude to the farmer as above, who deserves scant 
pity, no doubt, while himself remains the worst 
naturalist. 


The Audubon Note Book. 


My readers may be glad to know that when rural 
property and rural pleasure in America were seen to 
be in danger through thoughtless shooting by boys 
and indiscriminate trapping by milliners’ envoys, 
when entire species were disappearing from the 
groves and fens, the lovely hummingbird extermi- 
nated in several places, the innocent bobolink and 
others becoming extinct, the American Ornitholo- 
gists’ Union got an act passed for the protection of 
birds other than game birds, and their nests and 
eggs. (The game birds were already under pro- 
tection.) The Audubon Society set itself to create a 
public sentiment in support of the law. The active 
members endeavored to enlighten the crass ignorance 
of the common people by instructing them in the 
important functions performed by birds in planting 
seeds, fertilizing virgin and poor soil, devouring 
young grubs, chrysalides, and flies on the wing, and 
many more ways. They popularized “‘dry”’ scien- 
tific reports on natural history of all kinds, and 
taught those classes whose liberty was restrained by 
the prohibitive acts w/y legislation was vital, and 
what would be the consequences of indifference. 
The Society rapidly grew to immense proportions, 
and one of the first effects was the reduction of the 
odious fashion of wearing smashed birds. * * * 


THE EDITOR’S TALK. 


The Band of Mercy and Humane Educator, pub- 
lished by the Young American Humane Union of 
Philadelphia, and edited by Mrs. Charles Willing, 
who contributes a goodly share of the original mat- 
ter, is a modest little monthly of eight pages octavo. 
Mrs. Willing has not been able to give 7he Band oy 
Mercy that wide circulation which its general excel- 
lence merits and which she craves, not for the sake 
of the dollars and dimes, but because its pleasant 
pages contain seeds of pure and healthy thought 
which she would like to see fertilizing and shaping 
the characters of the young people in all the pleasant 
land of Penn. We are told that the subscriptions 
barely cover the costs of a single month’s issue. 
This is not as it should be; not as it would be if the 
little sheet were better known. It is full of charm- 
ing stories, original and culled, every one of which 
possesses an educational value. 


It does not take very long to skim through Ow 
Dumb Animals, but one turns from its perusal re- 
freshed. Written in advocacy of mercy to our dumb 
friends, there is no taint of maudlin sentimental- 
ity about it, but every line is breezy, healthful and 
robust, with a vein of pleasant humor peering through 
the crannies. Every sentence of matter pertaining 
to the affairs of the Massachusetts Society for the 
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is accentuated by 
the strong individuality of its robust founder and 
president, Geo. T. Angell, and the gleanings, which 
by the way are always conscientiously acknowledged, 
bear no less evidence of good judgment in their 


I4I 


selection. It is necessary to the success of such an 
undertaking as the Mass. Soc. P. C. A., that its 
director should have the faculty of putting his hands 
into other people’s pockets. Many accomplish 
more or less in this direction by dint of laborious 
effort and in spite of every attempt to elude them, 
but Geo. T. Angell stands out as an artist in this 
department. The slipping in of his hand is accom- 
panied by such an agreeable sensation that when 
thus engaged people crowd around him like children 
around a fond father engaged in a game of romps 
with them, shouting, ‘me next;”’ and the money 
thus won could hardly be applied to a worthier pur- 
pose. The dry statistics of achievement do not in 
any sense represent the measure of good work done. 
That must be sought in the growing sentiment that 
is ever contracting the field for repressive measures. 
We congratulate Geo. T. Angell on having found a 
field of labor so favorable to his own healthy devel- 
opment. 


It is pleasant to us to see success achieved by 
others working on the same lines as we and in kin- 
dred fields. The success of our big brother Fovest 
and Stream in creating a sentiment among sports- 
men in favor of game protection, the substitution 
of clay-pigeons for live birds at shooting matches, 
together with the rapid development of humane 
societies, are indications that a healthy sentiment is 
permeating all classes, and prophetic of success to be 
achieved in the field we have made exclusively our 
own. And this is a wide field. With us it is no 
mere plea for mercy to the creature under our con- 
trol. We found a people blindly believing that the 
birds which were given to man to be with him, were 
so many competitors with him for the fruits of the 
earth—standing between him and sole possession, 
and it is our chosen task to undermine this fatal 
delusion and guide the nation to the realization of 
the fact that all birds, each in its own way, perform 
functions so vitally essential to human well-being 
that our own best interests are involved in their con- 
tinuance. 


In consequence of the press of matter this month, 
both ‘‘Charley” and ‘“‘Byram and Ghopal” have had 
to stand over. As regards Byram and Ghopal, they 
are only casual acquaintances as yet and will not be 
much missed; moreover, they who are interested in 
them may be assured that they will have abundant 
opportunity to travel many a stage in company with 
them. As to Charley, he indulges in such extra- 
ordinary adventures that nobody knows what will 
be the end of him. He was all right at last accounts, 
and left us a couple of his journeys, which will be 
published as early as we have space for them. 


142 The Audubon Society. 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY FOR THE PROTEC- 
TION OF BIRDS. 


HE AUDUBON SOCIETY was founded in New York 
city in February, 1886. Its purpose is the protection of 
American birds, not used for food, from destruction for mer- 
cantile purposes. The magnitude of the evil with which the 
Society will cope, and the imperative need of the work which 
it proposes to accomplish, are outlined in the following state- 

ment concerning 

THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS. 

Within the last few years, the destruction of our birds has 
increased at a rate which is alarming. ‘his destruction now 
takes place on such a large scale as to seriously threaten the 
existence of a number of our most useful species, It is carried 
on chiefly by men and boys who sell the skins or plumage to 
be used for ornamenta purposes- principally for the trimming 
of women's hats, bonnets and clothing. These men kill every- 
thing that wears feathers. The birds of the woods, the birds 
of the field, the birds of the marsh and those of the sea are 
alike slain, at all times and at all seasons. It matters not if 
the bird be a useful one which devours the hurtful insects 
which destroy the farmer's crops, or a bright-plumaged song- 
ster whose advent has been welcomed in spring, and which has 
reared its brood in the door yard during the summer, or a 
swift-winged sea swallow whose flight along the shore has often 
with unerring certainty led the fisherman to his finny prey— 
whatever it be, it must be sacrificed to the bird butcher's lust 
for slaughter and for gain. Besides the actual destruction of 
the birds, their numbers are still further diminished by the 
practice of robbing their nests in the breeding season. 

Although it is impossible to get at the number of birds killed 
each year, some figures have been published which give an 
idea Of what the slaughter must be. We know that a single 
local taxidermist handles 30,000 bird skins in one year; thata 
single collector brought back from a three months trip 11,000 
skins; that from one small district on Long Island about 70,000 
lirds were brought to New York in four months time. In New 
York one firm fea on hand February 1, 1886, 200,000 skins. 
The supply is not limited by domestic consumption. Ameri- 
can bird skins aresent abroad, The great European markets 
draw their supplies from all over the world. In London there 
were sold in theca months from one auction room, 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazilian bird skins, and 56,389 East Indian birds. 
In Paris 100,000 African birds have been sold by one dealer in 
one year. One New York firm recently had a contract to 
supply 40,000 skins of American birds to one Paris firm. These 
figures tell their own story—but it is a story which might be 
known even without them; we may read it plainly enough in 
the silent hedges, once vocal with the morning songs of birds. 
and in the deserted fields where once bright plumage flashed 
in the sunlight. 

BIRDS, INSECTS AND CROPS, 

The food of our small birds consists very largely of the 
insects which feed on the plants grown by the farmer. These 
insects multiply with such astoundin rapidity that a single 

air may in the course of one season be the progenitors of six 

illions of their kind. All through the season at which this 
insect life is most active, the birds are constantly at work 
destroying for their young and for themselves, tens of thou- 
sands of hurtful creatures, which, but for them, would swarm 
upon the farmer's crops and lessen the results of his labors. 

A painstaking and ardent naturalist not very lon ago 
watched the nest of a pair of martins for sixteen hours, from 4 
A. M. till 8 P. M., just to see how many visits the parent birds 
made to their young. He found that in that time 312 Visits to 
the four young were made, 119 by the male and 193 by the 
female. ff we suppose only six insects to have been Droshe 
at cach visit, this pair of birds would have destroyed, for their 
young alone, in this one summer's day, not far from 2,000 
insects. The important relations which our birds bear to the 
agricultural interests and so to the general welfare, are recog= 
nized by the governments of all our States. Laws exist for 
their protection, but these laws are rendered inoperative by 
the lack of an intelligent public sentiment to support them, 
They are nowhere enforced, It is for the interest of every 
one that such a public sentiment should be created, 

It is time that this destruction were stopped. 

PURPOSE OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

To secure the protection of our birds by awakening a better 
sentiment, the Audubon Society, named after the greatest of 
American ornithologists, has been founded, The objects 
sought to be accomplished by this Society are to prevent as far 
as possible — 

(x) The killing of any wild bird not used for food, 

(2) Tlie taking or destroying of the eggs or nests of any wild 
birds, 

(3) The wearing of the feathers of wild birds, Ostric’s 
feathers, whether from wild or tame birds, and those of domes- 
tic fowls, are specially exempted. 

The Audubon Society aims especially to preserve those 


birds which are now practically without protection. Our 
pepe birds are already protected by law, and in large measure 
y public sentiment, and their care may be left to the sports- 
man. The great aim of the Society is the protection of 
American non-game birds, The English sparrow is not 
included in our lists, 
PLAN OF THE WORK. 

Obviously the Society cannot supply any machinery of com- 
pulsion to lead individuals and communities to a higher 
regard for bird life and to efforts for its protection. Nor are 
compulsory measures thought necessary. The wrong is toler- 
ated now only because of thoughtlessness and iedaerence 
The birds are hulled for millinery ;urposes. So long as fashion 
demands bird feathers, the birds will be slaughtered, The 
remedy is to be found in the awakening of a healthy pub- 
lic sentiment on the subject. If this enormous destruction of 
birds can once be put in its true light before the eyes of men 
and women and young folks, if interest be aroused and senti- 
ment created, the great wrong must cease. Toso present the 
case to the people as to awaken this corrective sentiment is the 
special sone contemplated by the Audubon Society. The 
methods adopted are very simple. Pledges are furnished, sub- 
scription to which constitutes membership, and certificates 
are issued to members. 

TERMS OF MEMBERSHIP. 

The signing of any o! the pledges will qualify one for mem- 
bership in the Society. It is earnestly desired that each mem- 
ber may sign all three of the pledges, Beyond the promise 
contained in the pledge no obligation nor responsibility is in- 
curred. There are no fees, nor dues, nor any expenses of any 
kind, There are no conditions as to age. The boys and girls 
are invited to take part in the work, for they can often do 
more than others to practically protect the nesting birds. All 
who are interested in the subject are invited to become mem- 
bers, and to urge their friends to join the Society. If each 
man, woman or child who reads this circular will exert his or 
her influence, it will not take long to enlist in the good work a 
great number of people aczively concerned in the protection of 
our birds. It is desired that members may be enrolled in every 
town and village throughout the land, so that by the moral 
weight of its influence this Society may check the slaughter of 
our beautiful songsters. The beneficent influence of the 
Audubon Society should be exerted in every remotest by-way 
where the songs of birds fill the air, and in every crowded city 
phere the plumes of slain songsters are worn as an article of 

ress, 
ASSOCIATE MEMBERS. 

As there are a very great number of people in full sympathy 
with the Audubon movement, and ready to lend it their moral 
support, but who refrain from joining the Society simply be- 
cause they find it distasteful to sign a pledge, it has been 
determined to forma class of Associate Members. ane one 
expressing his or her sympathy with the objects of the udu- 
bon Society and submitting a written request for membership 
to any local secretary, will be enrolled on the list of Associate 
Members. All such applications for membership received by 
local secretaries of the Society should be forwarded to the 
General Secretary for registration. 

LOCAL SECRETARIES, : 

The Society has local secretaries in cities, towns and villages. 
The local secretary will furnish this circular of information 
and pledge forms; will receive the signed pledges, i a list 
of the members, forward a duplicate list with the pledges for 
enrollment and file at the Society's office; and will receive in 
return certificates of meinbership, to be filled out and signed 
by the local secretary and given to the members. No certi~ 
ficate of membership will be issued to ony Pan except upon 
the receipt of a signed pledge at the o} fice of the Society. 
Where no local secretar 5 yet been appointed, individual 
applicants for membership may address the Society at its 

ce, No. 40 Park Row, New York. ae 

If there is no local secretary in your town, you are invited 
to act as such yourself, or to hand this to some other perso 
who will accept the office. Upon application we will supply 
copies of this circular and pledge forms. 

THE AUDUBON SOCIETY CERTIFICATE, : 

The Society furnishes to each member a handsome certificate 
of membership, This bears a portrait of the great naturalist, 
John James Audubon, atter whom the Society very appro- 
priately takes its name. Z 

The office of the Society is at 4o Park Row, New York city. 
All communications ehoulA be addressed 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY, 
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Achilles, the greatest warrior of the elder world, could only 
receive his death wound in his heel. Many men and women 
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upon the foot, discovering all too late that this was a y 
part of the body. Wet feet, cold feet, hot and perspiring feet, 
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protect them from the rapid and extreme changes of our 


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These Shoes are especially designed to take the place of the 
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People out of town should send for Illustrated 
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144 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


THE’ SCHCOL OF Hoy: 


Let the school of home be a good one. 
Let the reading at home be such as to 
quicken the mind for better reading still; 
for the school at home is progressive. 


The baby is to be read to. What shall 
mother and sister and father and brother 
read to the baby? 

BabyLanp. Babyland rhymes and jingles; 
great big letters and little thoughts and 
words out of BABYLAND. Pictures so easy 
to understand that baby quickly learns the 
meaning of light and shade, of distance, 
of tree, of cloud. The grass is green; the 
sky is blue; the flowers—are they red or 
yellow? That depends on mother’s house- 
plants. Baby sees in the picture what she 
sees in the home and out of the window. 

BaByLANbD, mother’s monthly picture- 
and-jingle primer for baby’s diversion, and 
baby’s mother-help. 

Babies are near enough alike. 
LAND fits them all; 50 cents a year. 
to D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 


One Bapy- 
Send 


What, when baby begins to read for her- 
self? Why Aerself and not Azmself? Turn 
about is fair play—If man means man and 
woman too, why shouldn't little girls in- 
clude the boys? 

Our Lirrte Men and WOMEN is an- 
other monthly made to go on with. Basy- 
LAND forms the reading habit. Think ofa 
baby with the reading habit! After a little 
she picks up the letters and wants to know 
what they mean. The jingles are jingles 
still; but the tales that lie below the jingles 
begin to ask questions. 

What do Jack and Jill go up the hill 
after water for? Isn't the water down hill? 
Baby is outgrowing BABYLAND. 

Our LirtLe Men anp WOMEN comes 
next. No more nonsense. ‘There is fun 
enough in sense. The world is full of in- 
teresting things; and, if they come to a 
growing child not in discouraging tangles 


but an easy one at a time, there is fun 
enough in getting hold of them. That is 
the way to grow. Our LirTLe MEN AND 
Women helps such growth as that. Begin- 
nings of things made easy by words and 
pictures; not too easy. The reading habit 
has got to another stage. 

You may send a dollar to D, Lothrop 
Company, Boston, for such a school as that 
for one year. 


Then comes THE Pansy with stories of 
child-life, tales of travel at home and 
abroad, adventure, history, old and new 
religion at home and over the seas, and 
roundabout tales on the International Sun- 
day School Lesson. 

Pansy the editor; THe Pansy the maga- 
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dollar a year for THE PANsy. 


The reading habit is now pretty well es- 
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liking for useful reading; and useful read- 
ing leads to learning. 

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hearty, not to say heavy. No, it isn’t 
heavy, though full as it can be of practical 
help along the road to sober manhood and 
womanhood. Full as it can be? There is 
need of play as well as of work; and WipE 
AWAKE has its mixture of work and rest 
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Send D. Lothrop Company, Boston, $2.40 
a year for WIDE AWAKE. 


Specimen copies of all the Lothrop mag- 
azines for fifteen cents; any one for five— 
in postage stamps. 


\ 
“ 
— 

~ 


THE WOOD THRUSH 


(Zurdus mustelinus GMEL.) 


Tue AuDUBON MAGAZINE. 


\itors ae 


JOHN 


AUGUST, 1887. 


JAMES 


Vil. 


N September, 1828, the naturalist left 
London for Paris. One of his first 
acts on reaching that city was to call, in 
company with Swainson, on the great 
Cuvier, whose advice and recommendation 
were of the greatest service to him. He 
also met Geoffroy St. Hilaire. Cuvier’s 
report on Audubon’s work to the Academy 
of Sciences was extremely favorable—even 
laudatory. Coming from the pen of so 
learned a man, it carried the greatest pos- 
sible weight. Audubon soon found, how- 
ever, that the price of the work was so large 
that there was little hope of obtaining many 
subscribers in France. 

At the end of October, 1828, he returned 
to London, and settled down to a winter of 
hard work, during which he painted among 
other things the large picture of the eagle and 
the lamb, and the dogand pheasants. Mean- 
time the work on his plates had been going on 
without interruption. For some time, how- 
ever, his thoughts had been turned toward 
America, and in the early spring he decided 
to revisit this country, and after a long and 
stormy voyage in the packet ship Columbia 
he arrived in New York in April. Most of 
the summer and autumn was occupied in 
excursions to New Jersey and Pennsylvania 
for the purpose of studying the birds of the 
different regions, and then crossing the 
Alleghanies he went by steamboat to Louis- 
ville, where he saw his son Victor, and then 


No. 7 
AUDUBON. 
to Bayou Sara, where his wife was. Here 


he remained until January, always busily 
occupied in studying the habits of birds, 
looking for new species, and making draw- 
ings of those birds and mammals which 
were needed to complete his series. His 
earnestness and energy excited the wonder 
of those to whom the delights of studying 
nature were unknown. Having made many 
needed additions to his collections, he began 
to think of returning to England to look 
after the progress of his work there. Early 
in January he started for Louisville, accom- 
panied by Mme. Audubon, and after a short 
stay there, went to Washington, where he 
met President Jackson and many other well- 
known men of the time. Stopping on the 
way at Baltimore and Philadelphia, he went 
on to New York, where he and his wife em- 
barked for England. In London he found 
his work progressing to his satisfaction, and 
learned that his subscription list had fallen 
away scarcely at all. There, too, he learned 
that he had been elected a Fellow of the 
Royal Society, an honor which he highly 
appreciated. 

Now money began to be needed to push 
on the work of engraving his plates, for 
some of his subscribers failed to pay their 
subscriptions promptly. Audubon, there- 
fore, had recourse once more to his facile 
pencil, and soon obtained the necessary 
funds. Then, with Mme. Audubon, he 


148 


started out to find new subscribers, and 
after visiting several English towns, finally 
arrived at Edinburgh, where they spent the 
winter. 

Soon after his arrival in Edinburgh, 
Audubon began the preparation of his “Orni- 
thological Biography of the Birds of Amer- 
ica.” In this he was somewhat at a dis- 
advantage, on account of his imperfect 
knowledge of English. He was fortunate 
enough to secure for assistance in this 
work the services of William MacGillivray 
of Edinburgh, a naturalist and anatomist 
fully qualified to correct the somewhat 
rough manuscript which Audubon turned 
over to him. The work went on through 
the winter, and by hard and unceasing 
effort the first volume was completed early 
in March, 1831, and was enthusiastically 
received. 

In September, 1831, Audubon returned 
once more to America; this time with the 
object of proceeding to the South and West, 
where he felt sure there were many varieties 
of birds wholly unknown to him. The 
winter he spent in East Florida, and late in 
the following summer, accompanied by 
Mme. Audubon and his two sons, he madea 
journey to Maine, of both of which excur- 
sions he has left most interesting accounts, 
which will be referred to later. 

In the autumn Audubon decided to send 
his son Victor to England to superintend 
the engraving of the “Birds,” and to look 
after his English interests, wishing himself 
to spend another year in America. 

That winter and the next summer Audu- 
bon spent in Boston working on old draw- 
ings, making sketches of new birds, and 
taking short excursions to the surround- 
ing country, the longest of which was to 
Labrador, a journey occupying three months. 
On his return, after resting in New York 
for three weeks, and sending thirty draw- 
ings to England, the indefatigable natural- 
ist started once more for Florida, taking 
with him Mme, Audubon and his son John 


Sohn Fames Audubon. 


In Philadelphia, instead of gaining subscrip- 
tions for his book, he was arrested for an 
old partnership debt, and had it not been 
for the kind offices of his friend, William 
Norris, he would have been imprisoned. 
This occurrence inspired him with some 
rather bitter reflections in regard to his 
former business transactions. After this 
unpleasant experience they journeyed slowly 
southward, stopping in Washington to try 
to arrange for Government aid in an expedi- 
tion to the Rocky Mountains, which he even 
then contemplated. He received but little 
encouragement from General Cass, then 
Secretary of War. Proceeding southward 
they reached Charleston, where they were 
hospitably received by the Rev. John Bach- 
man. ‘The expedition to Fiorida was for 
the time abandoned, and the winter was spent 
near Charleston. Then, owing to pressing 
letters from his son Victor, urging his 
return to England, Audubon journeyed 
north, and in April, 1834, with his wife and 
son John, he sailed from New York for 
Liverpool. There is very little of interest 
to record for some months after Audubon’s 
arrival in England. His time was spent in 
looking for subscribers to his book, and in 
work connected with it until the autumn of 
1834, when he removed his family to 
Edinburgh, where they spent eighteen 
months, during which time Audubon was 
principally occupied in writing. 

After leaving Edinburgh the Audubon 
family settled in London, and there the 
naturalist left his wife and eldest son, while 
he with John returned to America to make 
his long deferred journey to the South. It 
was doubtless a great joy to Audubon to be 
once more in America, and he spent some 
months in visiting Boston, Philadelphia and 
Washington, and in renewing his acquaint- 
ance with his old friends, but the serious 
object of his journey was not forgotten, 
and the early autumn of 1836 found him in 
Charleston. He made short excursions to 
the neighboring sea islands and to Florida, 


The Wood Thrush. 


but owing to the Seminole war, which was 
then raging, he was unable to penetrate 
far into the interior of the country. Finally 
he left Charleston for Texas, with the ob- 
ject of exploring the coast of the Gulf of 
Mexico. 

It was during this winter spent in Charles- 
ton that his work on the “Quadrupeds of 
North America” was begun. The Texas ex- 
pedition, which occupied two months, was not 
particularly satisfactory, and was a great 
strain upon Audubon’s strength. He was 


THE 


Y far the sweetest songster among the 
B more familiar birds of our Northern 
forests is the Wood Thrush. His notes are 
few in number, but their wild, sweet melody 
is incomparably superior to that of our best 
known songsters. The metallic rattle of 
the bobolink is rich and pleasing, the sad 
quavering whistle of the meadowlark is very 
sweet, the pipe of the song sparrow and the 
twitter of the bluebird, first songs of spring, 
have a charm that is all their own, but none 
of these sounds, delightful though they be, 
can match the tones of the Wood Thrush, 
as with drooping wings, perched on one of 
the loftiest branches of some great tree, he 
salutes the rising or the setting sun. 

The Wood Thrush is usually regarded as 
a solitary bird, an inhabitant of the deep 
forests, where he dwells by himself. This 
idea, while it fits well enough with his sur- 
roundings in some cases, is not always true. 
The Thrush does prefer large forest trees, 
but is quite as much at home in open 
meadowy lands, where the trees stand far 
apart and there are wide stretches of lawn 
varied with clumps of undergrowth. In 
such localities the birds may often be found 
in abundance, and be seen and heard to 
great advantage. 

Although its summer range extends north 
to New England and to Canada West, the 


WOOD 


149 


glad to return to Charleston, where he rested 
for a short time, and then he again visited 
England. 

Only allowing himself a short time with 
his family, Audubon went to Edinburgh, 
where he once more devoted himself to work 
upon his “Ornithological Biography.” Hav- 
ing completed this work, which was pub- 
lished in May, 1839, he left Edinburgh for 
the last time, and with his family returned 
to New York, where the remainder of his 
days were spent. 


TERS SiH. 


Wood Thrush is rather a southern species, 
scarcely reaching the State of Maine. It is 
found as far west as Dakota and in eastern 
Kansas, and winters on the Gulf Coast and 
in Central America. It usually reaches the 
Middle States early in the month of May, 
making its appearance at about the same 
time as the catbird and the Baltimore 
oriole. At first it is a little shy about 
showing itself, and the observer is often 
first notified of its arrival by hearing its 
sweet notes in the early morning. 

Not long after its coming the mating 
takes place, and preparations for nest build- 
ing are begun. The chosen situation varies 
greatly. Sometimes the nest is placed high 
up on the stout limb of a towering forest 
tree, or again on one of the lower limbs of 
a young hemlock, or sometimes even on a 
slender sapling and not more than three or 
four feet from the ground, but whatever its 
position, it is always securely saddled either 
on a crotch or a large limb, so that its posi- 
tion is very firm, and there is but little 
danger of its being dislodged by the storms 
of summer. It is formed without of dried 
leaves, with small twigs and the stems of 
weeds. Upon this foundation is placed a 
mat of dried grass, and then a coating of 
mud, which, as in the case of the robin, is 
shaped by the bird's breast into a deep cup. 


150 The Wood Thrush. 


The lining consists of fine black fibrous 
roots, which form a fine background to set 
off the four or five beautiful light blue eggs. 
When the nest is approached the parents 
manifest great distress, flying rapidly from 
branch to branch, and uttering a somewhat 
low guttural c/uck or guank. If the nest is 
visited frequently, however, they seem to 
become accustomed to the stranger, and at 
length receive his visits with equanimity. 

The Wood Thrush seems to have a great 
fancy for using in the construction of its 
nest bits of newspaper and white rags. 
These are worked into the foundation, and 
often the ends of the strips of cloth may 
hang down a foot or eighteen inches below 
the nest, and thus frequently lead to its dis- 
covery. A somewhat amusing instance of 
its fondness for building material of this 
description came under our notice some 
years ago. An old Irish serving woman had 
removed the lace border from her best cap, 
and after washing it, had spread it on the 
grass near the house to dry and bleach in 
the sun. A few hours later, when she went 
to get it, it was nowhere to be found, which 
seemed very mysterious, as none of the 
other clothes had been disturbed. The 
owner of the cap border concluded that it 
had been stolen, and was loud in her de- 
nunciations of the thieves who would take 
the property of a poor lone woman. These 
thieves were detected a few weeks later in 
a pair of Wood Thrushes, whose nest was 
found about sixty yards from the spot from 
which the article had been taken, Hang- 
ing from the foundation of the nest was the 
stolen cap border, which, after the young 
had left the nest, was restored to its owner, 
not at all the worse for its use as building 
material. 

The young of the Wood Thrush are fed 
almost wholly on insects, of which these 
birds must destroy a great many. The 
earth worm forms a considerable portion of 
their food, and the birds may frequently be 
seen hunting for these in the grass, precisely 


after the manner of the robin. Just as he 
does, the Wood Thrush hops a few steps, 
then pauses and stands for an instant, with 
his head cocked on one side, as if listening; 
then he gives a few vigorous digs at the 
ground with his sharp bill, and presently 
drags to the light a long worm, which he 
bears off in triumph to his hungry family. 

The young Wood Thrush is easily reared 
in confinement. He thrives on crumbs of 
bread or crackers soaked in milk, and on 
finely minced raw beef. Berries are accept- 
able to him, and he likes an occasional 
raisin. A pair that we once had in an avi- 
ary were the tamest of the thirty or forty 
birds in the large cage, and would often 
alight on head, arm or hand, as we were 
preparing the food or putting things in 
order. They were always on the watch 
for one operation, that of filling the water 
dishes. It often happened that while this 
was being done a little water would be 
spilled, and as it soaked into the sand on the 
floor and disappeared, the birds would fly 
down and peck at it very energetically, evi- 
dently thinking that because it moved it 
must be something alive. It was interest- 
ing to watch the progress made in music by 
one of these youngsters during his first win- 
ter. He began to sing during the late 
autumn, and at first his notes were a mere 
murmur, scarcely audible at a distance of a 
few feet. Gradually they became louder 
and more definite, though as yet not par- 
taking at all of the character of the Wood 
Thrush’s song, but toward spring his im- 
provement became much more rapid, and 
by the time the wild thrushes had returned 
he was really a very fair singer. 

All who have written about the Wood 
Thrush have been enthusiastic in praise 
of its song. This is heard chiefly in the 
early morning, up to 1o o'clock, and at 
evening just before sunset. It is not un- 
usual, however, to hear the songsters at any 
hour of the day in cloudy, damp weather; 
and during a rain storm, just before it clears 


he. ee ee A é 


Ooo 


Byram and Ghopatl. 


off, the woods are likely to be vocal with 
their sweet notes. The song continues 
from the time of their arrival in spring 
until the late summer, which is perhaps only 
another way of saying that it lasts through 
the breeding season. 

At the approach of autumn the families 
break up, and from this time on the birds 
are seen only singly. Now their diet un- 
dergoes a change, and they feed more on 
berries, those of the dogwood, the choke 
cherry and the juniper being favorites with 
them. 

When migrating, the Wood Thrush never 
moves in flocks. Each bird pursues its 
journey by itself, and all move deliberately 
southward, seeming to prefer to travel by 
short stages along hedgerows and through 
the woods rather than to take—at least dur- 
ing the hours of daylight—more extended 
flights. 


151 


destroys some useful insects, those which 
prey upon noxious species, but on the whole 
it is probable that the balance is in favor of 
this beautiful songster. Certainly, even if 
this were doubtful, his sweet voice should 
turn the scale in his favor, and he should 
be sedulously protected. 

The Wood Thrush is about 8 in. in length, 
and measures 13 across its extended wings. 
The tail is short and is composed of twelve 
feathers. The feathers of the head can be 
erected into aslight crest. The color above 
is a bright reddish brown, the tail and 
wings a little darker, and the rump inclining 
to olive. The eyes are surrounded by a 
whitish ring. The lower parts are white, 
thickly spotted, except on the throat, middle 
of the breast, belly and under tail coverts, 
with blackish brown. The bill is brown 
above and flesh color below, and the feet 
and legs flesh colored. The iris is dark 


The investigations of Professor S. A. brown. Our illustration is after Audubon’s 
Forbes have shown that the Wood Thrush plate. 
BYRAM AND GHOPAL. 


HE following morning the Faquirs 
arose betimes, and as there were 
numerous travelers at the Serai, it was not 
long before meat offerings and drink offer- 
ings were laid before Byram. 

Byram ate sparingly, but Ghopal, who 
had never had so well-spread a table, ate 
voraciously. After he had filled himself 
with bread and milk and rice, he was very 
skillful in finding corners for the dried dates; 
but all things earthly must come to an end, 
and so at last did Ghopal’s breakfast. As 
on the previous morning, there were poor 
women of low caste in waiting, who removed 
all that remained, and our travelers were 
abroad: betimes, making the round of the 
bazaar, where the news of their arrival had 
been published over night. The shop- 
keepers gave their coppers freely, but the 


bazaar was not a large one, and the whole 
collection barely reached one rupee (fifty 
cents). 

Near the outskirts of the town they heard 
a woman weeping bitterly, and Byram said, 
“Let us go in and inquire into this matter.” 

They entered the door, which led by a 
narrow passage into a small court yard, 
where a woman was sitting on a charpoy, 
weeping. 

“What ails thee, good woman?” asked 
Byram. 

“Alas, holy Faquir,” said she, “my hus- 
band is far away, and my only child is dead, 
and I have no money to buy wood to burn 
his body.’ 

“What caste are you?” asked Byram. 

“We are of the goldsmith caste, natives 
of the Bhagirathi Valley,” said the woman, 


152 Byram and Ghopal. 


“and strangers here, and my man has been 
absent six months and I have no tidings of 
him ” 

“Have you no jewels?” asked Ghopal. 

“No, worthy Faquir,’’ said she, “the bunya 
has them all for my debt, and will not ad- 
vance half a rupee (twenty-five cents) for 
wood.” 

Then Byram took out a rupee from his 
girdle, and handed the woman, saying, “ Go 
and get wood and burn the child, and get 
food for thyself, and when that is done it 
may be thy husband will return.” 

“Oh, holy Faquir,” said the woman, “I 
cannot kiss thy feet, for thou hast none, but 


let me kiss the feet of him that bears thee 
about to deeds of mercy,” and she flung 
herself on the ground and would have kissed 
Ghopal’s feet, but Ghopal sprang backward, 
and Byram said: 

“Not so, good woman, go and burn thy 
child and give thanks to Brahma who sent 
aS 

Then they left the town and went on their 
way to the next town in silence. After they 
had traveled a mile or so, Byram asked: 

“What thinkest thou, Ghopal, of my char- 
ity to the woman? Was the rupee well ap- 
plied ?”’ 

“The money was thine,” said Ghopal, 


and I find no fault with the manner of its 
disposal.” ; 

“But supposing,” said Byram, ‘I had 
had no money but that on which thou hast 
a lien, what objection wouldst thou have 
raised in this case?” 

“The burning her child's body was a 
pious duty,” said Ghopal, “and I can find 
no fault with thy charity, but hadst thou 
sought to relieve her with the money on 
which I have a lien, the thought of my loss 
might have sharpened my wits.” 

Another mile or so was passed in silence, 
which was abruptly broken by Ghopal ask- 
ing, “Say, Byram. There must be a great 
many people in all India?” 

“About two hundred millions,” said By- 
ram. 

“ Most of them very poor ?”’ asked Ghopal. 

“Yes,” said Byram, “there are a great 
many very poor people.” 

“Quite a number of people must die 
every day?” 

“Yes—about twenty-five thousand peo- 
ple, old and young, die every day.” 

“And a great many of these leave wives 
or children or parents who, like the Sunari,* 
want money for wood to burn their dead?” 

“Every day’s sun sets on many troubled 
hearts,” said Byram. 

“Perhaps in all India there may have 
been five hundred such cases of distress as 
the poor Sunari’s this day?” 

“Tt is quite possible,” said Byram. 

“And to how many of these do you sup- 
pose Brahma sent a benevolent Faquir to 
relieve that distress?” 

Byram was silent a few moments, and 
then asked: 

“Say, Ghopal, how many people do you 
suppose there are in all India ready to 
devote their lives to Brahma, and apply 
their means to relieve the sufferings of his 
creatures ?”’ 

“Well, I suppose not a great many,” said 
Ghopal. 


* Goldsmith's wife. 


a ee 


: oe 


Byram and Ghopat. 153 


“Do you suppose there is one for every 
case of distress that arises?” 

“] fear,” said Ghopal, “there are a hun- 
dred cases of distress for every person will- 
ing and able to relieve it.” 

“Consequently,” said Byram, “Brahma 
has not a messenger available for every 
case. If any man wants to devote himself 
to the relief of suffering, Brahma will direct 
him to the necessitous. If relief fails to 
reach all who are in distress, it is not be- 
cause Brahma lacks sympathy, but because 
he lacks messengers.” 

Again Ghopal plodded on in silence un- 
til they came to a little clump of acacia 
trees standing by a well, in a field, a short 
distance from the road. 

“Let us go in and get a drink of water 
and rest a little,” said Ghopal. 

“Good,” said Byram, and they went in, 
and the farmer and his men, who were at 
the well, hastened and set the charpoy for 
Byram; and they themselves with Ghopal 
sat on the ground and smoked a few whiffs 
from the hookah in turns. 

The conversation with the farmers was 
not very elevating; they asked the price of 
grain in distant towns, not because they 
wanted to know, but simply to make con- 
versation, and our travelers, having rested 
and refreshed themselves, proceeded on 
their journey. 

But scarcely had they gone a hundred 
paces, when, before reaching the high road, 
Byram called “Halt!’”’ with a suddenness 
which startled Ghopal, and filled him with a 
dread suspense; for the thought flashed 
through his mind that Byram must have 
dropped the money from his girdle. 

“You should look where you are going,” 
said Byram quietly, ‘you came very near 
treading on that worm there, a little in ad- 
vance to the right.” 

“Was that all?”’ said Ghopal. 

“All!” exclaimed Byram. ‘ What, think 
you, would my father’s pious act avail, if I 
could see with indifference another tread 


o 


on a worm, or if I had failed to arrest 
thy footsteps when thou wert in the very 
act of setting thy foot on a worm inadvert- 
ently?” 

“Thy father was doubtless a very pious 
man,” said Ghopal, pursuing his way, “but 
pardon me if I add that, in respect of the 
act which made thee dependent on me, his 
piety was too exalted. A worm, too, the 
meanest of all living creatures! Surely 
Brahma cares little for worms.” 

“Brahma gives evidence of his care for 
all his creatures, the least as well as the 
greatest, by providing food for them, and 
from every creature he exacts a service in 
return for his food. That Brahma cares for 
the worm is due simply to the benevolence 
of his disposition, but that man should care 
for the worm is a matter of moral obliga- 
tion, for the service which Brahma exacts 
from the worm is for man’s benefit, and is 
so important as to place us under deep 
obligations to these lowly creatures, which 
are certainly not mean if we measure them 
by the importance of their labors to human 
welfare.” 

“Human welfare!’ echoed Ghopal, “Why, 
what can an earthworm do for man! I 
yield the point freely as regards the white 
ants, they are intelligent little creatures, for 
although they cannot talk, they must have 
a great deal of sense to live in communities 
with king and queen and soldier and citizen 
classes, and orderly forms of social govern- 
ment. Besides, all that the white ant does 
for man is to eat timber, and that the worms, 
I am sure, cannot do.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Byram, “the worms 
are more immediately important to man 
than even the white ant. The soil prepared 
by these latter is the best soil for timber, 
but not stimulating enough for grass and 
grain; the soil created by the worms is, on 
the contrary, adapted to grass and grain 
crops.” 

“But how do the worms make soil?” said 
Ghopal. ‘They do not eat timber, and 


154 Byram and Ghopal. 


the upper soil, as you showed me, is made 
of timber after transformation by the white 
ants.” 

“All good soil,” said Byram, “is made of 
animal and vegetable remains, mixed with 
the sand and clay of the earth. As long as 
the earth was covered with forest, the white 
ants and other creatures which prey on dead 
wood had the most important world’s work 
thrown on their shoulders, but when man 
cleared away the forest and began to culti- 
vate the plain, Brahma sent him the earth- 
worm to help him.” 

“Well,” said Ghopal, after a short pause, 
“what does the earthworm do?” 

“Tn the first place,” said Byram, “he eats 
the grass roots as fast as they decay, and 
all other animal and vegetable remains, 
which are buried in the soil, and what is 
left on the surface he himself buries, so as 
to make it dampand soft. In the next place 
he eats the soil itself along with the organic 
remains. There, look at that little pyramid,” 
continued Byram, directing Ghopal’s atten- 
tion to a worm’s casting about three inches 
high on the side of the road, “pick it up and 
examine it.”’ 

As Ghopal lifted it a worm rapidly wrig- 
gled out of it and disappeared in his hole, 
which was immediately below the casting. 

“Did you ever examine one before?” 
asked Byram, seeing Ghopal examining it 
curiously and in silence. 

“Never,” said Ghopal, “it is wonderful. 
Say now, Byram, did a worm make this?” 

“YVes,”’ said Byram, “not only did the 
worm you saw build this mound, and that 
within the last ten days, but all that earth 
has passed through his body in that period, 
mixed with as much vegetable and animal 
matter as he wanted for food. All the top 
soil passes through his stomach, as often as 
it gets mixed with enough undigested vege- 
table and animal matter to render it nutri- 
tious; and as the workers bring their cast- 
ings to the surface, where they soon get 
broken down, they are constantly covering 


up every leaf and blade of grass and dead 
insect that lies on the surface, and thus 
passing it through that first stage of slow 
decay which fits it for their digestive or- 
gans. If a farmer throws a load of half- 
rotted stable manure and straw on the land, 
it will take several years to decay, and then 
want twenty plowings to mix it thor- 
oughly with the earth, so that every blade 
of wheat would find equal nutriment; but 
the worms pass the whole through their 
stomachs in one season, and mix it far more 
intimately with the soil than man could do 
it. But that is not all. The animal and 
vegetable matters, after passing through the 
worm’s stomach, have a higher value as 
manure than they had before. Then you 
must consider, too, the number of worms 
which die every year and enrich the soil 
with their own bodies.” 

The discussion was continued over the 
whole journey, and now that Ghopal’s atten- 
tion was directed to the worms’ castings, he 
was astonished at their number, and the 
enormous importance of the work the worms 
were engaged in, but what astonished him 
most of all was that his eyes had so long 
rested on these castings without seeing 
them, or dreaming of the changes they 
wrought in the earth’s surface, or the im- 
portance of the worm’s labors to man. 

“ By the Holy Brahma,” said Ghopal, as 
they neared the end of their day’s journey, 
“but I begin to think that I, and not only 
I, but all the men I ever met, are fools. 
Tell, O Byram, how didst thou learn all 
these things? Did Brahma himself instruct 
thee?” 

“Yes, truly,” said Byram, ‘‘but not by 
word of mouth; for man’s ear is not attuned 
to the voice of Brahma that he should un- 
He gave us eyes to behold 


’ 


derstand him. 


his creatures, and as much intelligence as_ 


enables me to conclude that everything 
that Brahma has created is for man’s bene- 
fit, if he had only understanding and 1n- 
sight to recognize it.” 


—_ 


— 


flints to Audubon Workers. 


At that moment Ghopal espied a wild 
bee’s hive, and coveted the honey, but as he 
had experience in robbing wild bees, he 
contented himself with longing. Presently 
he exclaimed, “O, wise Byram, dost thou 
verily assert that the bee’s sting is a benefit 
to man?” 

“The bee,” said Byram, ‘is most assur- 
edly a blessing to humanity, and his sting 
was not given him without a wise purpose.” 

“T do not doubt,” said Ghopal, “that the 
sting is very useful to the bees. It helps 


IBUIUIN| ais) EO) 


FIFTY COMMON BIRDS 


BOBOLINK ; REEDBIRD; RICEBIRD. 


HE bobolink, as he is known in the 
Northern States, is a black bird with a 
creamy buff patch on the back of his neck, 
and white blotches on*his shoulders and at 
the base of his tail. Seeing him for the 
first time people are struck with the fact 
that the light colors usually found on the 
breast are on his back, and say he looks as 
if his clothes were turned around. In the 
fall moult the bobolink loses his striking 
plumage, becoming yellowish-brown, like 
the female. In this condition he goes to 
the rice fields, where he is known as the 
ricebird. 

The bobolink is a meadow bird, living and 
nesting inthe grass. He has the labored 
flight of the meadowlark, but has not her 
habit of flying in a direct oblique line 
from the ground. When he soars he does 
it in a peculiar way, turning his wings 
down, so that from a distance he looks like 
an open umbrella. When he is getting 
ready to light in the grass, he puts them 
up sail fashion, and the umbrella seems to 
be turned inside out. Indeed, from the 
skillful way in which he uses his wings and 


* CopyYRIGHT, 1887, BY Florence A. MERRIAM. 


AUDUBON 
AND 


Ill. 


159 


them to defend their honey—but you said 
but a moment since that everything that 
Brahma had created is for man’s benefit. I 
will dispute that point with thee and chal- 
lenge thee to show any benefit which the 
bee’s sting has conferred or is likely to con 
fer on man.” 

“We are at the town now,” said Byram, 
“and the worm has given thee subject for 
reflection for one day. I will consider the 
subject of the bee’s sting and dispute with 
thee on the morrow.” 


WORKERS.* 


HOW TO KNOW THEM. 


tail to balance and steer himself, one might 
think he had been trained for an acrobat. 
The bobolink sings in the grass, and on 
low trees and bushes, but his most animated 
song is given on the wing. 

On page 9 of Thoreau’s “ Summer,” and 
page 102-104 of Burroughs’ “Birds and 
Poets,” you will find interesting descriptions 
of the bobolink’s song, which, as Mr. Bur- 
roughs says, varies somewhat according to 
locality. 

The most exuberantly happy of all our 
birds, he seems to contain the essence of 
all the summer joy and sunshine. ‘“ Bodo- 
linkum-linkum-dea-dea-dea”’ he warbles away, 
the notes fairly tumbling over each other 
as they pour out of his throat. Up from 
the midst of the buttercups and daisies he 
starts, flies along a little way, and sings this 
joyous jubilate with such light-hearted fervor 
that he is glad to sink down on the stem of 
some sturdy young timothy before giving 
his last burst of song. 


BELTED KINGFISHER. 


If you are in the vicinity of a river or 
stream at any time, and think you hear an 
alarm clock going off, you want to look 


156 


about for a kingfisher. He is the most 
marked of the trillers, having a loud, rapid 
call that, as Mr, Burroughs so aptly ex- 
presses it, suggests an alarm. Thoreau 
spells it out as “¢r-r-ack-cr-r-ack.” He is 
generally on the wing as he makes it, and 
if you look up in time, you will see a 
large, ungainly, navy blue bird, with a 
white collar,a heavy, crested head, and such 
a short tail that you wonder what makes 
him fly so queerly—his wings seem to be 
too far back. But if he lights on a dead 
stub by the water, so that you can see his 
compact, oily plumage, so well adapted to 
cold plunges, you will think him a very 
handsome fellow in spite of the fact that he 
is topheavy. He sits like the flycatchers, 
but without any of their nervousness, and 
watches the unsuspecting fish that are com- 
ing toward the surface. Before they know 
what has happened they are in his great 
bill, wriggling about helplessly, as he flies 
through the air back to the stub where he 
will devour them at his leisure. 

In Thoreau’s “Summer,” under the date 
of June 12, is a careful description of this 
fishing habit. He says: “Scared a kingfisher 
on a bough over Walden. As he flew off, 
he hovered two or three times thirty or forty 
feet above the pond, and at last dove and 
apparently caught a fish, with which he flew 
off low over the water to a tree.” 

He generally builds his nest in holes 
along the banks of rivers and streams, and 
the eggs are a beautiful ivory white. As 
the kingfisher spends most of his time on 
the wing, his feet are small and weak. Mr. 
Burroughs says of him: 

“The halcyon or kingfisher is a good 
guide when you go to the woods. He will 
not insure smooth water or fair weather, but 
he knows every stream and lake like a book, 
and will take you to the wildest and most 
unfrequented places. Follow his rattle and 
you shall see the course of every trout and 
salmon stream on the continent. * * * 
His time is the time of the trout, too 


’ 


flints to Audubon Workers. 


namely, from April to September. He 
makes his subterranean nest in the bank of 
some favorite stream, and then goes on long 
excursions up and down and over woods and 
mountains to all the waters within reach, 
always fishing alone, the true angler that 
he is, his fellow keeping far ahead or be- 
hind, or taking the other branch. He loves 
the sound of a waterfall, and will sit a long 
time on a dry limb overhanging the pool 
below it, and, forgetting his occupation, 
brood over his own memories and fancies.” 


OVENBIRD; GOLDEN-CROWNED THRUSH. 


Another form of the trill is given by the 
ovenbird. It has not the peculiar “alarm” 
quality of the kingfisher’s cry, but is very 
loud and rapid. Mr. Burroughs has aptly 
described it by the word ¢each-er. It seems 
to beat upon the air as it grows louder and 
louder, increasing in intensity, volume and 
rapidity untilthe end. Mr. Bicknell speaks 
of it very happily, and at the same time 
describes the rarer song of the bird. He 
says: ‘The ordinary song of the ovenbird, 
but for its inseparable association with the 
quiet recesses of summer woods, would 
certainly seem to us monotonous and com- 
monplace; and the bird's persistent reitera- 
tion of this plain song might well lead us to 
believe that it had no higher vocal capa- 
bility. But it is now well known that, on 
occasion, as if sudden emotion carried it 
beyond the restrictions that ordinarily beset 
its expression, it bursts forth with a wild 
outpouring of intricate and melodious song. 
This song is produced on the wing, oftenest 
when the spell of evening is coming over 
the woods. Sometimes it may be heard as 
an outburst of vesper melody carried above 
the foliage of the shadowy forest and de- 
scending and dying away with the waning 
twilight.” 

Mr. Bicknell speaks only of the two dis- 
tinct songs, but I have heard the two com- 
bined. The outbreak of high, rapid, con- 
fused notes being interlarded with the 


» ar 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 157 


low-pitched conversational trilling teach’er, 
teach'er. By increasing the confusion, this 
adds greatly to the effect of excitement 
spoken of by Mr. Bicknell. Though most 
common at evening or in the night, I have 
frequently heard this medley in both morn- 
ing and afternoon. 

The rhythm and volume of this interest- 
ing song in its simplest form may be sug- 
gested by the syllables whee’he, whee'he, 
whee' ha, he'he'ha, increasing in volume to- 
ward the middle and diminishing in inten- 
sity again at the close, unlike the ordinary 
trill. 

Ordinarily the trill is the clue that helps 
you in looking for the ovenbird. When 
you hear it close at hand, and you fail to 
see him on a tree, look about carefully on 
the ground among the bushes; and if you 
see a bird, the size of the white-throated 
sparrow, walking, scratching like a hen 
among the dead leaves, or tossing them 
aside with his bill, you may be quite sure 
that you have found your friend. On closer 
inspection he proves to have an olive-green 
back and a white breast, spotted thickly 
like a thrush’s. His crown is orange-brown 
and has two black stripes converging to- 
ward the bill. This, however, is generally 
obscure. 

The house of the ovenbird, from which 
he gets his name, varies in style of roofing, 
but the commonest type of architecture 
may well be represented by the first nest 
I ever found. It was a bright morning in 
June, and while walking through the edge 
of a grove of young maples, a brown shadow 
started up from under my feet and disap- 
peared in the woods. On looking down I 
saw, by the side of a blooming Solomon’s 
seal, what at the first glance seemed to be 
a bunch of dry leaves—one of the thousand 
that are pushed up by mice, or the crowd- 
ing spring flowers, and that you flatten 
down every few steps in an undergrowth 
woods. The hint given by the fleeting 
shadow, however, could not be ignored, 


and I stooped down to examine the bunch. 
I felt it over eagerly—one, two, three sides, 
no opening; the fourth, my fingers slipped 
in—it was the famous ovenbird’s nest that 
I had been looking for ever since I was a 
child. In an instant I was on my hands 
and knees peering into the mysterious hole. 
How interesting! ‘There lay five exquisite 
little eggs, their irregular brown speckles 
centering in a crown about the larger end. 
What a wonderful architect the little crea- 
ture seemed! Her snug house had an 
arched roof lined so smoothly with soft 
dry leaves as to suggest a fretwork ceil- 
ing. What a tiny palace of beauty the 
golden-crowned queen of the thrushes had 
made! What mystery that bunch of leaves 
contained! The little brown lady might 
have been sitting at the mouth of a fairy 
cave. The next day three of the eggs 
were hatched, and such absurd looking 
little tings might well have been taken for 
bird gnomes. They seemed all mouth and 
eyeball. Little red appendages took the 
place of wings, and tufts of gray down on 
the skin covering the eyeballs answered for 
a coat of feathers. Even when they were 
feebly throwing up their heads and opening 
their great yellow throats for worms, their 
eyes were closed fast, giving them an un- 
canny appearance. 

The same day I had the good fortune to 
stumble upon another nest. This was of 
substantially the same character, though 
built more of fine roots. 
visits to the first brood, and when the little 
ones had flown, found to my surprise that 
the grass around the mouth of the nest had 
been pulled together, so as to leave only a 
round hole just large enough for the bird 
to goin and out. Why had this been done? 
For some time I was quite at a loss to ac- 
count for it, but I had noticed from the 
outset that this bird acted differently from 
any mother ovenbirds I had ever seen. 
During all my visits to her nest I had 
never known her to utter a syllable or 


I made several 


158 


come near me, while the others had always 
smacked their bills incessantly and flown 
about in the most distraught manner. Now, 
could this have been from superior intelli- 
gence, and bad she taken this surer method, 
as she supposed, for protecting the young 
from the danger of my inspection? 

The most terrified ovenbird that I have 
ever seen I found on the hillside of a dense 
portion of the same woods. She began her 
suspicious smacking as soon as we came in 
sight, but although we hunted for the nest 
very carefully we could not find a trace of 
it. We sat down on a log and waited for 
her to show it to us, but that did no good. 
She confined herself to a radius of about 
three rods, but selecting saplings at extreme 
points would fly from one to the other, in- 
specting us anxiously; all the while wag- 
ging her tail nervously up and down and 
keeping up a monotonous smacking. Find- 
ing her as incorrigible as the mosquitoes, 
and realizing the approach of the dinner 
hour, my friend and I decided to start 
for home. But in our case the gods fa- 
vored the cowardly, for as we were brand- 
ishing our maple twigs in the faces of the 
pursuing punkies and mosquitoes, we sud- 
denly started up the little family we had 
been hunting for. They ran out from 
among the leaves under our feet and scud- 
ded off in all directions. My two dogs 
started after them, and in the rush and 
scramble that followed we had all we could 
In the 
midst of the confusion the terrified mother 
bird flew down on the ground and began 
trailing in the most pitifully excited manner. 
She spread out her wings and tail, dragging 
them along the ground as if she were quite 
helpless. But finding that we would not 
accept that decoy, and seeing that her little 
ones had hidden away under the leaves, 
she tried another plan; and walked once 
slowly back and forth for about a rod on 
the side away from her young. As the 
dogs were perfectly quiet now, and we had 


do to save the little creatures’ lives. 


Hints to Audubon Workers. 


not moved since the first alarm, she then 
made a detour and risked an examination 
of the place where the little birds had dis- 
appeared. By this time, having seen what 
we wanted, and feeling that we had given 
the poor mother enough anxiety for one 
day, we left her to gather her children to- 
gether again. 

In watching the ovenbird I have been 
surprised to find how irregular individuals 
are in their time of nesting. On June rr 
I found a family of full-grown young 
being fed in the branches of a maple tree. 
The same day I found a nest full of eggs. 
June r2 three of these eggs hatched, and I 
found a nest of young a quarter grown. 
June 13 I found the little family that I have 
just described well out of their nest. These 
could hardly have been first and second 
broods, as they were in all stages of de- 
velopment. This same difference I have 
since found in the nesting of robins, vireos, 
chipping birds, song sparrows, and others. 

DeKay speaks of the ovenbird as a shy, 
solitary bird, but I have found it anything 
but shy. In the spring it sings fearlessly 
wherever I meet it, and on June 29 one 
came within fifteen feet of me looking for 
worms for her young. She inspected me 
carefully when she caught sight of me, and 
then flew up on the sapling where the little 
bird was, fed it and flew off to an adjoining 
tree, where she scraped her bill in the most 
unconcerned manner. 

The young resemble their mother in gen- 
eral appearance, but their heads are lighter, 
and their backs are speckled as well as their 
breasts. 


SCARLET TANAGER. 


The scarlet tanager and the rose-breasted 
grosbeak are both exceptions to the general 
rule that brilliantly-plumaged birds have 
little song. No burning coal could have 
more intensity of color than the full-plum- 
aged male in summer. He literally dazzles 


one’s eyes. And still he has a loud song 


The Trade in Bird Skins. 


resembling that of the grosbeak, although 
it is not so sweet. It isa harsh guttural 
kree-kree-eah in rhythm suggesting, as it has 
been aptly expressed, the swinging of a 
pendulum. His call is a loud chuck-ah, 
or, as Mr. Bicknell gives it, chip-chir. 

It may be an interesting example of the 
law of natural selection that during the 
nesting season the plumage of the female 
is the complemental color of that of the 
male —olive-green above, and greenish- 
yellow below. How could she ever live 
with such a fiery husband if her eyes did 
not find relief in her own coloring? Even 
then, it would seem that her eyes had to be 
accustomed by degrees, for in his youth 
her gay cavalier is relieved by green, yel- 
low and black, the colors he returns to 
every fall in his adult stage. The tanagers 
nest in trees, and lay four or five dark- 
speckled eggs. 


ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK, 


The full-plumaged male grosbeak is a 
bird that you will recognize anywhere. He 
is almost as large as a robin. His head, 


159 


neck and back are black; and a patch of 
exquisite rose or carmine stands out bril- 
liantly against the black of the throat to 
which it is joined, and the white of the 
breast in which it is set. When he flies he 
shows white blotches on his tail, and car- 
mine under his wings. 

His wife is as good a foil to htm as the 
plain little purple finch is to her handsome 
husband. She looks decidedly like a spar- 
row, and has patches of saffron-yellow un- 
der her wings, where the male has carmine. 
They both have equally heavy finch bills. 
His is yellow, and he scrapes it on the side 
of a branch as a man would sharpen a knife 
on a whetstone—first on one side and then 
the other. 

The song of the grosbeak is loud, clear, 
and sweet, with a rhythm like the tanager’s, 
but longer, and the rough edges rounded 
off. It has the oriole quality. His call is 
as characteristic as the chif-chir is of the 
tanager. It is a thin, unsteady 4zck, and 
generally prefaces his song.. He is found 
in lower trees and more open ground than 
the tanager. 


A ISLI8, AUR AID TEIN 


E do not attach very much import- 

ance to figures, for we can judge 

for ourselves in the streets and shops of 
London, Paris, New York, and other large 
cities and towns, what must be the sacrifice 
of bird life; nevertheless we give a few 
items derived from various authentic sources. 
Between December, 1884, and April, 1885, 
there were sold in one London auction room 
6,228 birds of Paradise, 4,974 Impeyan 
pheasants, 770 argus (Monal), 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazil birds, 356,389 East Indian 
birds, besides kingfishers, parrots, bronze 
doves, fruit-eating pigeons, jays, rollers, 
regent bird, tanagers, creepers, chats, black 
partridges, golden orioles, pheasants, etc.; 


BEERS Di SikeiNGS. 


and various odds and ends such as ducks’ 
heads, toucans’ breasts, and sundry nests. 
“Wanted 1,000 dozen seagulls” (Adv., Cork 
Constitution). “Wanted 10,000 pairs jays’, 
stirlings’ and other wings.” From America 
we get the following: A Broadway dealer 
says, ‘‘We buy from 500,000 to 1,000,000 
small American birds every year. Native 
birds are very cheap.” Concerning terns 
Mr. Dutcher says, “3,000 were killed at 
Seaford, L. I., and 40,000 at Cape Cod in 
one season.” One taxidermist prepares 
30,000 skins for hats and bonnets every 
season. Maryland sent 50,000 birds, many 
being Baltimore orioles, to Paris for a 
single season; a New York taxidermist con- 


160 


tracts for 300 skins a day, for his trade 
with France; Ohio Valley, 5,000 skins. We 
might add pages of such facts. It is rather 
the fashion in England to say that these 
American figures are of no interest. But 
most of the birds are killed in America ina 
great measure for export to England, and 
thus the destruction of bird life is kept up 


CHARLEY’S 


ct OT you at last,” exclaimed Charley, 

as he felt a vigorous pull at his line. 
The fish only jerked out a yard or two of 
line and then stopped. Charley was afraid 
it had got away when he began to reel up 
without feeling any strain, but the fish was 
only swimming toward the boat, and when 
Charley had reeled in short he saw the fish 
alongside and lifted it into the boat, when 
it let go and dropped quietly into the bot- 
tom. Charley examined the hook—the 
worm was all right, so he made another 
cast. 

He fished away so long without even get- 
ting a nibble that at last he got tired, and 
nearly lost all patience. Every now and 
then he lifted the hook to see if the bait 
was gone, but the worm was all right 

“You'll never catch a nice fish with that 
horrid little worm,” said a voice behind him. 

“Why, I caught you with it,” said Charley, 
looking around, somewhat surprised. 

“Me!” said the mermaid, for it was a 
mermaid sitting on the stern seat. “You 
don’t suppose I put that nasty dirty worm 
in my mouth, do you? I only took hold of 
the line and let you lift me in, because I 
was tired of the water so cold and damp, 
and wanted to come into the boat with you 
for company.” 

“Oh, well, I didn’t know,” said Charley, 
“but what else can we get for bait? I have 
nothing but earthworms.” 


“Fish would be better,”’ said she. 


WONDERFUL 


Charley's Wonderful Journey. 


by English women. Existence to the Balti- 
more oriole and our robin redbreast is 
equally enjoyable, why cut it short? A 
bird-skin stuffed, wired, and supplied with 
eyes, lasts a few weeks and is then thrown 
aside as “out of fashion.’’ The excuse for 
taking a life is, indeed, mean and paltry.— 
Selborne Society Letters. 


JOURNEY. 


“Yes, but I can’t get one,” said Charley. 
“T'll tell you what,” said the mermaid. 
“You just help me off with my tail. I don’t 


want it any more now, and that will do to 
catch a big one.” 

She showed Charley how to lay hold of 
the tail, then she held on to the seat, and 


they tugged and tugged until the tail came 
off like a boot, and set free her pretty little 
feet. 

Then she jumped down and helped Char- 
ley to bait the hook, and dropped it over- 
board and let it drift down with the current. 

After a while something came and took 
the bait, and the reel began to go round 
like mad. It was a long line, there must 
have been more than a mile of it. 

“Give him the butt,’”’ said the mermaid, 
when the line was nearly all run out. “O, 
Charley, whatever you do give him the 
butt.” 


Charley's Wonderful Journey. 


Charley did as she told him, and the boat 
began to glide through the water like an 
arrow. 

“Oh, my, isn’t this fun,” said the mer- 
maid. “Just look at the banks how they 
are flying by, I am sure we must be going 
a hundred miles an hour.” 

Charley looked first at one bank and then 
at the other, but both banks were far away; 


161 
it was impossible to tell. “He'll get tired 
by and by,” said she. 

“Now Charley,” cried she at last, “wind 
in as fast as you can, the whale has stopped 
for breath and the boat will soon be up to 
him. 
a harpoon into him,” continued she as the 
boat came right up alongside of the whale. 

Charley did as he was told, and as he 


Now give me the rod while you throw 


and when he looked again he could see 
neither bank—they were far out at sea. 

**T think it must be a whale,” said Char- 
ley. 

“Tt’s very like a whale,” said the mermaid. 

By this time the fish was a mile ahead, 
going like mad, but Charley knew what he 
was about and gave him the butt all the 
time. 

The mermaid came and sat down by him, 
and how long they were flying over the sea 


threw the harpoon with all his might it 
went right into the whale, which started off 
again like lightning. 

When the whale got tired and let the 
boat come up close again Charley gave him 
another harpoon, and this he kept on doing 
until the whale refused to budge. “He is 
as dead as a barn door nail,” said the mer- 
maid. 

“Tsa barn door nail deader than any other 
nail?” asked Charley. 


162 


“Ts this a moment for idle conundrums?” 
“We 
have a long way to goand a great deal to 
do yet, better wind in the line while I steer 
around him until we come to his jaws.” 

So Charley kept winding in the line, and 
the mermaid steered along the coast until 
they came to a great cavern in the bank. 

“Here we are,” said she. “We'll drop 
anchor here in the bottom of the cavern and 
take in cargo. The black is the whalebone 
and the white is the ivory, and we must try 
to get it all on board.” 

As soon as they had it all on board the 
mermaid set the sails and away they went. 

“ Where shall we go next ?”’ said Charley. 

“Why, to the islands, of course,” said the 
mermaid. “What would be the good of 
the whalebone and the ivory unless we 
traded it away?” ’ 

So they sailed away until they came to 
the first island, and the natives came down 
to the shore and traded a cargo of cocoa- 
nuts for the whalebone and ivory, and once 
more the mermaid up sail and away. 

“Where next?” said Charley. 

“Oh, we'll go to another island and trade 
away the cocoanuts,” said she, “there's al- 
ways something to be made by trade.” 

“Tf you're tired,’ continued she, “lie 
down and go to sleep.’ 

Charley lay down and dreamily watched 
the mermaid standing in the stern and steer- 
ing the boat, which dashed along at a rapid 
rate over the waves. 

Then he began to noa, and was just fall- 
ing off to sleep when he was startled by 
hearing some one say “Git.” 

When he looked up it was not tne mer- 
maid who was steering at all. It was Aunt 


asked the mermaid, reproachfully. 


Charley's Wonderful Journey. 


Maria. It wasn’t a boat either, but Aunt 
Maria’s rockaway, and there was Cousin 
Bob lying asleep on a bundle of rugs. 

Charley tried to wake him, but it was no 
good, Bob only rolled over and wouldn't 
wake. 

“Where are we going, Aunt Maria?” 
asked Charley. 

“Why, we're going home, of course,” said 
Aunt Maria. “Git. If this old horse wasn’t 
so lazy we would be there now. Better go 
to sleep again.”’ 

Charley fell asleep again, and when at 
last he awoke in the morning it was broad 
daylight, and this time he really was sur- 
prised—he was in his own chamber, and 
there was Bob lying asleep alongside of him. 

Charley shook him a bit to wake him, but 
Bob only rolled on his other side just as he 
did in the rockaway, but the next moment 
he opened his eyes, remembered where he 
was, sat up in bed and looking at Charley 
said, ‘“ Hello.” 

“Hello,” replied Charley, “how did you 
come here? Didn't you come home in the 
rockaway with me last night?” 

“Oh, what a story,” said Bob, ‘you wasn’t 
in the rockaway at all, you was asleep in 
bed when we came.”’ 

“That’s bad grammar,” said Charley, 
“anyhow.” 

“T don’t care if it is,” said Bob; “bad 
grammar isn’t so bad as telling lies.” 

“I'm not telling lies,” said Charley, “I 
am only telling what happened when I was 
asleep,” and he told Bob how he caught 
the mermaid. 

Bob only laughed, and when Charley told 
him how he baited with the mermaid s tail 
and caught a whale, Bob said “ Git,” 


You call them tnieves and pillagers, but know 
They are the winged warders of your farms, 
Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, 

And from your harvest keep a hundred harms. 


LonGFELLow, Birds of Killingworth. 


BIRDS AS FERTILIZERS. 


ROFESSOR BROWN, in his examina- 
tion before the Agricultural Commis- 
sion of Ontario (1881) on the profits of 
raising beef cattle for market, stated that 
the class of cattle he raised for market 
realized $88 at twenty-nine months old, the 
cost of food consumed at market prices 
being $147. At thirty-six months the beasts 
were worth $103, the costs being $184, 
showing an apparent loss of $59 at the 
lower, and of $81 at the greater age. The 
Professor nevertheless maintained that the 
value of the manure converted the apparent 
loss into a real gain. The cattle realize 
abont sixty per cent. on costs of their food, 
and the manure is roughly estimated at an- 
other sixty per cent., showing a net profit of 
twenty per cent. 

But as a matter of fact, the manure is 
worth more than the cost of the food con- 
sumed in producing it. Locate two farm- 
ers, on moderately fertile farms, alike in 
condition. Let the one keep no stock and 
let the other keep his farm well stocked 
with cattle, which he allows to grow old and 
die from year to year without seeking any 
direct return from them. In a few years 
the first farmer’s land will be exhausted and 
cease to yield any remunerative returns for 
his labor, while the second’s will steadily in- 
crease in value, the extra crop due to the 
manure being always in excess of that con- 
sumed in producing it. 

Every living creature—every plant—re- 
turns more to the soil than it takes from it, 
and when it is considered that birds are 
making manure all the year round, that 
their manure is richer than that of cattle, 
that they require no care, that they dress 
the land themselves, and tax the farmer for 
less than ten per cent. of the food they con- 
sume, there is no escape from the conclu- 
sion that it is far more profitable to keep 
birds than cattle. Every bird yields a profit 
to the farmer; the one great trouble is that 


there are not enough of them, the other 
trouble is that the farmer’s eyes are closed 
to the facts. When it is a question of food 
consumed in the ripening grain fields, the 
birds are credited with enormous capacities 
of consumption, but when it becomes a 
question of the value of the manure re- 
turned to the land, the farmers are inclined 
to pooh-pooh the labors of the birds in this 
direction as of no consequence, never con- 
sidering that the measure of their voracity 
at harvest time, when they engage the 
farmer’s attention, is also the measure of 
their returns to the soil, and the true stan- 
dard by which to measure the value of their 
returns all the year round. It is profitable 
to keep stock and feed it all the year round 
for the sake of the manure; how much 
more so to keep birds which are fed by the 
farmer only about one month in the year, 
and which, during the remainder of the 
year, or as much of it as they remain with 
us, feed on the farmer’s enemies, weed 
seeds and insects, keeping both in check, 
and rendering them in their turn beneficial 
by converting their substance—all that they 
have taken from the soil and atmosphere— 
into organic food, whichis easily assimilated 
by future crops. 

Life on earth began with those low types 
which were independent of pre-existent or- 
ganized food; that is, with plants or ani- 
mals or life types not easily assignable to 
either kingdom, which were capable of 
assimilating their substance directly from 
the unorganized elements—carbon, oxygen, 
and hydrogen, with or without nitrogen. 
Man and the higher animals cannot draw 
subsistence from air and water, they must 
have food already organized, and it is only 
by the constant succession of life and death 
beginning with these lowest life types which 
are capable of assimilating their food from 
the elements direct, that the soil of the earth 
is fitted for the support of higher life types. 


ie g Welsh 


FIGHT BETWEEN SNAKE AND BIRD. 


THE following curious story is taken from a Cali- 
fornia newspaper. The bird mentioned is no doubt 
the small southwestern shrike, a variety of Co/lyz10 
ludowicianus: 

“Edward Perry, of this city, while near Florence 
on Wednesday, witnessed a prolonged fight between 
a small butcher bird (about the size of a mocking- 
bird), and a spotted snake about three feet long. 
Mr. Perry came upon the combatants, how long 
after the fight began he did not know, but witnessed 
its conclusion at the end of an hour. The snake 
would coil up and strike at him, but without effect. 
Then the bird would dart at the reptile and strike it 
on some part of the body, Then the snake would 
raise its head several inches and keep its forked 
tongue in motion back and forth for a full minute, 
This was the bird’s opportunity, and he profited by 
striking the snake on ‘the body. Twice the bird 
went to a small stream and took a drink, returning 
to the contest with renewed vigor. At last the snake 
grew weary, and a sudden dart by the bird at its 
head caused the loss of an eye. The snake then for 
the first time tried to get away and writhed in pain. 
Soon the bird saw another chance, and this time 
knocked out the other eye. When the bird discovered 
that his victory was complete it went away, when 
Mr. Perry went to the snake and saw that its eyes 
were out.” 


MEMBERSHIP RETURNS. 


THE total registered membership at close of June 
was 36,024, showing an increase of 3,354 members, 
during the month from the following sources: 


Minnesota....... és 
BE GMAXEASRS Peep wecciey es eee 
Connecticut .. AE UNENtUCKY 2.02 cieciccsscren 
Missoni. .5, so: -.» 24 Rhode Island... 
20 New Hampshire 


DARINB lois sic chaespieh rece 30 Wisconsin. 

Varga, cap ype araaae x Canada ... E 
Maryland .. rH SOUDEIANG cess vs sec cuas cee 
Colorado, .i/-cssastecstens 4 


3,354 


While most of the States display some relaxation 
of activity, as is to be expected at this season of the 
year, it is remarkable that during the month both 
New York and Massachusetts attain their greatest 


AUDUBON -NOTE BOOK. 


development, a result due entirely to the well-planned 
efforts of one local secretary in each State. 

The increase in Massachusetts is confined almost 
entirely to New Bedford, whose popular local secre- 
tary, Mr. Edmund Rodman, visited the schools and 
addressed the young people, in whom he excited an 
almost universal interest in the question of bird pro- 
tection. By this means too he succeeded in reach- 
ing the parents, many of whom were persuaded by 
their children to join the Society. 

In New York State there have been many workers 
operating with more or less success, but it is due en- 
tirely to the organized operations of the local secre- 
tary of South Brooklyn, Mrs. John Duer, that the 
Empire State held its lead. Like Mr. Rodman, Mrs. 
Duer too has been at work among the young people, 
and not contented with enlisting them has selected 
from among them a band of assistants, whom she 
has organized for efficient action, swelling the New 
York returns by several hundred. 

These results have a deep significance; they point 
unerringly to the conclusion that our young people 
are easily interested in the question of bird protection 
and easily brought into sympathy with the aims of 
the Audubon Society. What has been done in New 
Bedford and Brooklyn during the last month may be 
done anywhere and everywhere throughout the length 
and breadth of the land. We want only workers. 

C. F. Amery, General Secretary. 


LOCAL BIRD NOMENCLATURE, 


A VALUED correspondent of the AUDUBON MAGA- 
ZINE, who is engaged in the study of birds, desires 
to make some investigations as to the local names 
given to a number of our most common species. Our 
readers will remember that in the sketch of the 
golden-winged woodpecker or flicker, which we 
printed in our June number, a list of thirty-six Eng- 
lish names applied to this species in various sections 
of the country was given. Probably few birds have 
so many names as this, but almost all have several, 
and to Jearn what these are and record them is the 
purpose of our correspondent. 

It is hoped and requested that our readers will 
carefully peruse the list which we give below, and 
will take off the names of the birds which they re- 
cognize, and adding any other names by which these 
may be known to them, will severally send us their 
list, marking it at the top ‘‘Local Bird Nomencla- 
ture,” and sign it with the full name and address of 
the locality from which the list comes, giving town, 


—— a 


county and State. 


The Audubon Note Book. 165 


These lists wili be duly forwarded 


to our correspondent for comparison and study, and 
full credit for all assistance will be given in the re- 
sults of the investigation, which will be published 


later. 


The following is the list of the common birds, 
whose local names are desired: 


Robin. 

Bluebird. 

Crow Blackbird. 
Song Sparrow. 
Chipping Sparrow. 
Field Sparrow. 
Fox Sparrow. 
Swamp Sparrow. 


White-throated Sparrow. 


Tree Sparrow. 


White-crowned Sparrow. 


Savannah Sparrow. 
Phoebe. 
Least Flycatcher. 


Great-crested Flycatcher. 


Wood Pewee. 
Meadowlark. 
Chickadee. 
Butcherbird. 
Bluejay. 
Chimney Swift. 
Oriole. 

Catbird. 
Cuckoo. 
Chewink. 

Barn Swallow. 
Eave Swallow. 
Bank Swallow. 
Kinglet. 

Wood Thrush. 
Wilson’s Thrush. 
Hermit Thrush. 
Ovenbird. 
Thrasher. 
Cowbird. 
Kingbird. 
Bobolink. 
Scarlet Tanager. 


Rose-breasted Grosbeak. 


Pine Bullfinch. 

Purple Finch. 
Goldfinch. 
Red-winged Blackbird. 


Red-headed Woodpecker. 

Yellow - bellied | Wood- 
pecker. 

Hairy Woodpecker. 

Downy Woodpecker. 

Nuthatch. 

Indigo Bird. 

Red-eyed Vireo. 

White-eyed Vireo. 

Warbling Vireo. 

Yellow-bellied Vireo. 

Yellow-throated Vireo. 

Maryland Yellowthroat. 

Redstart. 

Mourning Warbler. 

Blackburnian Warbler. 

Yellow-rumped Warbler. 

Yellow redpoll Warbler. 

Black-throated blue War- 
bler. 

Blue yellow-backed War- 
bier. 

Chestnut-sided Warbler. 

Black-throated Green 
Warbler 

Brown Creeper. 

Black and white Creeper. 

Summer Yellowbird. 

Junco. 

Crow. 

Crossbill. 

Purple Martin. 

Hummingbird. 

Waxwing. 

Partridge. 

Woodcock. 

Horned Lark. 

Orchard Oriole. 

Marsh Hawk. 

Goshawk. 

Pigeon Hawk. 

Snow Bunting. 

Whippoorwill. 


SINCE our article on hawks and owls appeared 


in the April MAGAzINE, Pennsylvania has decided 
not to prove an instructive example for the rest of 
the Union to profit by, and has repealed the law 
offering bounties for the destruction of rapacious 
birds. Happily there is no lack of the spirit of 
ignorant self-sacrifice, and New Jersey is paying 
such bounties for the destruction of its hawks and 
crows, that a poor farmer might make a very good 
living at shooting them while they last. After they 
have been annihilated a year or two the results 
promise to be very instructive. 


P) 


THE EDITOR’S TALK. 


A CORRESPONDENT from Hare's Valley, Pa., wants 
to know how our Northern birds spend their winter 
in the South; if they sing and fly about, make nests 
and rear their young, and generally demean them- 
selves as they do with us. 

Well, no; not exactly. When the birds come 
North in the spring they are full of life and hope 
and love, which in the males finds expression in song. 
Males and females work together to one common 
end, and happy in each other’s love and devotion, 
their heart full of gladness and their heads full of 
dreamy anticipations, their lives are glorified. Then 
come the cares of raising a family, the wearing pro- 
cess of sitting, the necessity of providing food for 
their young, which, wearisome at the outset, taxes 
their powers more and more every day, until what 
with the excessive strain ypon their physical powers, 
and the wearing anxiety caused by impending dan- 
ger to their young, they become so thoroughly worn 
out that the glory is gone out of their lives, the well- 
spring of their affections dried up; they care no more 
for their wearisome young ones which show no return 
of affection, no appreciation of the sacrifices made 
for them. They endure rather than long for each 
other's presence, and in this exhausted condition 
they go off South. They have no more ideal views 
of life, they want only food and rest to recuperate. 
Here their lives are more or less harassed by men 
and other foes, which make great gaps in their ranks, 
but those which escape gradually get into good con- 
dition, and as they once more wing their way north- 
ward their whole frames tremble with the exquisite 
joys of love and hope. The young birds see life 
through a glorified atmosphere, and the old. forget 
their experiences and renew their youth. 


ONE of the Albany papers publishes a story of a 
young swallow which having broken its leg had it 
bandaged with horsehair by the parent birds. I 
would believe the story if possible, but am disposed 
to the general view that a swallow sufficiently intelli- 
gent to think of bandaging a broken leg, would 
never overlook the obvious necessity of splitting a 
straw and making a pair of splints before he bound 
it with horsehair. Without for a moment imputing 
bad faith to the originator of the story, I think it 
much more probable that the nestling broke its leg by 
entangling it in the horsehair. 


WE are very much disappointed that the Audubon 
badge is not yet ready for delivery. The prepara- 
tion of a die is a work of unusual difficulty, and apt 
to be attended with numerous delays, but we still 
hope to have the medals ready in the first week of 
August. 


166 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY FOR THE PROTEC- 
TION OF BIRDS. 


HE AUDUBON SOCIETY was founded in New York 
city in February, 1886. Its purpose is the protection of 
American birds, not used for food, from destruction for mer- 
cantile purposes. The magnitude of the evil with which the 
Society will cope,and the imperative need of the work which 
it proposes to accomplish, are outlined in the following state- 

ment concerning 

THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS. 

Within the last few years, the destruction of our birds has 
increased at a rate which is alarming. This destruction now 
takes place on such a large scale as to seriously threaten the 
existence of a number of our most useful species, It is carried 
on chiefly by men and boys who sell the skins or plumage to 
be used for ornamenta purposes—principally for the trimming 
of women’s hats, bonnets and clothing. These men kill every- 
thing that wears feathers. The birds of the woods, the birds 
of the field, the birds of the marsh and those of the sea are 
alike slain, at all times and at all seasons. It matters not if 
the bird be a useful one which devours the hurtful insects 
which destroy the farmer’s crops, or a bright-plumaged song- 
ster whose advent has been welcomed in spring, and which has 
reared its brood in the door yard during the summer, or a 
swift-winged sea swallow whose flight along the shore has often 
with unerring certainty led the fisherman to his finny prey— 
whatever it be, it must be sacrificed to the bird butcher's lust 
for slaughter and for gain. Besides the actual destruction of 
the birds, their numbers are’ still further diminished by the 
practice of robbing their nests in the breeding season. 

Although it is impossible to get at the number of birds killed 
each year, some figures have been published which give an 
idea of what the slaughter must be. We know that a single 
local taxidermist handles 30,000 bird skins in one year; that a 
single collector brought back from a three months trip 11,000 
skins; that from one small district on Long Island about 70,000 
birds were brought to New York in four months time. In New 
York one firm had on hand February 1, 1886, 200,000 skins. 
The supply is not limited by domestic consumption. Ameri- 
can bird skins are sent abroad. The great European markets 
draw their supplies from all over the world. In London there 
were sold in three months from one auction room, 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazilian bird skins, and 356,389 East Indian birds. 
In Paris 100,000 African birds have been sold by one dealer in 
one year. One New York firm recently had a contract to 
supply 40,000 skins of American birds to one Paris firm. These 
figures tell their own story—but it is a story which might be 
known even without them; we may read it plainly enough in 
the silent hedges, once vocal with the morning songs of birds. 
and in the deserted fields where once bright plumage flashed 
in the sunlight. 

BIRDS, INSECTS AND CROPS. 

The food of our small birds consists very largely of the 
insects which feed on the plants grown by the farmer. These 
insects multiply with such astounding rapidity that a single 

air may in the course of one season Ee the progenitors of six 
Billions of their kind. All through the season at which this 
insect life is most active, the birds are constantly at work 
destroying for their young and for themselves, tens of thou- 
sands of hurtful creatures, which, but for them, would swarm 
upon the farmer's crops and lessen the results of his labors, 

A painstaking and ardent naturalist not very long ago 
watched the nest of a pair of martins for sixteen hours, from 4 
A. M. till 8 P. M., just to see how many visits the parent birds 
made to their young. He found that in that time 312 visits to 
the four young were made, 119 by the male and 193 by the 
female. ff we suppose only six insects to have been SS rouGHE 
at each visit, this pair of birds would have destroyed, for their 
young alone, in this one summer's day, not far from 2,000 
insects. The important relations which our birds bear to the 
agricultural interests and so to the general welfare, are recog- 
nized by the governments of all our States. Laws exist for 
their protection, but these laws are rendered inoperative by 
the lack of an intelligent public sentiment to support them, 
They are nowhere enforced. It is for the interest of every 
one that such a public sentiment should be created, 

It is time that this destruction were stopped. 

PURPOSE OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

To secure the protection of our birds by awakening a better 
sentiment, the Audubon Society, named after the greatest of 
American ornithologists, has been founded. The objects 
sought to be accomplished by this Society are to prevent as far 
as possible — 

(x) The killing of any wild bird not used for food. 

oy Thie taking or destroying of the eggs or nests of any wild 
birds, 

(3) The wearing of the feathers of wild birds. Ostrich 
feathers, whether oti wild or tame birds, and those of domes- 
tic fowls, are specially exempted, 

The Audubon Socicty aims especially to preserve those 


The Audubon Soctety. 


birds which are now practically without protection. Our 
pene birds are already protected by law, and in large measure 
y public sentiment, and their care may be left to the sports- 
man. The great aim of the Society is the protection of 
American non-game birds, The English sparrow is not 
included in our lists, 
PLAN OF THE WORK. 

Obviously the Society cannot supply any machinery of com- 
pulsion to lead individuals and communities to a higher 
regard for bird life and to efforts for its protection. Nor are 
compulsory measures thought necessary, The wrong is toler- 
ated now only because of thoughtlessness and indifference. 
The birds are latled for millinery purposes. So long as fashion 
demands bird feathers, the birds will be slaughtered. The 
remedy is to be found in the awakening of a healthy pub- 
lic sentiment on the subject. If this enormous destruction of 
birds can once be put in its true light before the eyes of men 
and women and young folks, if interest be aroused and senti- 
ment created, the great wrong must cease. To so present the 
case to the people as to awaken this corrective sentiment is the 
special work contemplated by the Audubon Society. The 
methods adopted are very simple. Pledges are furnished, sub- 
scription to which constitutes membership, and certificates 
are issued to members, 

TERMS OF MEMBERSHIP. 

The signing of any of the pledges will qualify one for mem- 
bership in the Society, It is earnestly desired that each mem- 
ber may sign all three of the pledges. Beyond the promise 
contained in the pledge no obligation nor responsibility is in- 
curred. There are no fees, nor dues, nor any expenses of an: 
kind, There are no conditions as toage. ‘The boys and girls 
are invited to take part in the work, for they can often do 
more than others to practically protect the nesting birds. All 
who are interested in the subject are invited to become mem- 
bers, and to urge their fiends to join the Society. If each 
man, woman or child who reads this circular will exert his or 
her influence, it will not take long to enlist in the good work a 
great number of people actively concerned in the protection of 
our birds. It is desired that members may be enrolled in every 
town and village throughout the land, so that by the moral 
weight of its influence this Society may check the slaughter of 
our beautiful songsters. The beneficent influence of the 
Audubon Society should be exerted in every remotest by-way 
where the songs of birds fill the air, and in every crowded city 
pote the plumes of slain songsters are worn as an article of 

ress. 
ASSOCIATE MEMBERS. 

As there are a very great number of people in full sympathy 
with the Audubon movement, and oy to lend it their moral 
support, but who refrain from joining the Society simply be- 
cause they find it distasteful to sign a pledge, it has been 
determined to form a class of Associate Members. Ay one 
expressing his or her sympathy with the objects of the udu- 
bon Society and submitting a written request for membership 
to any local secretary, will be enrolled on the list of Associate 
Members. All such applications for membership received by 
local secretaries of the Society should be forwarded to the 
General Secretary for registiation. 

LOCAL SECRETARIES, 3 

The Society has local secretaries in cities, towns and villages. 
The local secretary will furnish this circular of information 
and pledge forms; will receive the signed pledges, keep a list 
of the members, forward a duplicate list with the pledges for 
enrollment and file at the Society's office; and will receive in 
return certificates of membership, to be filled out and signed 
by the local secretary and given to the members, No certi. 
ficate of membership will be issued to il gg except upon 
the receipt of a signed pledge at the office of the Society. 
Where no local secretary has yet been appointed, individual 
applicants for membership may address the Society at its 
otice, No. 40 Park Row, New York, ae 

If there is no local secretary in your town, you are invited 
to act as such yourself, 6r to hand this to some other person 
who will accept the office. Upon application we will supply 
copies of this circular and pledge forms. 

THE AUDUBON SOCIETY CERTIFICATE, : 

The Society furnishes to each member a handsome certificate 
of membership. This bears a portrait of the great naturalist, 
John James Audubon, atter whom the Society very appro-~ 
priately takes its name. 2 

The office of the Society is at 40 Park Row, New York city. 
All communications Should be addressed 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY, 
No, 4o Park Row, New York. 


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smaller dose than other Magnesia. For 


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in bottles only, with U. S. Govern- 
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And by T. i HUSBAND, JR., Philadelphia, Pa. 
The Universal Fashion Co.’s 


Cut Paper PATTERNS, for Ladies’ and Children’s Gar- 
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for the ALBUM OF FASHIONS, a handsome folio book 
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40 East 12th st., New York. 


ADVERTISER. 167 


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Achilles, the greatest warrior of the elder world, could only 
receive his death wound in his heel 
have died since his day by receiving their death blow also 
upon the foot, discovering all too late that this was a vital 
part of the body. Wet feet, cold feet, hot and perspiring feet, 
are as dangerous to health and life as the wound that slew 
Achilles. and 
protect them from the rapid and extreme changes of our 


Many men and women 


Be wise in time and cover your feet properly, 


climate. 

I have every sort and variety of Shoes for Men, Women and 
children, thus providing the amplest care, comfort, protection 
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These Shoes are especially per to take the place of the 
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hesitate to warrant them equal to any custom made that are 
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CANVAS SHOES. 

My stock of Canvas Shoes of every description for Ladies, 
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People out of town should send for Illustrated 
Catalogue, which is mailed free on application. 


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168 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


THE SCHOOL OF HOME. 


Let the school of home be a good one. 
Let the reading at home be such as to 
quicken the mind for better reading still; 
for the school at home is progressive. 


The baby is to be read to, What shall 
mother and sister and father and brother 
read to the baby? 

BABYLAND. Babyland rhymes and jingles; 
great big letters and little thoughts and 
words out of BABYLAND. Pictures so easy 
to understand that baby quickly learns the 
meaning of light and shade, of distance, 
of tree, of cloud. The grass is green; the 
sky is blue; the flowers—are they red or 
yellow? ‘That depends on mother’s house- 
plants. Baby sees in the picture what she 
sees in the home and out of the window. 

BABYLAND, mother’s monthly picture- 
and-jingle primer for baby’s diversion, and 
baby’s mother-help. 

Babies are near enough alike. 
LAND fits them all; 50 cents a year. 
to D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 


One Basy- 
Send 


What, when baby begins to read for her- 
self? Why /erself and not Azmself? Turn 
about is fair play—If man means man and 
woman too, why shouldn't little girls in- 
clude the boys? 

Our LirtLtE Men anp WOMEN is an- 
other monthly made to go on with. Basy- 
LAND forms the reading habit. Think of a 
baby with the reading habit! After a little 
she picks up the letters and wants to know 
what they mean. The jingles are jingles 
still; but the tales that lie below the jingles 
begin to ask questions. 

What do Jack and Jill go up the hill 
after water for? Isn’t the water down hill? 
Baby is outgrowing BABYLAND. 

Our Lirrte Men anpd WOMEN comes 
next. No more nonsense. ‘There is fun 
enough in sense. The world is full of in- 
teresting things; and, if they come to a 
growing child not in discouraging tangles 


but an easy one at a time, there is fun 
enough in getting hold of them. That is 
the way to grow. Our LirrLe MEN AND 
WomeEN helps such growth as that. Begin- 
nings of things made easy by words and 
pictures; not too easy. The reading habit 
has got to another stage. 

You may send a dollar to D. Lothrop 
Company, Boston, for such a school as that 
for one year. 


Then comes THE Pansy with stories of 
child-life, tales of travel at home and 
abroad, adventure, history, old and new 
religion at home and over the seas, and 
roundabout tales on the International Sun- 
day School Lesson. 

Pansy the editor; THE Pansy the maga- 
zine. There are thousands and thousands 
of children and children of larger growth 
all over the country who know about Pansy 
the writer, and Tur Pansy the magazine. 
There are thousands and thousands more 
who will be glad to know. 

Send to D. Lothrop Company, Boston, a 
dollar a year for THE Pansy. 


The reading habit is now pretty well es- 
tablished; not only the reading habit, but 
liking for useful reading; and useful read- 
ing leads to learning. 

Now comes WibE AWAKE, vigorous, 
hearty, not to say heavy. No, it isn’t 
heavy, though full as it can be of practical 
help along the road to sober manhood and 
womanhood. Full as it can be? There is 
need of play as well as of work; and WipE 
AWAKE has its mixture of work and rest 
and play. The work is all toward self-im- 
provement; so is the rest; and so is the play. 

Send D. Lothrop Company, Boston, $2.40 
a year for WipE AWAKE. 


Specimen copies of all the Lothrop mag- 
azines for fifteen cents; any one for five— 
in postage stamps. 


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ue AUDUBON MAGAZINE. 


Wor. I. 


JOHN 


SEPTEMBER, 1887. 


JAMES AUDUBON. 


Vill. 


HE sun of Audubon’s life was sinking 

westward and the indomitable spirit 

and energy were breaking, but still he could 

not resign himself to idleness. He began 

preparing his last great work, which was a 
reduced copy of the English publication. 

For many years one of Audubon’s great- 
est desires had been to see the great plains 
of the West and the Rocky Mountains. It 
was a hope which was always with him, and 
now, when the infirmities of age were be- 
ginning to creep upon him, he felt that no 
time must be lost if he would realize this 
long cherished wish. So, after settling his 
family in their home at Minnie’s Land, in 
what is now called Audubon Park, he turned 
his face toward the West. 

It was in March, 1843, that he left New 
York for Philadelphia, where he was joined 
by his friends, Edward Harris, Isaac Sprague, 
Lewis Squires, John G. Bell and Jedediah 
Irish, who were to be his companions on his 
long journey. The party proceeded to Cin- 
cinnati and St. Louis, and ascending the 
Missouri River reached Fort Leavenworth 
early in May. The journey up the river 
was full of interest for Audubon, and the 
journal of the trip contains a very full ac- 
count of all that was seen. Fort Union, at 
the mouth of the Yellowstone, was reached 
June 1, and this was the furthest point at- 
tained. Three months were spent here— 
months that were full of profit and pleasure 


to the naturalist. New birds and new mam- 
mals were obtained in considerable num- 
bers, hunting expeditions were organized, 
and the Indians were studied. The region 
proved so full of interest that Audubon was 
anxious that some of his younger compan- 
ions should remain there during the winter. 
For himself this was impossible, since his 
strength would not endure the rigors of a 
Northern winter, and he returned home, 
reaching New York early in October. 

Notwithstanding his age and failing 
strength, Audubon had no sooner returned 
from the West than, with his usual energy, 
he began to work again, and in a little more 
than two years the first volume of the 
“Quadrupeds of North America” made its 
appearance. This was his last work, the 
remaining volumes of the “ Quadrupeds”’ 
having been prepared chiefly by his sons, 
Victor and John Woodhouse. 

The declining years of Audubon’s life 
were passed in New York city at his beauti- 
ful home on the Hudson River, an estate 
comprising about twenty-four acres, lying 
between 155th and 158th streets and Tenth 
avenue and the river. Here, with his wife, 
his children, and his children’s children, the 
naturalist lived simply but very happily, sur- 
rounded by those wild creatures among 
which had been spent so much of the grand 
life that was now drawing peacefully to its 
close. The woods were full of birds, and 


172 


deer and elk rambled over the grass and 
beneath the ancient trees. Here, as he 
himself wrote in 1846, “ Surrounded by all 
the members of my dear family, enjoying 
the affection of numerous friends who have 
never abandoned me, and possessing a suffi- 
cient share of all that contributes to make 
life agreeable, I lift my grateful eyes toward 
the Supreme Being and feel that I am 
happy.” 

Toward the close of his life his sight 
began to fail him, so that he could no 
longer see to draw, and we may imagine 
what a deprivation it was to him to be 
obliged to lay aside his pencil. He bore 
his affliction with wonderful patience and 
sweetness, but it was the beginning of the 
end. In 1848 his mind, for sixty-eight years 
so vigorous and active, entirely failed him, 
and it was not until the day of his death, 
three years later, that the light of intelli- 
gence shone again from those eyes, hereto- 
fore so keen and piercing. 

Cared for and protected by loving hearts 
and tender hands, he passed down into the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death, and on the 
morning of January 27, 1851, the long, 
adventurous, useful life ended. 

In a sketch of this nature it is not neces- 
sary to enlarge upon Audubon’s work, nor to 
demonstrate its importance to science. The 
world has already given its verdict as to these 
points ; the name of Audubon has been in- 
scribed high up on the roll of fame. Wilson, 
Bonaparte, Swainson and Nuttall all did 
their part toward making known the birds 
of America, but Audubon differed from all 
these as the artist differs from the skilled 
mechanic. In their drawings, however ex- 
act, the birds suggest immobility, in Audu- 
bon’s, arrested motion. Their figures lack 
the true artist's insight, which, penetrating 
beyond form, size and color, enabled him to 
depict the birds as instinct with life, char- 
acter and motion. Besides this, it was 
Audubon’s happy lot to live near to Nature’s 
heart, and to have her whisper to him se- 


John Fames Audubon. 


crets that she withheld from others. Wil- 
liam Swainson, in writing of the work in 
the Natural History Magazine in May, 1828, 
did but justice .to the artistic aspect of 
Audubon’s work when he said: 

“Tt will depend upon the powerful and 
the wealthy, whether Britain shall have the 
honor of fostering such a magnificent under- 
taking. It will be a lasting monument not 
only to the memory of its author, but to 
those who employ their wealth in patroniz- 
ing genius, and in supporting the national 
credit. If any publication deserves such a 
distinction, it is surely this, inasmuch as it 
exhibits a perfection in the higher attributes 
of zoological painting never before at- 
tempted. To represent the passions and 
the feelings of birds, might, until now, have 
been well deemed chimerical. Rarely, in- 
deed, do we see their outlined forms repre- 
sented with anything like nature. In my 
estimation, not more than three painters ever 
lived who could drawa bird. Of these the 
lamented Barrabaud, of whom France may 
justly be proud, was the chief. He has 
long passed away; but his mantle has, at 
length, been recovered in the forests of 
America.” 

Indomitable energy and perseverance 
were two most striking attributes of Audu- 
bon’s character, and joined with these was 
an enthusiasm and freshness that old age 
could not subdue. His temperament was 
sanguine, and he was never worn out by 
delays, never defeated by disappointment. 
He had an abiding faith in himself, and in 
the ultimate accomplishment of his work. 
For years he labored alone, facing with 
smiling courage obstacles which would have 
crushed hope out of the heart of a man less 
vigorous. 

One person there was who from the be- 
ginning shared his hopes and fears, who 
encouraged him in times of depression 
and doubt, who labored in order that he 
might have money with which to carry on his 
investigations, and who, whether by his side 


The Spotted Sandpiper. 


or separated from him by the width of an 
ocean, was ever his closest friend and his 
firmest supporter. To Lucy Audubon, his 
beautiful wife, as much as to the natural- 
ist himself, do we owe the great works 
which have made famous the name of Au- 
dubon. Many of those who read these 
pages will remember her majestic yet be- 
nign presence, and can understand the 
power for aid which so strong a character 
as hers must have exerted on the light- 
hearted and enthusiastic husband, whom 
she survived for twenty years. 


= 
173 


In beautiful Trinity Cemetery, within 
hearing of the lapping waters of the broad 
river, on whose banks they had lived to- 
gether, and hardly a stone’s throw from 
the house where their declining years were 
passed, John James Audubon and Lucy, 
his wife, repose side by side. No towering 
shaft rises toward heaven to mark their 
resting place or commemorate their deeds, 
but on the gray granite of a simple vault is 
carved the name 


. AUDUBON. 


ese SOM ISB SyASN DP TPE RS. 


UNNING swiftly along the sandy 
beach of the seashore, or probing 
the mud on the margin of some quiet pool, 
or balancing himself on a rock that rises 
above the surface of a brawling stream, you 
may find the Spotted Sandpiper any day 
from the early spring to the late summer. 
One of our commonest birds throughout 
the whole country, he is equally abundant 
along the surf-beaten sands of Long Island, 
the sluggish sloughs of Illinois, the mud- 
laden, hurrying waters of the great Mis- 
souri River and the streams of California, 
and wherever found he is the same familiar 
trustful little fellow, always busy about his 
own affairs, and having no time at all to 
attend to those of other people. There is 
one exception to this rule, and if his nest is 
approached, or he imagines that you are 
about to harm his downy young that on un- 
steady legs are following him and his wife 
about, learning how to make their living, 
then indeed the Spotted Sandpiper makes 
a dismal outcry, and both parents fly about 
you with piercing shrieks which tell plainly 
enough the story of their distress and the 
affection which they feel for their brood. 
At such times the mother resorts to every 
artifice to lead the enemy away from her 
young. She flutters on the ground almost 


at your feet, as if she were badly hurt and 
quite unable to fly, but if you attempt to 
catch her she manages by a few desperate 
wing beats to elude your grasp, and again 
struggles just before you, trembling and 
panting and with feebly beating wings, as 
if the effort she had just made had really 
been the last of which she was capable, and 
now you had only to step forward and take 
her in your hand. If you attempt it, you 
will find that she can still struggle onward, 
and so, step by step, she will lead you from 
her children, who, at the first sharp note 
which warned them of danger, squatted on 
the ground and remain perfectly motionless. 
As they are slate gray in color it is almost 
impossible to distinguish them from the 
stones among which they lie concealed. 
After the dangerous intruder has been 
drawn far enough from the spot where the 
young are hidden, all the mother’s vigor 
returns to her, and she flies away in tri- 
umph to return in a little while, and call 
the young out of their hiding places. It is 
a pretty sight to see the reunion of the little 
family and to observe the air of proud satis- 
faction with which the mother leads them 
away. 

Besides being one of our most common 
birds, the Spotted Sandpiper is a species of 


174 


wide distribution, being found from the 
Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, and equally 
abundant in Alaska and Florida. The bird 
is also found in the West India Islands and 
in Mexico, and Central and South America, 
Its range may therefore be said to be Am- 
erica at large. 

The Spotted Sandpiper is known by a 
variety of names. Of these “ Peet-weet” 
manifestly refers to its shrill double-noted 
cry; “Tip-up ” and “Teeter ”’ to its curious 
bobbing or balancing motion, raising and 
lowering its tail as it stands; while ‘ Potato 
Snipe,” by which name it is known in cer- 
tain parts of Long Island, is given from its 
habit of feeding in the potato fields, where 
it destroys great numbers of insects. 

This species breeds almost everywhere in 
temperate North America, and its nest may 
be found high up on the Rocky Mountains, 
as well as near the streams on the plains 
below, and on the coast. Although breed- 
ing both in Labrador and Alaska, it was not 
found by Dr. Richardson in the fur country, 
but it has been taken on the Mackenzie 
River. 

This species reaches the Middle States 
from the South early in April in small flocks, 
which soon separate into pairs. Nesting is 
begun in May, and the site chosen varies 
much with the surroundings. Sometimes 
the nest is close to the bank of some 
little brook or still pool, and at others it 
may be at quite a distance from the water 
in a pasture, under a hedgerow, or among 
the weeds on the edge of a potato field. 
Nuttall saw one in a strawberry bed. In 
such locations a little hollow is scraped in 
the ground, and on a rough lining of a few 
blades of dried grass the eggs are deposit- 
ed. Sometimes the nest is more elaborate 
and better finished, for Audubon describes 
those found by him on an island in the 
Gulf of St. Lawrence as being quite large 
and well lined, Others still, found on the 
coast of Labrador, were even more worthy 
the name of nests, being made of dry moss 


The Spotted Sandpiper. 


and carefully lined with duck's feathers and 
dried grass. These nests were concealed 
under ledges of rock, and were so well 
hidden that they probably would not have 
been discovered, had it not been that the 
birds flew out as the naturalist was passing 
by. 
The eggs of the Spotted Sandpiper are 
always four in number. They are much 
pointed at the small end, and when lying in 
the nest the small ends are all together in 
the middle and the large ends toward the 
outside. The eggs are a dull cream color 
or grayish-yellow, and are thickly spotted 
with blotches of dark brown and black, 
which are much more numerous about the 
larger end. Like those of many snipe-like 
species, the eggs are very large in propor- 
tion to the size of the bird, being an inch 
and a quarter in length, and very wide at 
the larger end. 

The young leave the nest as soon as they 
are hatched and follow the mother as her 
chickens doahen. Their food is at first 
flies and small insects, and as they grow 
older, water insects, snails and small shells. 
After the young have become able to fly, 
the family still remain together, and being 
joined by other individuals, they keep in 
flocks, often of a dozen individuals, until the 
approach of cold weather, in October or 
early November, when they begin their 
journey southward. 

The flight of the Spotted Sandpiper is 
rapid and sustained, and when a flock is 
flying by, they swing from side to side, show- 
ing now their dark backs and again the 
white of their under parts. Sometimes they 
huddle closely together and again spread 
out. They circle and turn with surprising 
quickness. As soon as a flock alights the 
birds scatter out, running along the shore 
or upon floating drift stuff, hunting for food, 
and often wading out in the water until it 
is too deep for them to touch the bottom, 
when they swim easily and quite rapidly, 
When shot over the water, and only wounded 


Our Smith College Audubon Society. 


they often attempt to escape by diving, 
using their wings for progression under 
water. They sometimes alight on the 
branches of trees, where they walk lightly 
and easily, and we have frequently seen 
them perch upon the slender pliant willow 
twigs projecting from newly repaired 
“beaver houses” in the Missouri River and 
other Western streams. Audubon says that 
he has seen them on haystacks, where they 
seemed to be catching insects. 

The Spotted Sandpiper is a gentle and 
unsuspicious little bird, and readily answers 
and moves toward an imitation of its call 
note. In this way these birds are often 
lured within shooting distance of boys with 
guns, who thus kill many of them, but they 
are t09 small to be coveted by the grown 
up gunner, who disdains to shoot at such 
tiny birds. 

Within a few years past, however, many 
Spotted Sandpipers have been killed for 
hat decoration, and their distorted skins 


OUR SMITE COLLEGE 


T may seem a very simple thing to form 
an Audubon Society, but some ex- 
tremely perplexing questions arise when 
you come to the practical work of organiza- 
tion. 

How many boys or girls care for orni- 
thology? What can there be about an Au- 
dubon Society that is picturesque or enter- 
taining? If it is to have life, meetings 
must be held; but what can they be about? 
Shall you read reports on the proselytes 
the members have made—lists of names 
often too meagre to receive attention? Dry 
bones tied with red tape! Who would come 
to the meetings? The Society would come 
to an end as soon as the birds were tempo- 
rarily protected by a change of fashion. 

No. People must know and love the 
birds, or false logic and worldly argument 


175 


have adorned the headgear of many good 
but thoughtless women. 

The Spotted Sandpiper is about seven 
inches in length, and of this the bill 
occupies one inch. In color this bird is 
glossy olive brown above, sometimes with 
greenish reflections. The feathers of the 
top of head and neck are marked with dark 
spots along the shafts of the feathers, 
Those of the back are faintly barred with 
wavy black. The quills of the wings are 
dusky brown, all except the two outer ones 
being marked with a large oval spot of 
white on the inner web. Tail feathers like 
the back, but tipped with white and with a 
subterminal black bar. A line over the eye 
and the entire under parts white, thickly 
dotted with sharp circular black spots on the 
breast, reminding one of the spots on the 
breast of a thrush. Bill pale yellow, tipped 
with black, Feet, flesh color. The young 
of the year lack the spots below and are 
generally duller and grayer than the adults. 


AWD U BOIN SOCLE DT Y- 


will make them indifferent to their destruc- 
tion. You must interest them in the birds 
themselves. But how? By reading prosy 
descriptions from ornithological tomes 
full of measurements of “tarsus,” “middle 
toe,” “claw,” “bill above,” “along gape;” 
and statistics concerning remiges, culmen, 
spurious primaries, and the freedom of the 
“basal joint of middle toe for terminal 
fourth on outside, for half on inside?” 
Ordinary boys and girls have no desire to 
become ornithologists, but are easily inter- 
ested in out-of-door life. So take them 
into the fields and let them see how the 
birds look, what they have to say, how they 
spend their time, what sort of houses they 
build, and what are their family secrets. 
When we decided to do this, we deter- 
mined the success of our future Society. 


176 Our Smith College Audubon Soctety. 


We said that our work must have two dis- 
tinct phases from the Outset: 

First—Proselyting. 

Second—Field work, 

But we said it tentatively, for the Audu- 
bon Society, now numbering over thirty 
thousand members, had been founded only 
a week or so then; and of our three hun- 
dred college girls, hardly half a dozen had 
heard of it, or had acknowledged to them- 
selves any especial interest in birds. 

With the instinct of agriculturists we 
began by preparing the ground. We but- 
tonholed our intimate friends, and got 
them to buttonhole theirs. We cut from 
newspapers the slips that were begin- 
ning to appear on bird destruction, and 
distributed them with telling effect; we had 
the question brought up in our Science 
Association meetings, and discussed in the 
biological laboratory. Gradually our list 
of friends increased. Two of the faculty 
took up our cause; little groups of students 
would meet to read each other the startling 
statistics; and one of the chief movers 
found one day a discarded plume in her let- 
ter box. The time was ripe. Something 
must be done to feed the interest. Too 
many questions were pending to allow of 
formal organization, and so a mass meeting 
was decided upon. Notices were posted, 
inviting all the college, but our hopes were 
more than realized when our tellers re- 
ported seventy girls and “five Faculty.” To 
our freshman friends that mass meeting 
must have seemed a marvel of spontaneity, 
but junior year has shown them the neces- 
sity of wire-pulling, and the exposure of our 
schemes will be no shock to them now. 
To let our first meeting drag would have 
been fatal. So the subjects we wanted 
discussed were arranged in their proper 
order, popular girls and the best speakers 
being selected to talk on them. Extracts 
and statistics were given them to illustrate 
their topics, and they were impressed with 


their cues, to avoid delay. We even went 


so far as to select the chairman, and those 
who should move her appointment. The 
result was that everything went off without 
a hitch or a pause. A usually shrinking 
senior took the chair with business-like self- 
possession; another senior who had never 
been known to speak in a meeting, rose be- 
fore her friend was fairly seated, and elabor- 
ated the “Need of Bird Protection” with 
a calmness that amazed her intimates; a 
popular leader of Germans and picnic par- 
ties captured the society element by the 
rare display of her earnestness in discussing 
the “Moral Side of the Question,’ while 
another college favorite won over the tender- 
hearted by showing the “Cruelties of the 
Fashion;” the one ornithologist among the 
students told us of the many forms of in- 
terest coming from the study of birds; the 
delights of field work were pointed out by 
one of the professors; and after a sugges- 
tive talk by a member of the Faculty on the 
position birds occupy in literature, and the 
pleasure their study brings in that direc- 
tion, the meeting was adjourned amid a 
burst of enthusiasm. 

That day a city milliner inquired anx- 
iously if the college authorities had forbid- 
den the use of birds, so many hats had 
been brought to her to be retrimmed. 
After this we were sure of support, and the 
business of organization was an easy mat- 
ter. Committees were appointed to draw 
up the constitution, report on a name for 
the Society, and so on, It seemed more 
for the interest of the main Society that all 
branches should be known by the same 
name throughout the country, so when Dr. 
Grinnell assured us that we could be a 
perfectly independent branch, we rejected 
the more individual titles of “Merle and 
Mavis Club,” “The Pterodactyl” and others, 
in favor of “Smith College Audubon So- 
ciety.” The election of officers involved 
more wire-pulling, and ‘eel skins” were 
distributed among our friends, who brought 
the candidates into notice, On March 17, 


Our Smith College Audubon Society. 177 


1886, the constitution was adopted, the 
president, vice-president, secretary, treas- 
urer and executive committee were elected 
—the field work committee being left for 
appointment by the Council—and we be- 
came formally organized as a college soci- 
ety, scarcely three weeks from the beginning 
of our work, and, as we prided ourselves, 
some time before the establishment of the 
Wellesley Society. 

By this time the end of the term was ap- 
proaching, and ethics, theses, Plato, Kant, 
Hegel and others were jealously claiming 
our attention. 

The “S. C. A. S.” grew during vacation, 
however, and when we got back and heard 
that Mr. Burroughs was coming to begin 
field work with us, we felt sure of success. 
He was in Northampton three days, and 
took us out in classes of from ten to forty, 
whenever we could get away from recita- 
tions. The first morning, about forty started 
out at half-past five, and the same afternoon 
thirty of us climbed Mt. Tom with him. It 
was early in the spring for birds, and our 
numbers were enough to have frightened 
back to the South the few that had ven- 
tured North; but the strong influence 
of Mr. Burroughs’s personality and quiet 
enthusiasm gave just the inspiration that 
was needed. We all caught the conta- 
gion of the woods. With gossamers and 
raised umbrellas we would gather about 
him under the trees, while he stood leaning 
against a stump, utterly indifferent to the 
rain, absorbed in incidents from the life of 
some goldfinch or sparrow, interpreting the 
chippering of the swift as it darted about 
overhead, or answering the questions put to 
him, with the simplicity and kindliness of a 
beneficent sage. 

After he left, we lost no time in arrang- 
ing our spring field work. A committee of 
four gave up certain hours to taking the 
girls out, a sub-committee of nine being 
especially trained to relieve them as the 
classes increased in size. The work was 


carried through enthusiastically, and was 
eminently successful. The object was not 
to produce ornithologists, but to create 
habits of exact observation and arouse 
sympathetic interest in birds. The sections 
of observers were made as small as possible 
to facilitate the work. Pocket note books 
were distributed, so that all the characteris- 
tics of the birds could be taken down in the 
field, and general classifications and other 
points given by the heads of sections could 
be put down for reference when the girls 
went out to study by themselves. Blank 
migration schedules from the Ornithological 
Division of the Department of Agriculture 
were supplied to those who cared to arrange 
their notes themselves. 

Early in the season large supplies of 
Audubon circulars and pamphlets were 
placed in the college houses. 

At the May meeting, one of the natural- 
ists of the town gave us an interesting talk 
on nests, telling us where to find them, and 
how to distinguish them. At the June 
meeting, the president of the Society gave a 
sketch of the life of Audubon, and this was 
followed by a report of the work of the 
term, which excited general discussion of 
the notes made by the different members, 
and was very entertaining. 

At the end of the first three months the 
Society had eighty-nine members. Fifty of 
these had been in the field, and twenty-three 
handed in notes to be collaborated and sent 
to the Department of Agriculture. Seventy- 
six species of birds had been reported on;, 
fifty-six nests had been found, including 
twenty-two kinds; and a great many inter- 
esting and valuable notes had been col- 
lected. The treasury held over twenty 
dollars as the result of the twenty-five cent 
membership fee. In the line of proselyting, 
thousands of Audubon papers had been dis- 
tributed, a society had been founded in 
Kansas, and certainly a hundred outside 
converts had been made. 

The summer vacation, bringing with it 


178 Wholesale Destruction 


NI 


the attempt to force the fashion of feather 
millinery back again, called for the best 
efforts of our workers, and ten thousand 
circulars were sent out by a few of the 
most zealous, while letters and newspaper 
protests were used to spread the opposition. 

When college opened in the fall, although 
the class of '86, with whom the Society 
originated, had gone, the “S. C. A. S.” was 
found in the same vigorous condition, and 
fifty observers took up field work at the 
outset. The interest increased through 
the year, and the meetings were varied by 


of Birds in Florida. 


discussions of field work, essays by observ- 
ers, and popular articles from those natu- 
ralists who have the art of putting others 
into the spirit of the woods. 

In fact, the “S, C. A. S.’ has become one 
of the established institutions of the college, 
and it is safe to predict for it a long 
career of usefulness, for it is helping to 
make of our girls who have been blinded 
by the absorbing public school training, 
women who shall see, and that in the deep- 
est, fullest sense ever emphasized by Mr. 
Ruskin. 

From BEHIND THE SCENES. 


WHOLESALE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS IN 


N O one familiar with the story of Phar- 

aoh and the plagues of Egypt would 
openly advocate the extermination of the 
birds of this continent; but while thousands 
look on at the process with calm indiffer- 
ence, unconscious that birds play any im- 
portant part in the economy of nature, there 
are other—and on this point better informed 
—people who realize clearly some of the 
possible consequences of such extermina- 
tion, but who pooh-pooh the idea that the 
annual demand for five or ten million bird 
skins can in any way affect the permanent 
supply. 

With such people it is useless to argue 
from general principles, and if facts are ad- 
duced they are generally ready to dispute 
them on the ground that they have been 
collected by incompetent observers, or to 
assert that they are explicable on some 
other theory; but a careful report upon the 
so-called rookeries of Florida (the erstwhile 
winter home and breeding grounds of 1n- 
numerable waterfowl, divers and waders) by 
W.E. D. Scott in the April and July num- 
bers of Zhe Auk is conclusive as to the 
disappearance of all birds of this class from 
our Southern lowlands, and leave no room 
for the plea of incompetence to form a con- 


FLORIDA. 


clusion. Mr. Scott is a naturalist, familiar 
with the region of which he treats, and the 
evidence which he adduces as to the rapid 
disappearance of waterfowl from the Florida 
lowlands and waters, is not the testimony of 
theorists, sentimentalists or casual observers, 
but the very best of all evidence for our 
purpose, viz., that of men who pursue the 
collection of skins as a calling. 

But we will first call Mr. Scott himself to 
the bar. Mr. Scott went down in 1886 to 
visit localities with which he had already 
familiarized himself in1880. As a natural- 
ist and trained observer he had carried 
away with him on his first visit a perfectly 
distinct impression of the region as he then 
saw it. Let him now speak for himself as 
to the sense of contrast awakened by his 
second visit after a six years’ interval. 
Writing of the smaller of the Anclote Keys 
(two islands in the Gulf of Mexico) he says: 

‘Six years ago the smaller of these two keys was 
a rookery for countless pairs of birds. There were 
literally thousands of them. The several acres of 
breeding ground aré closely wooded with mangrove 
and other trees and bushes, and each tree or bush of 
any size contained several nests, * * * besides, 
during May and June, hundreds of pairs of frigate 
birds (/regeta agui/a) though these, as far as I am 
aware, did not breed. * * This morning in passing 


Wholesale Destruction of Birds tn Florida. 


these islands I saw but four pelicans (they were flying 
by), two or three frightened herons, and a few gulls 
andterns. * * * Onceat this time of the year a 
perfect cloud of birds were to be seen hovering all 
day over the islands, so tame and unsuspicious that 
they had little or no fear of man, but now the place 
is almost deserted by birds, and the few that are left 
have become, by being hunted, as wary as the tradi- 
tional deer.” 


The above extracts give Mr. Scott's first 
impressions as to the changes wrought by 
skin collectors, impressions which further 
wanderings did nothing to remove. The 
same day (April 30, 1886) he passed another 
deserted heronry, which had many herons 
breeding on it in 1880, and the next day he 
reached John’s Pass, where he particularly 
wished to observe a rookery visited in April 
six years before. 


““At that time (he writes) I made two visits of a 
day and a night each in this same rookery, and 
among the myriads of birds that are breeding and 
roosting the particular abundance of the roseate 
spoonbill, the reddish egret and all of the common 
herons, as well as the white ibis, will never be for- 
gotten. It is enough to state without going into 
great detail, that in one flock at that time were at 
least two hundred wonderfully colored spoonbills, 
and that the number of the other species were many 
times greater.” 


Now observe what he says of the state of 
affairs in 1886: 


“Looking carefully over both (islands) I could see 
no birds where we anchored, but as the sun began 
to get low in the west, a few—possibly fifty in all— 
shy and suspicious herons straggled in to roost on 
the smaller of the two keys, and a flock of fish crows 
were the only visitors at the larger. * * * No 
spoonbill, not a single white ibis—in fact an utter 
transformation from the happy and populous com- 
munity of only a few years before.” 

Every day's observation is but a weary 
repetition of the same experiences. Referring 
to his cruise through Charlotte Harbor he 
writes: 

Captain Baker, who sailed the sloop, an old 
sponger and fisherman who had been familiar with 
all of this country for twenty-five years or more, 
pointed out to me among these islands, four at dif- 


ferent points, where he assured me vast rookeries 
had existed, One of perhaps sixty acres he said he 


179 


had seen so covered with ‘‘ white curlew”’ that, to 
use his own words, ‘‘it looked from a distance as if 
a big white sheet had been thrown over the man- 
And though we passed by, as I have said 
before, islands that plainly showed, by excrement 
still on the ground, that once countless numbers of 
birds had lived there, sailing probably over about 
forty miles in all, I did not see a rookery that was 
occupied even by a few birds, and I only saw a few 
stray gulls, pelicans, and two herons in the whole 
day’s cruise. About 4 o'clock, P. M., we reached a 
little settlement at the mouth of Pease Creek, called 
Hickory Bluff, and I went ashore to get what infor- 
mation I could regarding birds. 

The postmaster and several other citizens with 
whom I talked all agreed that five or six years be- 
fore birds had been plenty at the rookeries, and that 
it was no trouble to get hundreds of eggs to eat or 
to kill as many birds as one cared to. But that for 
the past two years birds had been so persecuted, to 
get their plumes for the Northern market, that they 
were practically exterminated, or at least driven 
away from all their old haunts. I further learned 
that all of the gunners and hunters in the country 
round, had up to this year reaped a very considerable 
income from this source. Birds were killed, and the 
plumes taken from the back, head, and breast, and 
the carcass thrown to the buzzards. Fort Myers, on 
the Caloosahatchie, was the central local market for 
this traffic, where several buyers were always ready 
to pay a high cash price for all plumes and fancy 
feathers. The force of resident buyers was increased 
during the winter of each year by taxidermists (?) 
and buyers from the North, who came, in some cases 
at least, provided to equip hunters with breech- 
loaders, ammunition, and the most approved and 
latest devices for carrying on the warfare. One 
man, who had come down in this way for the past 
four years, was down South now, and regularly em- 
ployed from forty to sixty gunners, furnishing them 
with all supplies and giving so much a plume or flat 
skin, for all the birds most desirable. The prices, 
I was told, ranged from twenty cents to two dollars 
and a half a skin, the average being about forty cents 
apiece. 

During his stay here he was visited by 
two plume hunters, from whom he obtained 
a great deal of information as to the condi- 
tion of things, past and present. One of 
them, Abe Wilkerson, was on his way to 
some lakes far up the river, where he hoped 
to find large rookeries of the little white 
egret. 

His method of obtaining birds (he told Mr. Scott) 


groves.’ 


180 Wholesale Destruction of Birds in Florida. 


was with a 22-cal. Winchester rifle. With this he 
‘could go into a rookery and secrete himself, and by 
using the lightest kind of cartridge get many more 
‘birds than with a shotgun, as the report is hardly 
‘greater than the snapping of a branch, and is 
scarcely noticed by the birds. In this way he said 
he had been able in a large rookery down south to 
get over four hundred ‘‘plume birds” in less than 
four days. 

During the first week of Mr. Scott’s sail- 
ing among the islands he saw only what may 
be called the final results of plume hunting, 
but guided by Mr. Wilkerson he found his 
way later to an island which had just been 
worked by the plume hunters. We will let 
him describe the same in his own words: 

A few herons were to be seen from time to time 
flying to the island, and presently I took the small 
boat and went ashore to reconnoitre. This had 
evidently been only a short time before a large rook- 
ery. The trees were full of nests, some of which 
still contained eggs, and hundreds of broken eggs 
strewed the ground everywhere. Fish crows and 
both kinds of buzzards were present in great num- 
bers and were rapidly destroying the remaining eggs. 
I found a huge pile of dead, half decayed birds, ly- 
ing on the ground, which had apparently been killed 
for a day or two. All of them had the ‘‘plumes” 
taken with a patch of the skin from the back, and 
some had the wings cut off; otherwise they were un- 
injured. I counted over two hundred birds treated in 
this way. * * * This was the rookery that Mr. Wilker- 
son had spoken of; within the last few days it had been 
almost destroyed, hundreds of old birds having been 
killed and thousands of eggs broken. I do not 
know of a more horrible and brutal exhibition of 
wanton destruction than that which I witnessed here. 


Now let us hear what Mr. Frank Johnson, 
a professional “bird plumer,” has to say on 
the subject. Mr. Scott interviewed him of 
course, and the bird plumer talked freely 
—almost feelingly. 


He was hunting plumes, particularly of the snowy 
heron, American egret, and reddish egret, as they 
brought the highest prices, but he killed to sell to 
the ‘‘taxidermists,” as he called them, ‘‘ almost any- 
thing that wore feathers.” He said he wished there 
was some law to protect the birds, at least during the 
breeding time, which would not be violated. He 
added, however, that as everybody else was ‘* plum- 
ing,’ he had made up his mind that he might as well 
have his share. 

He was killing birds and taking plumes now for 


Mr. J. H. Batty, of New York city, who employed 
many men along the entire Gulf coast from Cedar 
Keys to Key West. When asked what Mr. Batty 
purchased, it was again “‘almost anything that wore 
feathers, but more particularly the herons, spoon- 
bills, and showy birds.” * * * 


A fortnight later, while at Punta Rassa, 
Mr. Scott again met Abe Wilkerson, who 
had returned from the Myakka Lakes, at 
which he expected to secure so many little 
white egret plumes. He reported very lit- 
tle success—about seventy-five plumes—for 
although he had found large rookeries, the 
birds (he said) had been so persistently 
hunted that they had become very wild. 

But what need to pursue the subject fur- 
ther? The war of extermination has been 
waged so successfully that the very plume 
hunters, seeing their occupation gone, are 
pleading for protection in the breeding 
season. 

The lowlands of Florida, the marshes, 
the rivers, the islands of its long indented 
coast line, which but seven years ago were 
teeming with bird life over their wide area, 
are now one vast expanse of dreary desola- 
tion—cities of the dead, rendered only still 
more strikingly desolate by the mournful 
cries of the few solitary survivors. Is it 
not time to check this wanton destruction, 
and endeavor by a rigid protection of the 
little remnant to restore the condition of 
earlier years? There are other than senti- 
mental reasons for this course. The lives 
of these birds are not purposeless. They 
take their food in the water and accumulate 
their droppings on the land. In this man- 
ner barren rocks and sands are dressed with 
organic remains rich in phosphates that 
have not been derived from the soil, but 
which the birds have for ages been storing 
up for the future support of the population 
of the State, 

A war of extermination against these birds 
is a war against God and Nature, and re- 
flects no less discredit on the government 
which tolerates it supinely, than on the in- 
dividuals who prosecute it for gain. 


EIN TS] -.O> -Asuep UB OWN 


FIFTY COMMON BIRDS 


HEN you begin to study the warb- 
lers, you will probably come to 
the conclusion that you know nothing about 
birds, and can never learn. But if you be- 
gin by recognizing their common traits, and 
then study a few of the easiest ones and 
those that nest in your locality, you will get 
less discouraged, and, when the flocks come 
back at the next migration, will be able to 
master the peculiarities of a larger number. 
Most of them are very small—much less 
than half the size of a robin—and are not 
only short but slender. Active as the chick- 
adee or kinglet, they are good examples of 
perpetual motion, flitting about the trees 
and undergrowth after insects without con- 
sideration for the observer who is attempt- 
ing to make out their markings. 

As a group, they are dashed with all the 
colors of the rainbow, a flock of them look- 
ing as if a painter had thrown his palette at 
them. You can see no cthyme-orreason. in 
the confusing combinations, and when you 
find that their colors differ entirely accord- 
ing to age and sex, you despair of ever 
mastering them. 

Why they should be called warblers is a 
puzzle, as a large percentage of them have 
nothing worthy the name of a song, nothing 
but a thin chatter, or a shrill piping trill. 

If you wish to form a negative concep- 
tion of them, think of the coloring, song 
and habits of the thrush, No contrast could 
be more complete. 

The best places to look for them during 
migration are young trees, sunny slopes, 
and orchards. 


BLACKBURNIAN WARBLER}; HEMLOCK WARB- 
LER}; ORANGE-THROATED WARBLER. 


The Blackburnian is one of the hand- 
somest and most easily recognized of the 


* CopyRiGHT, 1887, BY FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. 


AND HOW 


Iv. 


WORKERS * 


TO KNOW THEM. 


warblers. His throat is a rich orange or 
flame color, so brilliant that you can never 
mistake him for any of the others. His 
back is black, with yellowish markings. 
His crown is black, but has an orange spot 
in the center; the rest of his head, except 
near his eye, being the same flaming orange 
as his throat. His wings have white 
patches, and his breast is whitish, tinged 
with yellow. His sides are streaked with 
black. The female and young are duller, 
the black of their backs being mingled with 
olive; while their throats are yellow, instead 
of orange. 

Now and then you are fortunate enough 
to get a near view of this exquisite bird, but 
he has an aggravating fondness for the 
highest branches of the tallest trees. You 
can see that there is something up there, 
but as you throw your head back against 
your collar and strain through your opera 
glass, you fancy it is some phantom bird 
flitting about darkening the leaves. The 
seconds wear into minutes, but you dare 
not change your position. Your glasses 
won't help you to see through the leaves, 
but you feel sure that something will ap- 
pear in a moment, over the edge of that 
spray or on the end of that bare twig and it 
won't do to miss it. So when your neck- 
ache becomes intolerable you fix your eye 
on the spot and step cautiously backward 
till you can lean up against a tree. The 
support disappoints you, your hand trem- 
bles as much as ever, and your neck is 
growing stiff. You make a final effort, take 
your glass in both hands, and change your 
focus, when suddenly you hear a low, fine 
trill, that you recognize from being ac- 
cented on the end like a redstart’s, coming 
from a branch several feet higher over your 


head. Your neck refuses to bend an inch 


182 


further. You are in despair. But all at 
once your tormentor comes tumbling down 
through the leaves after an insect that has 
gotten away from him, and you catch one 
fleeting glimpse of orange that more than 
repays you for all your trials. 

The nest of the Blackburnian is rarely 
found, but is said to be built, usually, high 
among the pines. It is made of grass, and 
lined with feathers, hair or fur. The eggs 
are of a pale bluish-green, spotted all over 
with umber brown of varying intensity. 


BLACK AND WHITE CREEPING WARBLER. 


Although much more slender, the creeper 
is just about the length of the chickadee, of 
whom he reminds you by his fondness for 
tree trunks and branches. Instead of flit- 
ting about gaily, however, he creeps soberly 
up and down the length of the trees, cir- 
cling around as he goes, reminding you 
strongly of the nuthatch and the brown 
creeper. 

As his name indicates, he is entirely black 
and white, and for the most part the colors 
are arranged in alternate streaks, except on 
the underside of his breast, where there is 
an area of white. His song is a high- 
keyed trill, and as he is so nearly the color 
of the gray bark he is generally clinging 
to, it is a very grateful help to the discoy- 
ery of his whereabouts. 

Of his song Mr. Burroughs says: “ Here 
and there I meet the black and white creep- 
ing warbler, whose fine strain reminds me 
of hair wire. It is unquestionably the 
finest bird song to be heard.” 

In describing the nest and young, Mr. 
Burroughs says: “A black and white 
creeping warbler suddenly became much 
alarmed as I approached a crumbling old 
stump in a dense part of the forest. He 
alighted upon it, chirped sharply, ran up 
and down its sides, and finally left it with 
much The which con- 
tained three young birds nearly fledged, 
was placed upon the ground, at the foot of 


reluctance. nest, 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 


the stump, and in such a position that the 
color of the young harmonized perfectly 
with the bits of bark,-sticks, etc., lying 
about. My eye rested upon them for the 
second time before I made them out. They 
hugged the nest very closely, but as I put 
down my hand they all scampered off with 
loud cries for help, which caused the parent 
birds to place themselves almost within my 
reach.” The nest was merely a little dry 
grass arranged in a thick bed of dry leaves. 


BLACK-THROATED BLUE WARBLER. 


Like other ladies, the little feathered 
brides have to bear their husbands’ names 
whether they are appropriate or not. What 
injustice! Here an innocent creature with 
an olive-green back and yellowish breast 
has to go about all her days known as the 
black-throated blue warbler, just because 
that happens to describe the dress of her 
spouse! The very most she has in com- 
mon with him is a white spot on her wings, 
and, as if to add insult to injury, that does 
not come into the name atall. Talk about 
woman’s wrongs! And the poor little 
things can not even apply to the Legislature 
to have their names changed! 

You do not blame them for nesting in 
the mountain fastness and the seclusion of 
our Northern woods, to get away from the 
scientists who ignore their individuality in 
this shocking manner. For it is not the 
fault of their mates in this case. They are 
as pleasing, inoffensive birds as any in the 
warbler family, and go about singing their 
sy guttural ¢ g° as they hunt over the 
twigs and branches, without the slightest 
assumption of conjugal authority. 

Mr. Burroughs has given a most delight- 
ful and sympathetic description of them. 
He says: “Beyond the bark-peeling, where 
the woods are mingled hemlock, beech, and 
birch, the languid midsummer note of the 
black-throated blue-back falls on my ear, 
‘Twea, twea, twea-e-e! in the upward slide, 
and with the peculiar z-zg of summer in- 


Hints to Audubon Workers. 


sects, but not destitute of a certain plaintive 
cadence. It is one of the most languid, 
unhurried sounds in all the woods. I feel 
like reclining upon the dry leaves at once. 
Audubon says he has never heard his love- 
song; but this is all the love-song he has, 
and he is evidently a very plain hero with 
his little brown mistress. He assumes few 
attitudes, and is not a bold and striking 
gymnast, like many of his kindred. He 
has a preference for dense woods of beech 
and maple, moves slowly amid the lower 
branches and smaller growths, keeping 
from eight to ten feet from the ground, and 
repeating now and then his listless, indolent 
strain. His back and crown are dark blue, 
his throat and breast, black; his belly, pure 
white; and he has a white spot on each 
wing.” 


SUMMER YELLOWBIRD ; GOLDEN WARBLER 5 
YELLOW WARBLER. 


If you have caught glimpses of this little 
fellow as he was building in your orchard 
or the shrubbery of your garden, you may 
have wondered about his relation to the 
other yellowbird—the goldfinch. But when 
you look at him carefully, you will find that 
the two are entirely distinct. 

The goldfinch is bright canary color, and 
has a black cap, tail and wings. The sum- 
mer yellowbird, on the contrary, is a heavier 
yellow, having no black to emphasize the 
color, but obsolete brown streaks on the 
breast that prevent his having a clear yel- 
low look. 

The goldfinch is a larger bird, and has 
the thick bill of the finch, instead of the fine 
one of the warbler, as he lives on seeds in- 
stead of insects. 

On the wing, at a distance, the peculiar 
undulating flight of the goldfinch is enough 
to distinguish him; and when you are near 
enough to hear him sing, you will see that 
his canary-like song bears no resemblance 
to the warbler trill of the summer yellow- 
bird. 


183 


YELLOW-RUMPED WARBLER; MYRTLE 
WARBLER. 

During migration the yellow-rumped is 
one of the most abundant warblers. It is 
a hardy, robust-looking little creature; the 
first to appear in the spring and one of the 
last to leave in the fall. 

You can recognize it very easily in spring, 
because the black zouave jacket it wears 
over its white vest has conspicuous white 
and yellow side pieces. In the fall the 
black and yellow may be obscured, but its 
yellow rump is always constant, and Coues 
says he has never seen it without a trace of 
yellow on the sides and in the crown. 

It is a fearless bird, and frequents under- 
growth as well as treetops, and if you can 
induce an adult male to keep still long 
enough on a spring morning, you will easily 
make out the yellow crown that sets off his 
slaty-blue back, and the white chin that 
gives the effect of a choker. 

Sometimes you will see large flocks of 
the yellow-rumped without any other warb- 
lers, but as a general thing you will discover 
a few other species, and sometimes there 
will be a dozen different kinds together. 

The myrtle warbler has a coarse z-y call, 
and a trill that is heavier than that of the 
golden warbler. It goes to the Northern 
States, Nova Scotia, and northward to spend 
the summer and raise its family, but comes 
as far south as Florida during the winter. 
Dr. Brewer says that Audubon studied its 
habits there during a winter, and, he says, 
“describes them as very social among them- 
selves, skipping along the piazza, balancing 
themselves in the air opposite the sides of 
the house in search of spiders and insects, 
diving through the low bushes of the garden 
after larve and worms, and at night roost- 
ing among the orange trees.” 


CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER. 


When I first saw the chestnut-sided warb- 
ler, flitting about the upper branches of the 
saplings in a raspberry patch, he was per- 


184 


haps three rods away, and I put his yellow 
cap and wing bars down as white, and did 
not see the chestnut bands along his sides 
at all. I noted his pure white breast, how- 
ever, and his loud, cheerful w/ee-he-he, 
whee-he-he, so entirely distinct from the 
ordinary warbler trill or the zy tones of 
some species. The next day, after looking 
him up, and finding what ought to be there, 
by the help of my glasses I discovered what 
seemed little more than a maroon line be- 
side the wings. Ina few days I found an- 
other bird whose chestnut sides were as 
Coues would have them, and I felt the satis- 
faction that always accompanies such dis- 
coveries. 

It was a favorite observing ground of 
mine, where I sometimes surprised the rare 
mourning warbler as he plumed himself, 
and sang his morning song in the sunlight; 
and though I did not succeed in finding 
the nests that ought to have been a few feet 
from the ground, in the saplings that bor- 
dered the clearing, I found plenty of mother 
chestnuts with their broods in various stages 
of growth. They were among the pleas- 
antest acquaintances of the summer. Such 
charming little birds as they are! My first 
intimation of what was going on was the 
sight of one of these dainty little bodies 
peering at me from under the leaves and 
twigs, with a mouthful of worms. After 
hunting about in the low bushes for some 
time, I finally found a funny grayish baby 
bird with light wing bars, and wavy gray 
shadowy markings across its breast. But it 
was not until the next day that I proved 
this to be the young of the chestnut-sided 
warbler. I was watching some vireos in the 
bushes just in the edge of the clearing, when 
the mother suddenly appeared. She leaned 
over, perking up her tail and drooping her 
wings so as to be able to see me, gave a few 
little questioning smacks, and then flew 
down into the bush within a few feet of 
me, and fed her young without alarm. Fear 
seems to be an inherited instinct with her, 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 


but her individual confidence is so strong 
as to conquer it. She is altogether sensible, 
straightforward, industrious and confiding. 


BLACK-MASKED GROUND WARBLER; MARY- 
LAND YELLOW-THROAT. 


If your walks lead you through low un- 
derbrush, weed-grown river banks, alder 
swamps, or other damp and rough places, 
you will very likely notice the loud, quick 
whee’ -che-tee, whee! -che-tee, whee’ -che-tee that 
betrays the presence of the Maryland yel- 
low-throat. 

He is often very shy, and you may follow 
his voice for a long time before discovering 
anything, but when you have seen him 
once, you will never forget him. You will 
very likely find him hopping about on the 
ground or else near it, for he is truly a 
ground warbler. 

He has a rich yellow chin, throat and 
breast, a black forehead, and a peculiar, 
mask-like, oblong black patch on each side 
of his face, extending from the bill beyond 
his eye to his neck, and separated from the 
dark back part of his head by a strip of 
ash. His back is olive-green. The colors 
of the female are much duller, as she lacks 
the black patch and the bright yellow. 

Mr. Bicknell, in his admirable essay on 
the “Singing of our Birds,” has called at- 
tention to the Maryland yellow-throat’s 
habit of “song flight.” He says: “The 
little black-masked bird seems to believe it 
necessary that singing should continue 
through the whole course of the flight, and 
as the ordinary song, with which it begins, 
comes to an end while yet the bird is in the 
air, the time is filled out by a disarranged 
medley of notes very different from its 
usual utterance. I have not often seen 
these performances before midsummer, and 
the August songs of the species are most 
frequently those which accompany these 
flights, which are oftenest indulged in in 
the late afternoon or toward evening.” 

If you would see the Maryland yellow- 


Byram and Ghopal. 185 


throat at his best, you must invade the 
dense tangle of an alder swamp, the last 
refuge of the fugitive, where you can get 
only mosaic glimpses of blue sky overhead, 
and can not distinguish a person twenty feet 
away; where you must pick your way 
around treacherous bogs, over fallen tree 
trunks and slippery logs, as you push 
through the interwoven boughs; where the 
wild grapevine, the clematis and the rough 
clinging galium beautify the sturdy alders; 
where the royal fern, stretching above your 
waist, flowers in the obscurity. Here, in 
this secure cover, our little friend seems to 
lose his timidity, and blossoms out in the 
full beauty of his nature. We find him 
singing to himself as he runs over the 
alder boughs, examining the leaves with 
the care of a vireo, or clambering down 
the side of an alder stalk to hunt at its 
roots. 

Whr-r-ree'- chee-tee, whr-r-ree’- chee-tee, 


whr-r-ree'-chee-tee, the cheery rich song 
tings through the air, and is echoed from 
the far-off corners of the swamp. We sit 
down on an old moss-covered log to eat 
our lunch, and in answer to my call the 
little fellow comes nearer and 
nearer till at last he catches sight of us. 
With what charming curiosity he peers 
down at us! What can be his thoughts of 
these strange intruders as he makes a half 
circle around us, inspecting us first from 
one point and then from another! 

A little further along I come upon a 
father bird who is even more friendly. He 
is feeding his hungry little ones, going 
about in a business-like way hunting for 
food, but still taking time for an occasional 
warble. He sees me, but goes on with his 
work, after a casual survey, with the calm- 
ness of preoccupation, answering my call 
in a naive, off-hand manner that is very 
gratifving. 


sociable 


FLORENCE A, MERRIAM. 


BYRAM AND GHOPAL. 


E left our travelers on the outskirts 

of a town, or rather village, at the 

end of their day’s march. Their destina- 
tion was of course the Uthak or Caravan- 
serai, which they had no sooner reached 
than some of the leading merchants sent in 
small supplies of food as usual. It must 
not be supposed that they did this for any 
Faquir that arrived, but Byram was well 
known throughout all the land. His 
father’s conduct in cutting off his legs in 
childhood, to save him from the guilt of 
trampling on a worm, was regarded as an 
act of extreme piety, very inconvenient 
perhaps for Byram, but nevertheless giving 
him an especial claim upon Heayen and 
upon the charity of all who wished to 
stand wellwith the gods. But this was not 
all. The majority of Faquirs demand alms 


in somewhat peremptory tones, as debts 
due to the gods, but Byram had never been 
known to ask alms. On reaching a town 
he allowed himself to be carried through 
the bazaar, where he thankfully acknowl- 
edged whatever was given him, but if any 
merchant let him pass without a gift Byram 
made no comment. 

Beyond all this, Byram had not merely 
a reputation for great piety and for giving 
liberally in charity to the necessitous, but 
he was regarded as a very learned man, 
familiar with the history of States and Em- 
pires, with the sacred writings of the Hin- 
dus, and with the history of Persia, Arabia 
and other countries; moreover, he was re- 
nowned for his familiarity with the habits 
of every living creature, especially of birds 
and insects, and as he was affable in dis- 


186 Byram and Ghopal. 


position and always ready to impart or re- 
ceive information, he was known every- 
where as Byram the Wise. Consequently, 
wherever he went, food and coppers flowed 
in freely, and although the loss of his legs 
rendered him so helplessly dependent on 
others, there was perhaps not in all India 
another man so utterly free from care for 
the future as Byram. 

The village to which we accompanied 
Byram was but a small one, and although 
the wealthy class, the merchants, have the 
reputation of being very extortionate and 
avaricious, they have a great respect for 
public opinion, and if they disliked giving, 
they disliked still more to be pointed at for 
not giving. Some gave a cent and some 
the third part of a cent; all gave something. 
On this occasion the total contribution was 
but thirty-six cents, ample indeed for pay- 
ment of Gophal’s wages in a country in 
which the average. laborer earns only from 
six to nine centsa day. But little of the 
morning was lost in canvassing the bazaar, 
and before the sun was two hours high our 
travelers had started for the next town, 
called Dhowlutpore, the first town of any 
size since they left Halla. 

Ghopal trudged along in silence, won- 
dering when Byram would open the dispute; 
and what he could possibly say to prove 
that the bee’s sting could benefit man. 
Then he chuckled to himself as he thought 
that Byram was not bound to such extreme 
conditions by the contract, but having, per- 
haps without due thought, hazarded the 
remark that everything that Brahma has 
created is for man’s benefit, he was now 
bound to stand by it, and to hand over the 
money if he failed to make good his posi- 
tion. Then Ghopal fell to counting over 
the money mentally, and thinking how rich 
he would be if it were transferred from 
Byram’s girdle to his own; and the second 
and third and fourth mile were left behind, 
and still Byram spake not. 

This is a good sign, thought Ghopal. 


I have surprised him into defending a posi- 
tion for which he is not prepared, and he is 
silent because he has no defense. 

As Ghopal’s hopes rose he got strongly 
excited, and at length, unable to bear the 
suspense any longer, he asked Byram if he 
was prepared to enter on the dispute. 
“Not yet,” said Byram; “I am thinking.” 

This confession of weakness naturally 
raised Ghopal’s hopes, and again he trudged 
on in silence until seven miles were left 
behind. 

Here they came to a well near a grove of 
mango trees, the property of a Brahmin, 
who came forward and invited our travelers 
to rest and drink of the water of his well, 
which was marvelously pure, and pariake 
of his mangoes. 


eZ 


Ne: 


“You are Byram the Wise,” said he, 
addressing Byram, “for although mine 
eyes have never before beheld thee, I 
have often heard of thee from my rela- 
tives in the Punjab.” 

“Call me not wise,” said Byram, “for this 
six feet of potter's clay has confused my 
understanding so that I am at a loss to 
answer him in dispute.” 

“Tt must be a strange dispute,” said 
Atmaram, for that was the name of the well 
owner, “in which Byram the Wise could 
not hold his own against a potter. Let thy 


EE 


Byram and Ghopal. 


servant hear the subject and the point in 
dispute.” 

And Byram said, “O Atmaram, I re- 
marked yesterday in conversation with this 
my disciple, who is of the’ potter caste, 
that Brahma had created nothing but what 
is beneficial to man.” 

“Of a surety,” said Atmaran, “thy disci- 
ple would not dispute that point with a man 
of thy learning.” 

“Just then,” said Byram, “my disciple 
sighted a wild bees’ hive, and deterred 
from getting the honey by the fear of the 
bees’ stings, he called on me to defend the 
general proposition in this particular case, 
and show that Brahma in giving the bee 
his sting, conferred a favor on man.” 

Atmaram looked from one to the other, 
but was not ready with any counsel, and 
Ghopal hardly knew whether he was stand- 
ing on his head or his heels. 

“Be not over-elated,” said Byram, smil- 
ing; ‘a child may puzzle the greatest phi- 
losopher with a question, for no man has 
insight into all the ways of Brahma; but 
let us rest here until two-thirds of the day 
be spent, and I will seek counsel of myself 
in sleep.” 

After they had drunk and praised the 
water from Atmaram’s well and eaten a 
couple of mangoes each, Ghopal carried 
their charpoys* into the grove, and in the 
dense shade of the mango trees our trav- 
elers were soon asleep. 

When Ghopal awoke the sun had long 
passed the meridian, and seeing Byram was 
sitting up on his charpoy, he too rose and 
took a drink of the cool water, which Byram 
poured out for him from the ghurra at his 
bedside. Byram was more than usually 
serene; the perplexity which had overshad- 
owed his brow in the morning had given 
place to confidence and light, and it was not 
without some misgiving that Ghopal asked 
him if he had found an answer in sleep. 


*Literally ‘‘four-footed.” The bedstead which 
Orientals occasionally take up and walk away with. 


187 


“Not in sleep, Ghopal, but when I awoke 
refreshed from sleep I saw clearly that 
Brahma had only taught the bee to make 
honey that she might allure man to study 
her ways and learn the lesson taught by her 
Thou knowest, Ghopal, or may be 
thou dost not know, that the bees, like 
the ants, white and black, live together in 
communities in a high but peculiar state of 
organization. All the working bees, the 
honey-makers, are females, but barren. In 
each hive there is one fertile bee only—the 
queen bee—who lays thousands of eggs in 
a season, which are taken care of by the 
working bees, who feed the young larve. 
To lay so many fertile eggs the queen re- 
quires the services of many males. The 
male bees, or drones, have no other func- 
tion in life to perform; they do no work, 
take no care of the young, collect no honey, 
and being permitted by the working bees 
to eat their fill during the working season, 
they liave a pleasant time, and learn to 
regard themselves as superior beings and 
the working bees as inferior creatures, cre- 
ated only to provide for their enjoyment 
and necessities. As winter approaches, 
these drones look with complacency on the 
well-filled combs, which they regard as their 
own. From this pleasant dream there 
comes a rude awakening. The drones may 
strut about and play the role of a privileged 
class as long as the workers choose to tole- 
rate it, but they have no sting; the real 
power lies with the workers, whenever they 
choose to exercise it, and as soon as the 
drones have performed the only useful 
function they are capable of, the workers 
oppose their visits to the honey. Aston- 
ished at such a change of conduct, and at 
the display of opposition from the workers 
who have hitherto treated them with defer- 
ence, and never doubting their own right to 
the honey, they assert their claims peremp- 
torily and offer to oppose force by force, 
when the workers immediately fall on them 
and sting them that they die.” 


sting. 


188 


“That proves,” said Ghopal, “that the 
stings are very useful to the working bees, 
who are doubly indebted to Brahma, firstly 
for providing them with weapons to defend 
the fruits of their toil, and secondly for 
leaving the drones defenseless, but I fail to 
see how this can benefitman.” ~ 

“Do you suppose,” said Byram, “that 
Brahma talks to man?” 

“Nay, Byram, I have heard thee say that 
man’s ear is not attuned to the voices of 
the gods.” 

“True,” said Byram, “but man’s eye is 
capable of perceiving and understanding 
the works of Brahma, the Creator, and if 
Brahma wants to instruct man in social 
organization, or any other matter, he fur- 
nishes him models for his study. All man's 
attempts at social organization are liable to 
err, and result in disorganization and fail- 
ure, but ever before his eyes is held up the 
model of a society taught by Brahma him- 
self. The ruling principle of that society 
is that those who will not work, shall be 
allowed to eat of the labors of the toilers 
only so long as they continue to perform 
functions useful to the community. The 
moment they cease to be useful their doom 
is fixed. Every creature created by Brahma 
is created for the performance of useful 
functions; the moment these cease, Brahma 
has no further use for it, and the wheels of 
his chariot roll over it relentlessly. This is 
the lesson which Brahma is forever preach- 
ing to man by his servants the bees, a lesson 
to which my eyes have hitherto been closed, 
and naturally, for I am myself a drone; but 
now, oh Ghopal, I thank thee for opening 
my eyes and teaching me my own useless- 
ness. Look at the social organization of 
all the countries of India. The working 
classes toil not only for their own support, 
but for the support of the Rajpoots, whose 
only useful function is to fight and thin 
each other's ranks; of the Brahmins, whose 
function is to teach men the will of the 
gods, but who themselves do not under- 


Byram and Ghopal. 


stand it; and of the Bunyans, who lend the 
laborers their own money, charge seventy- 
five per cent. compound interest—a rate so 
usurious that the toilers pay the amount 
ten times over without lessening their obli- 
gation, and thus place the Bunyans in a 
position to enslave fresh victims. Oh, 
Brahma, was my father’s act in rendering 
me a cripple a truly pious one? In intent 
it may have been, but now for the first time 
I perceive that my life is a useless one, and 
for the first time I regret that I am incapa- 
ble of toil. How different would have been 
the career of the Hindu people if the first 
fathers of the race had gone to the bees 
for instruction, and beheld the will of 
Brahma, that those who will not work shall 
not eat of the fruits of others’ labors.” 

“Then you do not hold with Daloora, the 
Faquir I met at Hyderabad, that that man 
is a fool who earns his bread by the sweat 
of his brow?” 

“Daloora,” said Byram, “aimed at the 
truth and overshot the mark. The toilers 
are fools, not because they toil for them- 
selves, but because they allow others to 
reap the fruits of their labors.” 

Once more they started on their journey, 
but the money was still in Byram’s girdle, 
and Ghopal’s heart sank within him as he 
thought that perhaps some of it might be 
given in charity before he could catch 
Byram without any good defense. 

Steadily and silently he trudged along 
the road, but never before had he found 
Byram so heavy as on this evening; but he 
fought bravely against despondency, and 
after reaching Dowlutpore and partaking 
of the bread and milk supplied by the 
pious and solacing himself with his hookah, 
his courage revived and he renewed the 
dispute with Byram, combating him at 
every step, but only to be more than ever 
convinced that the bees’ treatment of the 
drones was a valuable lesson for man, and 
one which all societies of men would do 
well to profit and take example by. 


HE AUDUBN NOPE BOOK: 


MEMBERSHIP RETURNS. 

Ir has frequently been observed that there is a 
relation between ethics and climate, and certain it 
is that the Audubon Society does not expand at its 
normal ratio with the thermometer coquetting with 
the ‘‘nineties’’ in the shade. The registrations for 
July amounted to only 1,429, leaving the Society 
with a total registered strength of 37,453 at the close 
of themonth. The following is the order in which 
the several States and Territories contributed to the 
increase for the month: 


PNW Oceans 31a ceca a QS LOKEP OMe sate w= = aja see I 
Massachusetts........... 152 Pennsylvania............ 83 
New Hampshire......... xx West Virginia........... Ir 
New Jersey. Virginia.. 3 
Vermont.... Florida . 5 
Connecticut Georpiayecs.: 25. scarcer 2 
Rhode Island SPennescees << oe sna 4 
Maine ........ SOXAS wiala'a|siaiats So5) go0c005 I 
UG Sa BE ee 40 District of Columbia..... 20 
WSANISAS Pan toe cine sce 4 Maryland 15 
ABO SA Te ses osagconasesc tg Kentucky I5 
WO aeterieiowane since sa 7x California 3 


BNE Drcts ict oc atcin slolnisiaieceiaiete 6 4 
Wisconsin... ~o ay ©} 40 
Utah Territory.......... 7 

1,429 


C. F. AMEry, General Secretary. 


THE AUDUBON BADGE, 
So long delayed and so impatiently waited for by 
many, was ready for distribution the first week in 
August, and we have every cause to be gratified with 


its favorable reception. It is a brooch pin of coin 
silver, with motto and monogram as in the design. 
Price, fifty cents. 


ENGLISH PRESS ON FEATHER MILLINERY. 


IT Is incorrect to say that the London dealers are 
offering larger prices this season for sea birds. The 
fashion of wearing feathers is declining, and, there- 
fore, the dealers are slow to purchase, even at last 
year’s prices, and some of them have cancelled 
orders. There are not so many gunners engaged in 
the pursuit this season.— Yorkshire Post. 

I fear it is of little use—the love of finery swamps 
kindness in so many women’s breasts—or I would 


second the plea of a naturalist who sadly draws at- 
tention to the heartless destruction of the egrets and 
herons in Florida. 

The “‘osprey” feathers prized by ladies are pro- 
duced on the birds during the breeding season, and, 
the sportsmen who supply the demand shoot the old 
birds and leave the young ones to starve in their 
nests by thousands. 

Dead bird decoration is a barbarous practice, but, 
if fashion demanded it, some women would wear 
their own dead babies with as little remorse as they 
don the corpses of victims in all branches of the 
animal creation.—Zondon Weekly Times and Echo. 


WHAT BIRD IS IT? 

A LADY from Rochester writes: 
the country, where I saw and heard so many birds 
we seldom see or hear at home, although we live in 
the suburbs. One old friend greeted me—a little 
brown bird that sings in our orchard. I didn’t 
know his name, although I had been trying for 
three years to find out. 


“T have been to 


Here was my opportunity. 
I summoned the farmer and asked him if he knew 
the bird. ‘‘Oh, yes,” he replied promptly, ‘‘ that’s 
a little brown bird that sings around here.” ‘‘I was 
so thankful for the information,” adds our corre- 
spondent. 


THE paper in this issue describing the working 
organization of the Smith College Audubon Society 
will interest many of our readers. How many of 
our most ardent supporters, after canvassing schools 
and finding a majority of the young people easily in- 
terested in bird protection, have not felt that some- 
thing was necessary to keep the interest alive? To 
all such who have opportunities for field work the 
example of the Smith College Society may be fol- 
lowed with profit. For those who have not, the in- 
formation should be sought in books. It is a great 
mistake to limit the work of the Society to proselyt- 
ing. 


ALTHOUGH the wood thrush does not usually seek 
the society of man, there appear to be some excep- 
tions. A correspondent writing from Flushing, this 
State, early in August, reported a wood thrush’s 
nest with young in a tree close to her house. A week 
later she reported, ‘‘ The wood thrush’s family has 
disappeared, and we can only conjecture whether 
the young ones were able to fly away, or whether 
they fell from the nest and were caught by the cat.” 
We fear it was an error of judgment on the wood 
thrush’s part to build so near the house. 


190 The Audubon Society. 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY FOR THE PROTEC- 
TION OF BIRDS. 


HE AUDUBON SOCIETY was founded in New York 
city in February, 1886. Its purpose is the protection of 
American birds, not used for food, from destruction for mer- 
cantile purposes, The magnitude of the evil with which the 
Society will cope,and the imperative need of the work which 
it proposes to accomplish, are outlined in the following state- 

ment concerning 

THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS, 

Within the last few years, the destruction of our birds has 
increased at a rate which is alarming. This destruction now 
takes place on such a large scale as to seriously threaten the 
existence of a number of our most useful species. It is carried 
on chiefly by men and boys who sell the skins or plumage to 
be used for ornamental purposes—principally for the trimming 
of women’s hats, bonnets and clothing. These men kill every- 
thing that wears feathers. The birds of the woods, the birds 
of the field, the birds of the marsh and those of the sea are 
alike slain, at all times and at allseasons. It matters not if 
the bird be a useful one which devours the hurtful insects 
which destroy the farmer's crops, or a bright-plumaged song- 
ster whose advent has been welcomed in spring, and which has 
reared its brood in the door yard during the summer, or a 
swift-winged sea swallow whose flight along the shore has often 
with unerring certainty led the fisherman to his finny prey— 
whatever it be, it must be sacrificed to the bird butcher's lust 
for slaughter and for gain. Besides the actual destruction of 
the birds, their numbers are still further diminished by the 
practice of robbing their nests in the breeding season. 

Although it is impossible to get at the number of birds killed 
each year, some figures have been published which give an 
idea of what the slaughter must be. We know that a single 
local taxidermist handles 30,000 bird skins in one year; that a 
single collector brought back from a three months trip 11,000 
skins; that from one small district on Long Island about 70,000 
Lirds were brought to New York in four months time. In New 
York one firm had on hand February 1, 1886, 200,000 skins. 
The supply is not limited by domestic consumption. Ameri- 
can bird skins aresent abroad. The great European markets 
draw their supplies from all over the world. In London there 
were sold in three months from one auction room, 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazilian bird skins, and 356,389 East Indian birds. 
In Paris 100,000 African birds have been sold by one dealer in 
one year. One New York firm recently had a contract to 
supply 40,000 skins of American birds to one Paris firm. These 
figures tell their own story—but it is a story which might be 
known even without them; we may read it plainly enough in 
the silent hedges, once vocal with the morning songs of birds. 
and in the deserted fields where once bright plumage flashed 
in the sunlight. 

BIRDS, INSECTS AND CROPS. 

The food of our small birds consists very largely of the 
insects which feed on the plants grown by the farmer. These 
insects multiply with such spounding rapidity that a single 

air may in ake course of one season be the progenitors of six 

illions of their kind. All through the season at which this 
insect life is most active, the birds are constantly at work 
destroying for their young and for themselves, tens of thou- 
sands of hurtful creatures, which, but for them, would swarm 
upon the farmer's crops and lessen the results of his labors. 

A painstaking and ardent naturalist not very long ago 
watched the nest of a pair of martins for sixteen hours, from 4 
A. M. till 8 P. M., just to see how many visits the parent birds 
made to their young. He found that in that time 312 visits to 
the four young were made, 119 by the male and 193 by the 
female. If we suppose only six insects to have been brought 
at each visit, this pair of birds would have destroyed, for their 
young alone, in this one summer's day, not far from 2,000 
insects. The important relations which our birds bear to the 
agricultural interests and so to the general welfare, are recog- 
nized by the governments of all our States. Laws exist for 
their protection, but these laws are rendered inoperative by 
the lack of an intelligent public sentiment to support them, 
They are nowhere enforced, It is for the interest of every 
one that such a public sentiment should be created. 

It is time that this destruction were stopped. 

PURPOSE OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

To secure the protection of our birds by awakening a better 
sentiment, the Audubon Society, named after the greatest of 
American ornithologists, has been founded, The objects 
sought to be accomplished by this Society are to prevent as far 
as possible — 

(x) The killing of any wild bird not used for food. 
bie The taking or destroying of the eggs or nests of any wild 

irds. 

(3) The wearing of the feathers of wild birds. Ostrich 
feathers, whether hs wild or tame birds, and those of domes- 
tic fowls, are specially exempted. 

The Audubon Society aims especially to preserve those 


birds which are now practically without protection. Our 
zame birds are already protected by law, and in large measure 
= public sentiment, and their care may be left to the sports- 
man, The great aim of the Society is the protection of 
American non-game birds, Fhe English sparrow is not 
included in our lists, 

PLAN OF THE WORK. 

Obviously the Society cannot supply any machinery of com- 
pulsion to lead individuals and communities to a higher 
regard for bird life and to efforts for its protection. Nor are 
compulsory measures thought necessary. The wrong is toler- 
ated now only because of thoughtlessness and indifference. 
The birds are killed for millinery purposes. So long as fashion 
demands bird feathers, the birds will be slaughtered. The 
remedy is to be found in the awakening of a healthy pub- 
lic sentiment on the subject. If this enormous destruction of 
birds can once be put in its true light before the eyes of men 
and women and young folks, if interest be aroused and senti- 
ment created, the great wrong must cease. To so present the 
case to the people as to awaken this corrective sentiment is the 
special Bee contemplated by the Audubon Society. The 
methods adopted are very simple. Pledges are furnished, sub- 
scription to which constitutes membership, and certificates 
are issued to members, 

TERMS OF MEMBERSHIP. 

The signing of any of the pledges will qualify one for mem- 
bership in the Society. It is earnestly desired that each mem- 
ber may sign all three of the pledges. Beyond the promise 
contained in the pledge no obligation nor responsibility is in- 
curred. There are no fees, nor dues, nor any expenses of an 
kind, There are no conditions as to age. The boys and girls 
are invited to take part in the work, for they can often do 
more than others to practically protect the nesting birds. All 
who are interested in the subject are invited to become mem- 
bers, and to urge their friends to join the Society. If each 
man, woman or child who reads this circular will exert his or 
her influence, it will not take long to enlist in the good work a 
great number of people actively concerned in the protection of 
our birds. It is desired that members may be enrolled in every 
town and village throughout the land, so that by the moral 
weight of its influence this Society may check the slaughter of 
our beautiful songsters. The beneficent influence of the 
Audubon Society should be exerted in every remotest by-way 
where the songs of birds fill the air, and in every crowded city 
pera the plumes of slain songsters are worn as an article of 

Tess, 

ers ASSOCIATE co een s 

s there are a very great number o' ple in full sympathy 
with the Audubon S eemenel and ready to lend it their moral 
support, but who refrain from joining the Society simply be- 
cause they find it distasteful to sign a pledge, it has been 
determined to form a class of Associate Members. Any one 
expressing his or her sympathy with the objects of the Audu- 
bon Society and submitting a written request for membership 
to any local secretary, will be enrolled on the list of Associate 
Members. All such applications for membership received by 
local secretaries of the Society should be forwarded to the 
General Secretary for registration. 
LOCAL SECRETARIES. 5 

The Society has local secretaries in cities, towns and villages. 
The local secretary will furnish this circular of information 
and pledge forms; will receive the signed pledges, keep a list 
of the members, forward a duplicate list with the pledges for 
enrollment and file at the Society’s office; and will receive in 
return certificates of membership, to be filled out and signed 
by the local secretary and given to the members. No certi~ 
ficate of membership will be issued cto any pee except upon 
the receipt of a signed pledge at the office of the Society. 
Where no local secreta Es yet been ap) jointed, individual 
applicants for membership may address the Society at its 
office, No, 40 Park Row, New York. ee 

If there is no local secretary in your town, you are invited 
to actas such yourself, or to hand this to some other person 
who will accept the office. Upon application we will supply 
copies of this circular and pledge forms. 

THE AUDUBON SOCIETY CERTIFICATE. : 

The Society furnishes to each member a handsome certificate 
of membership. This bears a portrait of the great naturalist, 
John James Audubon, after whom the Society very appro- 
priately takes its name. : 

The office of the Society is at 40 Park Row, New York city. 
All communications SEAib be addressed 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY, 
No. 40 Park Row, New York. 


Print Your Own Cards ! 


PRESS $3, Circular size $8, Newspaper size 
$44. Type setting easy; printed directions. d 
2 stamps for list presses, type, etc., to factory, 

= KELSEY & CO., Meriden, Conn. 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE 


ADVERTISER. 191 


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192 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


a es 


THE’ SCHOGL @F HOME: 


Let the school of home be a good one. 
Let the reading at home be such as to 
quicken the mind for better reading still; 
for the school at home is progressive. 


The baby is to be read to. What shall 
mother and sister and father and brother 
read to the baby? 

BaBpyLaNnb. Babyland rhymes and jingles; 
great big letters and little thoughts and 
words out of BaAByLAND, Pictures so easy 
to understand that baby quickly learns the 
meaning of light and shade, of distance, 
of tree, of cloud. The grass is green; the 
sky is blue; the flowers—are they red or 
yellow? That depends on mother’s house- 
plants. Baby sees in the picture what she 
sees in the home and out of the window. 

BABYLAND, mother’s monthly picture- 
and-jingle primer for baby’s diversion, and 
baby’s mother-help. 

Babies are near enough alike. 
LAND fits them all; 50 cents a year. 
to D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 


One Basy- 
Send 


What, when baby begins to read for her- 
self? Why /erself and not Azmself? Turn 
about is fair play—If man means man and 
woman too, why shouldn’t little girls in- 
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Our Lirtt—E Men AnD WOMEN is an- 
other monthly made to go on with. Basy- 
LAND forms the reading habit. Think ofa 
baby with the reading habit! After a little 
she picks up the letters and wants to know 
what they mean. The jingles are jingles 
still; but the tales that lie below the jingles 
begin to ask questions. 

_ What do Jack and Jill go up the hill 
after water for? Isn’t the water down hill? 
Baby is outgrowing BABYLAND, 

Our Lirrte Men and WOMEN comes 
next. No more nonsense. ‘There is fun 
enough in sense. The world is full of in- 
teresting things; and, if they come to a 
growing child not in discouraging tangles 


but an easy one at a time, there is fun 
enough in getting hold of them. ‘That is 
the way to grow. Our LirTLe MEN AnD 
WomeEN helps such growth as that. Begin- 
nings of things made easy by words and 
pictures; not too easy. The reading habit 
has got to another stage. 

You may send a dollar to D. Lothrop 
Company, Boston, for such a school as that 
for one year. 


Then comes THE Pansy with stories of 
child-life, tales of travel at home and 
abroad, adventure, history, old and new 
religion at home and over the seas, and 
roundabout tales on the International Sun- 
day School Lesson. 

Pansy the editor; Tur Pansy the maga- 
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the writer, and THe Pansy the magazine. 
There are thousands and thousands more 
who will be glad to know. 

Send to D. Lothrop Company, Boston, a 
dollar a year for THE Pansy. : 


The reading habit is now pretty well es- 
tablished; not only the reading habit, but 
liking for useful reading; and useful read- 
ing leads to learning. 

Now comes WipE AWAKE, vigorous, 
hearty, not to say heavy. No, it isn’t 
heavy, though full as it can be of practical 
help along the road to sober manhood and 
womanhood. Full as it can be? There is 
need of play as well as of work; and W1DE 
AWAKE has its mixture of work and rest 
and play. The work is all toward self-im- 
provement; so is the rest; and so is the play. 

Send D. Lothrop Company, Boston, $2.40 
a year for WIDE AWAKE. 


Specimen copies of all the Lothrop mag- 
azines for fifteen cents; any one for five— 
in postage stamps. 


; 


[i> sae we Dt ees aS NS wa eee 
BROWN THRASHER. 


( Harporhyne hus rufus (LINN.) ) 


itm AUDUBON MAGAZINE. 


WoL, I. 


AMIENS, (OTN INC Mas CONS” YO Makny 


| a preceding numbers our readers have 

been made acquainted with the life 
history and labors of the great naturalist. 
They have followed him through all his 
vicissitudes from the cradle to the grave, 
through twenty years of wanderings in the 
woods, in which he was sustained only by 
an enthusiastic love for nature, and a desire 
to render his life’s work a monument which 
should command the admiration of his own 
and succeeding generations. They have 
seen him again and again crippled for want 
of means, and becoming in turn portrait- 
painter, dancing-master, school-teacher, but 
only that he might raise the necessary funds 
for the pursuit of his grand passion. They 
have seen him regarded by his neighbors as 
little better than a talented, shiftless vaga- 
bond, but amid all this, toiling steadfastly 
onward to the goal which he reached to be 
crowned with honor, to take his place 
among the great ones of the earth, and to 
enter on the well won heritage of his labors. 
But all this is not enough. We have the 
man’s life history, and the nature and meas- 
ure of the work he did, but something still 
is wanting to our estimate of the man—we 
want to know what manner of man he was, 
what were the salient traits of his charac- 
ter, the mainsprings of his actions. 

On this point an eloquent and apprecia- 
tive writer says: “For sixty years or more 
he followed, with more than religious devo- 


OCTOBER, 1887. 


I, 


JAMES AUDUBON. 


tion, a beautiful and elevated pursuit, en— 
larging its boundaries by his discoveries,,. 
and illustrating its objects by his art. In 
all climates and in all weathers; scorched 
by burning suns, drenched by piercing rains, 
frozen by the fiercest colds; now diving 
fearlessly into the densest forest, now wan- 
dering alone over the most savage regions; 
in perils, in difficulties, and in doubts; with 
no companion to cheer his way, far from 
the smiles and applause of society; listen- 
ing only to the sweet music of birds, or to 
the sweeter music of his own thoughts, he 
faithfully kept his path. The records of 
man’s life contain few nobler examples of 
strength of purpose and indefatigable en- 
ergy. Led on solely by his pure, lofty, 
kindling enthusiasm, no thirst for wealth, 
no desire of distinction, no restless ambi- 
tion of eccentric character, could have in- 
duced him to undergo as many sacrifices. 
or sustained him under so many trials, 
Higher principles and worthier motives 
alone enabled him to meet such discour- 
agements and accomplish such miracles of 
achievement.” 

Another writer on the same subject, and in 
a similar generous strain, says: ‘“ Audubon 
was a man of genius, with the courage of a 
lion and the simplicity of a child. One 
scarcely knows which to admire most—the 
mighty determination which enabled him 
to carry out his great work in the face of. 


196 


difficulties so huge, or the gentle and guile- 
less sweetness with which he throughout 
shared his thoughts and aspirations with his 
wife and children.” 

Of the first of these encomiums it may be 
said that it was mainly true, but not the 
whole truth; of the second, that it was true 
in detail but faulty in perspective. These 
opinions give us the impression of a strong 
man entering in youth upon a definite pur- 
suit with settled aims, and striving steadily 
‘toward the goal, calm in his self-reliance, 
‘sustained by the confidence in his own 
powers to command success. There are 
such men, but to class Audubon in this 
category would be to miss the great lesson 
of his life. Audubon was endowed with 
a pure and lofty nature, but his was not a 
strong character. He displayed traits which 
command our admiration and love, but his 
was not a whole, well-rounded nature, em- 
bracing even the essential conditions of 
success. One essential characteristic at 
least was wanting—the capacity for self- 
denial; and of Audubon it may be asked 
as justly as of any man, “To whom was he 
indebted for his success?” for the great 
lesson of his life lies in our recognition of 
the fact that he triumphed in the strength 
of another, who moulded his character, 
shaped his aims, gave substance to his 
dreams, and finally, by the exercise of that 
self-denial which he was incapable of as a 
long-sustained effort, won for him the pub- 
lic recognition and reward of his splendid 
talents. Who shall measure Audubon’s 
indebtedness to the lofty character of his 
gentle, loving wife? 

Evidences of the correctness of this esti- 
are to be found thickly scattered 
through Audubon’s note book, and we can- 
not do better than take up the study of the 
man as he has pictured himself during the 
few months preceding his introduction to 
Lucy Bakewell, the gentle, revered “ Min- 
nie”’ of later days. 


mate 


” 


“T had no vices,” he writes in his jour- 


The Character of John Fames Audubon. 


nal, “but was thoughtless, pensive, loving, 
fond of shooting, fishing and riding, and 
had a passion for raising all sorts of fowls, 
which sources of interest and amusement 
fully occupied all my time. It was one of 
my fancies to be ridiculously fond of dress, 
to hunt in black satin breeches, wear pumps 
when shooting, and dressed in the finest 
ruffled shirts I could obtain from France.” 
* * * * « All the while I was fair and rosy, 
strong as any one of my age and sex could 
be, and as active and agile as a buck.” 

Here we have a picture of a cultivated 
young man of fine physique, good health, 
good looks, trained in habits of self-indul- 
gence and without other object in life than 
their gratification; attached to the wild life 
of the woods, in which he shot and painted 
and dreamed; an artist, but in no sense of 
the word a worker, a dreamer in love with 
nature and with himself; with undeveloped 
capacities, and conspicuous for nothing so 
much as for the amiable vanity which found 
its expression in the display of himself in 
black satin breeches, imported ruffled shirts 
and pumps, as a shooting costume. 

But in accepting this sketch as a true 
picture of Audubon in his youth, we con- 
sciously or unconsciously render homage to 
the simple truthfulness of the artist who in 
attempting to present a picture of himself 
delineated his own chatacter as far as he 
knew it, with the same rare fidelity to nature 
that characterized his paintings and descrip- 
tions of birds. Here we have something 
solid to build upon. An unswerving, simple 
adherence to truth is one of the prime ele- 
ments of human greatness, a characteristic 
which cannot co-exist with anything mean 
or ignoble; and every phase of the man’s 
after life and work indicates clearly that 
simple truthfulness was a leading character- 
istic of his nature. 

A second characteristic portrayed in the 
picture is his craving for admiration, Some 
of Audubon’s critics have charged him with 
inordinate vanity, while his admirers have 


The Brown Thrasher. 


indignantly argued that there could be no 
place in his great nature for such a foible, 
but the dispute is less about a question of 
fact than of correctness of definition. The 
display of vanity by a small or mean man 
is sure to render him ridiculous, if not con- 
temptible; but when the craving for admi- 
ration exists in a lofty nature along with 
talent and high capacities, it becomes the 
mainspring of action, the spur to grand 
achievement, the sustaining power in diff- 
culty and temporary defeat. It is rarely a 
characteristic of men of science, but very 
generally ascribable to those who win dis- 
tinction in arms or art or song. 

This desire for appreciation, with its at- 
tendant sensitiveness to slights, was cer- 
tainly a most conspicuous, if not dominant 
trait in Audubon’s character, a weakness 
truly in so far as it rendered him unduly 
sensitive, but none the less the prime source 
of his strength, the one inborn trait of his 
character to which more than any other he 
owed his success. 

If we now turn again to Audubon’s pic- 


197 


ture of himself in the light of this analysis 
of his most salient characteristics, we shall 
be able to form a better estimate of his 
native character and capacities. Audubon 
at this time had placed no higher, no more 
practical object in life before him than self- 
indulgence—the gratification of his instinc- 
tive cravings; but, on the other hand, his 
vanity was simply a craving for distinction, 
and combined with a lofty nature, was just 
the force necessary to arouse him from his 
dreamy self-indulgence and spur him on to 
achieve something which would enable him 
to command the esteem which he craved. 
Add to this that his favorite pursuit was 
a comparatively untrodden field for investi- 
gation, that he had successfully cultivated 
a talent for painting, that he had a grand 
physique, latent capacities for sustained 
effort, enthusiasm, and above all, that simple 
devotion to truth which prevented his ac- 
cepting any conclusious which were not 
based on actual observation, and we have 
all or nearly all the elements necessary to 
the formation of a great naturalist. 


THE BROWN 


HE scene represented in the plate 
which forms the frontispiece of this 
month’s AUDUBON is one of the most pow- 
erful of the naturalist’s plates, and it has 
added interest because it portrays an actual 
incident which came under the naturalist’s 
observation, A black snake has climbed 
into the bush in which a pair of Brown 
Thrashers have built their nest, and is 
about to devour their eggs. With heroic 
courage the parent birds rush to the de- 
fense of their treasures, and with loud cries 
summon to their assistance others of their 
kind. The robber is fiercely attacked, but 
in the struggle one of the parents is caught 
and crushed in the cruel coils. Undeterred 
by this, the others keep up the attack, and 


THRASHER. 


in the end, the naturalist tells us, though 
their nest was overturned and the eggs lost, 
the snake was defeated and killed, and the 
crushed bird, though sorely hurt, recovered 
and was restored to her mate. Ina case 
like this our sympathies are all with the 
birds, yet who can doubt that the snake 
has his place in the economy of Nature? 
The Brown Thrush, or as it is more 
often called, the Brown Thrasher, is 
an abundant bird throughout the eastern 
United States, its range westward being 
apparently limited by the Rocky Mountains, 
among which it was found in Colorado by 
Mr. Allen up to a height of 7,500 feet. It 
winters in the Southern States in great 
numbers, and is there called French Mock- 


198 


ingbird or Sandy Mockingbird, to distin- 
guish it from the true mockingbird. In 
summer it proceeds as far north as Canada, 
Audubon having seen it in Nova Scotia, 
while it has been reported as occurring at 
Lake Winnipeg and along the Saskatche- 
wan River. 

This sweet songster breeds throughout 
its whole range. In Louisiana, according 
to Audubon, its nest is built in March, 
while in New York and Connecticut, where 
it arrives from the South about the last of 
April, it does not accomplish its house 
Building much before the middle of May, 
and further to the North it is still later. 

The courtship of the female by the male 
is accompanied by curious and interesting 
actions. The eager suitor for favor struts 
about the female with his tail dragging on 
the ground and bows before her in his 
efforts to win her favor. If she is kind to 
him, his whole form quivers with delight 
and he gives vent to his happiness in bursts 
«ef song which are only excelled in beauty 
and variety by the notes of the famed 
mockingbird. 

Audubon tells us that in the Southern 
States ‘‘the nest is found close to the house 
of the planter, along with that of the mock- 
ingbird,” but in our Northern and Eastern 
States this is, we think, never the case. 
Here the Brown Thrasher is quite a shy 
bird and much prefers to build its nest far 
from the home of man, choosing hedgerows 
along fields or low bramble bushes at the 
edges of thickets. The nest is usually 
placed on, or close to, the ground, and is 
composed without of coarse twigs, sticks 
and weed stalks, mingled with dried leaves, 
strips of bark, and sometimes grass, and is 
almost always lined with fibrous roots, and 
occasionally with horse hair. Usually it is 
a coarse, bulky structure with no preten- 
Al- 
though the nest is commonly placed on the 
ground or within a few inches of it, it is 
sometimes built ina bush, and Mr. Allen 


sions whatever to beauty or elegance. 


The Brown Thrasher. 


has given us an interesting note of a case 
where the birds in self-defense were obliged 
to quite depart from their usual custom in 
locating their nests. Speaking of this 
species in Kansas he says: ‘We found its 
nests, containing full sets of eggs, at 
Leavenworth during the first week of May. 
Here the nests were built in low bushes, the 
soil being clayey and damp; but at Topeka, 
toward the end of May, we found nests on 
the ground, the soil being dry and sandy. 
At Ft. Hayes its nests were usually placed 
in trees, sixteen to twenty feet from the 
ground, to avoid the contingency of floods. 
The trees here grow principally along the 
bed of Big Creek; and the stream being 
subject in summer to sudden freshets, the 
scattered undergrowth, as well as the low 
branches of the trees, are thus often sub- 
merged, so that any nests built on or near 
the ground would be liable to be destroyed 
by the rise of the stream. The driftal 
débris adhering to the trees serves to mark 
the ‘high water’ line, and we rarely found 
a bird’s nest below this limit. These birds, 
that usually breed near the ground, in 
bushes or on the low branches of trees, thus 
modified their habits to suit the exigencies 
of the locality.”’ 

The eggs of this species are from four to 
six in number, and are yellowish or greenish 
in color, thickly sprinkled with fine dots of 
brown. The young are readily reared by 
hand, and do well in captivity, and being 
such sweet songsters they are a favorite 
cage bird. They begin to sing in the 
autumn and by the following spring have 
attained their full powers. 

Their habits in captivity are quite inter- 
esting, and we may quote quite fully on 
this point from Audubon and Nuttall. The 
former says: “My friend Bachman, who 
has raised many of these birds, has favored 
me with the following particulars respect- 
ing them: ‘Though good-humored toward 
the person who feeds them, they are always 
savage toward all other kinds of birds. I 


The Brown 


placed three sparrows in the cage of a 
Thrush one evening and found them killed, 
as well as nearly stripped of their feathers, 
the next morning. So perfectly gentle did 
this bird become that when I opened its 
cage it would follow me about the yard and 
garden. The instant itsaw me take aspade 
or hoe, it would follow at my heels, and as 
I turned up the earth, would pick up every 
insect or worm thus exposed to its view. I 
kept it for three years, and its affection for 
me at last cost it its life. It usually slept 
on the back of my chair in my study, and 
one night the door being accidentally left 
open, it was killed by a cat.’” Nuttall 
having spoken of the affection and the 
jealousy manifested by one of these birds 
which he had reared and kept uncaged for 
some time, says: “I may also add, that 
besides a playful turn for mischief and in- 
terruption in which he would sometimes 
snatch off the paper on which I was writing, 
he had a good deal of curiosity, and was 
much surprised one day by a large spring- 
ing beetle or later (£. occellatus), which I 
had caught and placed in a tumbler. On 
all such occasions his looks of capricious 
surprise were very amusing; he cautiously 
approached the glass with fanning and 
closing wings, and in an undertone con- 
fessed his surprise at the address and jump- 
ing motion of the huge insect. At length 
he became bolder, and perceiving it had a 
relation to his ordinary prey of beetles, he, 
with some hesitation, ventured to snatch at 
the prisoner between temerity and playful- 
ness. But when really alarmed or offended, 
he instantly flew to his perch, forbid all 
friendly approaches, and for some time kept 
up his low angry ¢skerr. My late friend, the 
venerable William Bartram, was also much 
amused by the intelligence displayed by 
this bird, and relates that one which he 
kept, being fond of hard bread crumbs, 
found, when they grated his throat, a very 
rational remedy in softening them by soak- 
ing in his vessel of water; he likewise by 


Thrasher. 199 
experience discovered that the painful prick 
of the wasps, on which he fed, could be 
obviated by extracting their stings.” One 
of these birds which we had in captivity 
greatly enjoyed being taken out of his cage 
at night and carried about the room perched 
on the forefinger to capture the flies at rest 
on the kitchen walls. 

The Brown Thrasher, as has been inti- 
mated, is a courageous bird, devotedly at- 
tached to its mate and young and ready 
under all circumstances to do battle in their 
defense. All four-footed enemies who ap- 
proach the nest are fiercely attacked, and 
even its human persecutors might be ap- 
palled by the fury of the parents’ onslaught. 
The males are somewhat given to fighting 
among themselves, and during the mating 
season severe battles often take place for 
the favor of some coveted female. 

The food of this species consists chiefly 
of insects, worms and beetles being favor- 
ite articles of diet with it, but it also eats 
the berries of the sumach as well as those 
of the dogwood, the choke cherry and the 
wild grape. 

The Brown Thrasher usually rears two 
broods of young, and soon after those of 
the second hatching are able to take care 
of themselves, the families separate. The 
migration southward begins about the first 
of October, and the birds journey singly, 
making short low flights along the hedges 
or through the woods. 

These birds are very fond of dusting 
themselves in sand or dust after the man- 
ner of the common fowl, and may often be 
surprised at this in countryroads. Insuch 
cases they do not usually fly away, but run 
with surprising quickness into the nearest 
thicket, where they remain concealed until 
the danger is past. They are also very 
fond of bathing in water, and after doing 
this ascend by hopping from branch to 
branch to the topmost spray of some neigh- 
boring tree, where with all their feathers 
spread out to the sun and the breeze, they 


200 


make the air vocal with their harmonious 
strains. 

The Brown Thrasher is 1134 inches in 
length and 13 in extent of wings. Its 
bill is black, the base of the lower man- 
dible being dark blue. The eye is yellow. 
The feet are brown. The general color of 


Hints to Audubon Workers. 


the upper parts is bright reddish brown. 
The wings are crossed with two white bars 
margined in front with black. The lower 
parts are yellowish white spotted on the 
breast and sides with triangular dark brown 
spots. The under tail coverts are pale 
brownish red. ‘The tail is very long. 


ECEINGS sO 


FIFTY COMMON 


REDSTART. 


ieee than some of the warblers, the 

redstart is about the size of a chippy. 
In habit, however, he is more like the fly- 
catchers than the sparrows. Indeed, it is 
probably from his flycatcher-like way of 
starting up unexpectedly that he received 
his name; for then you see the blotches of 
rich salmon that mark his wings and tail, 
which are hidden when he is quiet. 

His back and throat are black. Each 
side of his breast is ornamented with a 
patch of bright salmon-red. The female 
has no black on her breast, is olivaceous 
above, and light yellow where the male is 
salmon. 

Like the flycatchers, they are fluffy in 
appearence, and sit with their wings droop- 
ing at their sides. Their diet also consists 
of insects. But although they have so 
many mannerisms of the flycatcher, they 
are true warblers in the mad way in which 
they career about, opening and shutting 
their tails fan-fashion, turning somersaults, 
flitting from branch to branch, giving a little 
burst of song, and then fluttering around 
chasing helter-skelter the 
bushes; suddenly falling through the leaves 
as if they had been shot, only to snap up 
their hapless prey and dart off to begin 
their manoeuvres over again. 

They are very winning, friendly little 


again among 


* CopyriGuT, 1887, by FLorence A. MerrIAM. 


AUDUBON 


BIRDS AND 


Wis 


WORKERS.* 


HOW TO KNOW THEM, 


creatures, and build pretty nests of fine 
roots, birch bark and flower cotton, or simi- 
larly dainty materials. According to in- 
dividual preference, they make their houses 
in crotches of apple trees, low roadside 
bushes, or in saplings in open woods. They 
take good care to select bark the color of 
the tree, and in that way defy any but the 
sharpest scrutiny. The little housewife will 
sometimes fly to her nest with strips of bark 
four inches long in her bill. When her 
gray house is nearly finished she has a 
pretty way of sitting inside and leaning over 
the edge of her nest to smooth the outside 
with her bill and neck, as if she were 
moulding it. 

The redstart’s song is a fine, hurried 
warbler trill that he accents on the end as 
if glad it was done. 

cP ep to he ee 
Te-ha-te-ha- te- ha - te - ha-teek'. 

One morning, as I was watching a 
young hairy woodpecker, the alarm of a 
redstart attracted my attention. She eyed 
me from all sides, keeping up her nervous, 
worried cry. It was so significant that I 
began looking in the crotches for its nest, 
and finding none, concluded that the young 
The mother kept flying about 
me, and the father—a young male with 
the scarlet just coming out on the sides 
of his breast—showed a moderate amount 
of paternal anxiety. Suddenly I discovered 


were out. 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 


one of the baby birds, a scrawny, gray little 
thing, sitting on the dead branch of a fallen 
tree. As I came near him his mother’s 
distress was pitiful. She flew about as if 
distraught, now trying to attract my atten- 
tion in the opposite direction by crying 
out and fluttering her wings beseech- 
ingly. Then, finding that I still persisted 
in looking toward the little fellow, flying 
down between us, and trying to interest me 
in her, so that I would follow her away. I 
was very anxious to see if she would “trail,” 
and so was merciless. I walked up toward 
the trembling young bird and raised my 
hand as if to take him. At that moment I 
turned to look at the mother, and she was 
trying another device. She assumed in- 
difference, as if divining that my interest in 
her was greater than in her little bird; but 
all the time her eyes were fixed on me, and 
just before the little one flew away from my 
approaching hand she darted down and flew 
about wildly, trailing, as I had hoped. It 
was pitiful to see her distress, and having 
taken a good look at her I retreated as fast 
as possible. 

Instead of spreading her wings and tail 
and dragging them on the ground as the 
ovenbird does, she spreads and drags her 
tail, while she flutters her wings with a 
tremulous motion. This is much more effec- 
tive—suggestive of weakness and helpless- 
ness to the hungry animal who finds a fat, 
full-grown bird more appetizing than a 
scrawny youngster—suggestive of anguish 
to the man, to whom it seems an appeal 
for mercy. The love of knowledge seemed 
a feeble excuse for giving a poor little 
mother such a scare, but I consoled myself 
by thinking that she would be all the more 
wary when real danger threatened. 


KINGBIRD; BEE MARTIN. 


The kingbird is noticeably smaller than 
the robin, but is larger and more compactly 
built than most of the flycatchers. His 
back is a dark blackish-ash. Most of his 


201 


breast is a clear white. He has a crest that 
partially conceals a flame-colored crown. 
The end of his tail is bordered with white, 
so that when he spreads it out in flying 
it gives the effect of a white crescent. 

He has a peculiar flight, holding his head 
up and using his wings in a labored way, 
as if he were swimming. When looking for 
his dinner he has a way of fluttering ob- 
liquely up into the air, displaying his shin- 
ing white breast and fan-shaped tail to the 
best advantage; and then, probably after 
securing his mosquito course, soaring delib- 
erately down to his tree. 

His note is a peculiarly harsh, scolding 
twitter. All the disagreeable qualities of 
the flycatchers seem to center in this bird. 
His crown proclaims him king, not by right, 
but by might—such a bickering pugilist, 
such a domineering autocrat as he is! The 
crow’s life becomes a burden when his tor- 
mentor gives chase; and the smaller birds 
find themselves driven at the point of the 
bill from the fences they had considered 
public highway. 

Mr. Burroughs says: “He is a braggart; 
and though always snubbing his neighbors, 
is an arrant coward, and shows the white 
feather at the slightest display of pluck in 
his antagonist. I have seen him turn tail 
toaswallow.” It is a very commonsight to 
see a crow trying to escape from a worry- 
ing kingbird; the great creature seems to 
have no thought of resistance, but takes to 
his wings at the first alarm. The chase 
that follows suggested to Thoreau ‘a satel- 
lite revolving about a black planet.” But 
he is very charitable, and believes that the 
kingbird is only trying to protect its young. 

In Baird, Brewer and Ridgway’s “ History 
of North American Birds” the same opin- 
ion is expressed by the author of the article 
on the kingbird. He says: “My own ob- 
servations lead me to the conclusion that 
writers have somewhat exaggerated the 
quarrelsome disposition of this bird. I 
have never, or very rarely, known it to 


202 


molest or attack any other birds than 
those which its own instinct prompts it to 
drive away in self-defense, such as hawks, 
owls, eagles, crows, jays, cuckoos and 
grackles.” 

It is certainly much commoner to see it 
quarreling with such birds, but on two suc- 
cessive days in the latter part of June I saw 
it chasing a red-headed woodpecker and a 
bluebird. Indeed, more than half a cen- 
tury ago Wilson witnessed the same thing, 
which he thus described: “I have also seen 
the red-headed woodpecker, while clinging 
on the rail of a fence, amuse himself with 
the violence of the kingbird, and play bo- 
peep with him round the rail, while the 
latter, highly irritated, made every attempt, 
as he swept from side to side, to strike 
him, but in vain.” 

In regard to its animosity toward the 
purple martin, Dr. Brewer says: “The 
purple martin is said to be the implacable 
enemy of the kingbird, and one of the few 
birds with which the latter maintains an 
unequal contest. Its superiority in flight 
gives the former great advantages, while its 
equal courage and strength render it more 
than a match. Audubon relates an in- 
stance in which the kingbird was slain in 
one of these struggles.” 

But whatever may be the exact limit of 
his quarrelsomeness, it stops short of home; 
old kingbirds certainly are very tender 
guardians of their young. 

This summer the children of a neighbor- 
ing hamlet showed me a nest in an old 
apple tree, and one of the boys climbed up 
to find out what it was made of. It was 
empty then, but the young had not left the 
tree, and the poor father and mother were 
in the greatest distress. They circled about 
overhead, and their harsh cries, louder 
and more piercing than ever, were pitiful 
to hear. Poor creatures! It was no fault 
of theirs that they could not tell the dif- 
erence between a robber and a boy in search 
of knowledge. They sawa boy climbing up 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 


to their nest, close by their little ones. It 
was enough to terrify the bravest bird. 

Think what a time they had had deciding 
that this branch was the best in all the 
orchard for their nest; how hard they had 
worked picking up pieces of dead grass and 
fastening them together for the outside; 
what a hunt they had had for stray horse- 
hairs to soften the roots they used for lin- 
ing; then, when it was done, think of the 
long days in which the patient mother had 
sat brooding over the five pretty white eggs, 
of whose dark speckles she was so proud. 
How she had talked to her fond husband 
about the wee birds that at last broke 
through the shell and opened their mouths 
for flies. Then think how busy and anxious 
the old birds were kept getting food enough 
for the hungry youngsters; what hard work 
it was to find anything in the long rainy 
days when there were no insects in the air. 
How the mother staid on the nest in the 
worst thunderstorms and kept her little 
ones dry, though the blinding lightning 
threatened to splinter the tree; think what 
frights she had sitting there all alone dark 
nights, when cats and owls came prowling 
about after her children, and how either she 
or the father bird always had to keep watch 
in the day time to drive off the squirrels, 
blackbirds, hawks and owls that came to 
look for them. Think of all these things 
and remember how fond they were of their 
pretty babies; how distressed by the dan- 
gers that threatened them, and you can 
understand their fright when they saw us— 
great murderous giants as they took us to 
be—coming straight to the place where 
they were hiding their darlings. 

But when they were flying about most 
wildly and screaming the loudest, the little 
birds, who were the cause of all this anxiety, 
sat among the leaves, erect and stolid, ap- 
parently indifferent to the cries of their 
father and mother, as well as to the fact that 
their white breasts were betraying their 
whereabouts. Perhaps it was the result of 


Hints to Audubon Workers. 20 


discipline, however, and they were only 
keeping still for fear their mother would 
scold them. In any case, the danger was 
very real to the old birds, and their minds 
were not relieved till the boy had come 
down from the nest and we had walked far 
enough away for them to convince them- 
selves that their children were all alive and 
safe. 

Then they remembered that it was lunch 
time, and started out after food. They 
would fly down to the haycocks that stood 
in the meadow next to the orchard, sit 
there reconnoitering for a moment, and 
then jump down into the grass to snap up 
the unwary insect they had espied. Flying 
back to the young, they would flirt their 
wings and tails as they dropped the morsel 
down into the big gaping red throats. 
And then in an instant would be off again 
for a hunt in the air, or about another tree. 
And so they kept hard at work, looking 
everywhere, till the appetites of their vo- 
racious infants were satisfied. 

As to the exact food of the kingbird, I 
quote from Baird, Brewer and Ridgway: 
“The kingbird feeds almost exclusively 
upon winged insects, and consumes a vast 
number. It is on this account one of our 
most useful birds, but, unfortunately for its 
popularity, it is no respecter of kinds, and 
destroys large numbers of bees. * * * * 
Wilson suggests that they destroy only the 
drones, and rarely, if ever, meddle with the 
working bees.” 

De Kay, in the “Ornithology of New 
York,” extends the range of diet, and says 
it “Feeds on berries and seeds, beetles, 
canker-worms, and insects of every descrip- 
tion. By this, and by his inveterate hos- 
tility to rapacious birds, he more than com- 
pensates for the few domestic bees with 
which he varies his repast.’’ To this De 
Kay adds the interesting statement that, 
“Like the hawks and owls, he ejects from 
his mouth, in the shape of large pellets, all 
the indigestible parts of insects and berries.” 


ve 


PURPLE FINCH. 


The purple finch is about the size of the 
song sparrow. He is as fond of singing up 
in a maple or an evergreen as chippy is of 
trilling on the lawn, and the result is much 
more satisfactory, although he does not 
sing as well as the song sparrow. Now and 
then you get a sweet liquid note, but for 
the most part his song is only a bright 
warble, without beginning or end. The 
song sparrow, on the contrary, begins, 
strikes his upper note three times, and 
then runs down the scale, finishing off 
usually with a little flourish; but the 
purple finch seems to sing in circles, with- 
out much musical sense—nothing but a 
general feeling that the sun is warm and 
bright, and there are plenty of buds and 
seeds to be found near by. Thoreau puts 
the song in syllables as—a - twitter - witter - 
witter - wee, a-witter ; witter-wee. His song 
is at its best when he is in love. Then it 
has more expression and sweetness, resem- 
bling the whisper song of the robin; and 
when he bows and dances before the little 
brown lady he is trying to win for his bride, 
his pretty magenta head and back, his rosy 
throat and white breast, with his graceful 
ways and tender song, make him a very at- 
tractive suitor. The brown-streaked, spar- 
rowy-looking little creature who seems to 
ignore him at first, can scarcely help feel- 
ing flattered by the devotion of sucha hand- 
some cavalier, and you feel sure that his 
wooing will come to a happy end. 

With the exception of the nesting season, 
the purple finches are generally found in 
flocks, their favorite haunts being woods 
and orchards. 


WOOD PEWEE. 


In size, coloring and habit you will hardly 
distinguish the wood pewee from the phebe, 
although the pewee is somewhat smaller. 
It sits in the same loose-jointed, indifferent 
fashion, on a dead branch or twig in the 
woods, darting up spasmodically, snapping 


204 


its bill over an insect, and then dropping 
back to its old position with a jerk of the 
tail and a flutter of the wings. 

The nest of the pewee, however, is essen- 
tially woodsey and distinctive. It an 
exquisite little structure, saddled on to a 
lichen-covered limb. It is built of fine 
roots, delicate stems of grass and seed pods 
being covered with bits of lichen or moss 
that are glued on with its own saliva, and 
make it look like a knob on the branch. It 
is a shallow little nest, and the four richly 
crowned creamy eggs, though tiny enough 
in themselves, leave little room for the body 
of the brooding mother bird. 

The characters of the two birds also seem 
to offer a complete contrast. The phoebe is 
so eminently prosaic and matter-of-fact, that 
we naturally connect jt with the beams of 
barns and cow sheds ; while the pewee, as- 
sociated with the cool depths of the forest, 
is fitted to inspire poets, and to stir the 


is 


Byram and Ghopatl. 


deepest chords of human nature with its 
plaintive, far-reaching voice. 
It has moods for all of ours. 
lisping ey 
pu-ee 
suggests all the happiness of domestic love 
and peace. At one moment its minor 


r >e 


come to me 


with the liquidity of a “U” of sounde , J 
is fraught with all the pathos and yearning 
of a desolated human heart. At another, its 


tender, motherly 


Its faint, 


' 
1 
dear-te  dear-te dear 


with which it lulls its little ones, is as sooth- 
ing to the perplexed and burdened soul 
as the soft breathing of the wind through 
the pine needles, or the caressing ripple 
of the sunset-gilded waves of a mountain 
lake. 

FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. 


BYRAM 


HOWLUTPOOR, or the city of the 
wealthy, as its name implies, had 

been a very prosperous town in times past, 
but was now no longer of any great impor- 
tance. There were not more than eighty 
or a hundred shops in the Bazaar, and the 
population did not exceed two thousand; 
but it was the center of a good farming 
district, and as the farmers were very heay- 
ily in debt to the money lenders, and the 
rate of interest uniformly seventy-five per 
cent. compound interest, the people had 
enough to eat and the money lenders were 
Of course the money-lenders 
never recovered the original debts with all 
the exorbitant interest. It was more than 
any people could pay; but in the course of 


prosperous, 


centuries they had found out exactly how 
much, or rather how little, was enough to 


AND 


Vas 


GHOPAL. 


keep the farmers alive, and they were wise 
enough not to trench on that little. Indeed, 
these usurious leeches often enjoy a repu- 
tation for great liberality, and perhaps they 
are no worse than the privileged classes 
in other countries. For the absolute neces- 
sities of life, a Hindu can always go to his 
creditors with confidence; they have an in- 
terest in keeping him alive, but in our 
Western countries a man’s creditors are the 
last persons he would think of applying to 
for relief in his necessity. 

To this decayed city of Dhowlutpoor 
came Byram and Ghopal as the sun went 
down, and many of the money lenders who 
were seated under the peepul tree at the 
entrance to the town greeted Byram as he 
came within hearing, and inquired of his 
health; and Byram in his turn inquired 


Byram and Ghopadl. 


after the welfare of the citizens, and then 
continued on his way to the Serai, but one 
of the Bunyans called a lad and bade him 
go to the Bazaar and inform the people 
that Byram the Wise was at the Serai, and 
request them to send supplies; and to his 
own son he sent orders to furnish two 
pounds of rice and a quarter of a pound of 
ghee or clarified butter, and musa/a or curry 
powder and spices. 

A young Brahmin presented himself also 
and volunteered to prepare a repast for 
Byram, and ere long our travelers were 
seated at their suppers. This ended, the 
hookahs were lighted, and many of the 
townspeople gathered about Byram and 
entered into conversation and inquired of 
him abont the places he had seen and the 
people he had met on his travels since 
they had last seen him. But Ghopal was 
weary, and as soon as he had finished his 
pipe he stretched himself on the cot, and 
ere long the hum of voices around him 
was mingled with his dreams. 

Ghopal had eaten a hearty supper, and 
strange and fantastic were the dreams that 
disturbed his slumbers. He dreamed that 
he was dead, and that his spirit had trans- 
migrated into a working bee, and that Mon- 
eram, his creditor, was a drone in the same 
hive. All the summer long he regarded 
him with indifference and treated him with 
friendly deference, but when the autumn 
came, and Moneram and other drones at- 
tempted to encroach on the winter stores 
of honey, a wild, uncontrollable impulse of 
fury took possession of him, and he fell 
upon the Moneram drone and stung him. 
When he looked round he saw that the 
other working bees had acted similarly by 
the other drones, and now nothing re- 
mained but to throw their dead bodies out 
of the hive. Then consciousness ceased 
for a while, and when Ghopal’s attention 
was next directed to himself he found he 
was no longer a bee, but a young fawn 
trotting along by the side of his dam. 


205 


Time passed on and he got a pair of 
branching horns, and ceased to remember 
that he had ever been other than a stag: 
but one day, as he roamed the woods in 
company with half a dozen females, he sud- 
denly halted appalled, face to face with a 
tiger, in which he recognized his old cred- 
itor, Moneram. For a moment he stood 
riveted to the spot, paralyzed, while he 
began to cast up mentally how much the 
fifty rupees came to at compound interest, 
and whether there was enough meat on his 
haunches to settle the account. The next 
instant he turned and dashed through the 
forest, fear lending speed to his feet. In 
vain—the pursuing tiger was close behind, 
and now suddenly a precipice yawned in 
front. Ghopal paused not to think, but 
plunged despairingly over, and kept on 
falling for an interminable length of time, 
conscious, too, that the tiger was falling 
through the air after him. Mile after mile 
they fell through space, until Ghopal gave 
up expecting to reach bottom, but after a 
time he found he was standing on firm 
ground, but concealed in grass that reached 
high above his head. Ghopal listened, for 
he knew the tiger could not be very far off. 
All was deathly still; not a movement, not 
a reed stirred. The tiger was crouching 
probably—it may be on this side, it may be 
on that—perhaps preparing for the fatal 
spring. The sweat rose in beads to Gho- 
pal’s forehead; his knees knocked together, 
his heart almost stopped its pulsations, 
when the silence was broken by a most un- 
earthly roar, at which Ghopal fairly awoke 
with terror to find that the roar proceeded 
from a camel that some Beloochee travelers 
were loading in the dim twilight that her- 
alded the approaching dawn. 

It was a great relief to Ghopal to find 
that it was only a dream, although he 
thought that very likely it was a revelation 
of what might happen in the course of his 
transmigrations. On the whole, he was 
disposed to take great comfort out of the 


206 Byram and Ghopal. 


fact that there were some stages of exist- 
ence in which the workers got the better 
of the drones. 

He could sleep no more, and very soon 
Byram opened his eyes. The shadows van- 
ished. Travelers were setting out on their 
journeys. Our travelers devoted them- 
selves to their morning meal, the birds 
were fed, the fragments and uncooked food 
given to the poor, only Byram wrapped a 
lump of raw sugar in paper and folded it 
in his cummer bund; and after a few pulls 
at the hookah the sun rose above the hori- 
zon, and Byram getting into the accus- 


tomed saddle, the round of the Bazaar was 
soon made, and about a rupee and a 
quarter—62 cents—added to Byram’s store. 

The first two miles of the journey was 
well shaded with mango groves, but beyond 
that, as far as the eye could reach, the plain 
was devoted wholly to agriculture, and tree- 
less, excepting for the few solitary acacias 
which stood sentinel, each of its especial 
well. A draught of water was indulged in at 
one of the last gardens, but without dis- 
mounting, and now Ghopal set his best foot 
foremost, and trudged along with his wonted 
burthen. 

The way was long and weary, the road 
heavy with dust, and as the sun rose high 


in heaven, Ghopal from time to time passed 
his hand across his brow and pressed off 
the sweat that oozed out in beads, which 
chased one another down his cheeks. 

By ten o’clock our travelers had com- 
passed a good half of their journey to 
Mora, the next town of importance on the 
main road, and selecting a well, nicely 
shaded by a well-grown acacia tree, they 
came to a halt. There was a charpoy under 
the acacia, on which Ghopal deposited his 
burthen, and then lying down beside it he 
was soon asleep. * * * * When he 
awoke Byram was resting on his elbow, in- 
tently watching the movements of some 
ants. Ghopal sat up, and iollowing the 
direction of his gaze, saw a number of ants 
making for the acacia tree beneath which 
he was lying. What,” inquired he of 
Byram, “is the particular world’s work on 
which these little people are engaged this 
morning?” 

“JT do not understand their language,” 
said Byram, “but one of them—this fel- 
low over here—has been up the tree, and 
apparently made a discovery, for immedi- 
ately on descending he set off in search of 
help, and every one that he meets goes to 
the tree, and mounts it as confidently as if 
he had received full and reliable informa- 
tion, as of course he has. Hundreds have 
already ascended the tree, numbers are con- 
stantly arriving, and still the discoverer is 
spreading the news of his discovery in all 
directions.” 

“Do you think the discoverer can tell 
his brethren what he has seen?’’ asked 
Ghopal; “they cannot talk.” 

“ They certainly cannot converse together 
as men do,” said Byram, “but just as cer- 
tainly they have ample means of communi- 
cating all their ideas to each other. They 
appear to talk by means of their antenna, 
but whatever the means, nothing can be 
more certain than that they understand 
each other, and that this regiment of ants 
ascending this tree is doing so in conse- 


——— 


Byram and Chopal. 


quence of communication from the ant I 
pointed out to you, and what is more, they 
all know what they are going for. While I 
have been watching I have observed that 
all that have been communicated with, ex- 
cept one little party of about a dozen or so, 
have obeyed the summons, so that the dis- 
covery is evidently something out of the 
common.” 

“Tt will not take much labor,” said Gho- 
pal, “to see what it is. The ants, I cansee 
from here, are all stopping at that fork up 
there, and they must have found a hole in 
the tree, for they all disappear.” 

“Be careful you do not tread on any of 
them,” said Byram, as Ghopal began to 
ascend the tree. Ghopal made no answer, 
but very soon he was at the fork indicated, 
trying to penetrate its mysteries with eye 
and nose. Then he broke off a small dry 
branch, and after some poking, succeeded 
in raising the dead body of a small squir- 
rel, which he laid hold of with his finger 
and thumb and pulled out of the hole, but 
quickly dropped to the ground, for it was 
covered with ants. 

Some of the little people got bruised or 
had their limbs injured by the fall, and 
these hobbled off to make room for active 
workers, and very soon the carcass was 
covered with as many ants as could find 
room to seize a mouthful in their little 
jaws. 

“There,” said Byram, “you see the crea- 
tures next to man in the scale of intelli- 
gence.” 

“Vou do not surely mean to say,” asked 
Ghopal, “that you would rank the ants 
above the dog or the elephant ?” 

“T do not think there are any points of 
comparison,” said Byram. “If we under- 
stood the ants’ language, or methods of 
communication, we should not only find 
them capable of understanding our social 
organization, but ready to condemn it as 
inferior to their own in many respects; but 
however freely we might be able to com- 


207 


municate with dogs or elephants, we should 
find such subjects beyond their comprehen- 
sion. Some of the ants keep slaves, some 
of them keep nectar insects, which they 
take the nectar from daily, just as men keep 
cows for milking. 
nities of ants engage in war with each other. 
Then, again, they are a provident people, 
laying up store of food for the winter, and 
in fact act so much like men that they 
must necessarily think as men do on such 
subjects.” 

“Have they any money-lenders among 
them?” asked Ghopal. 

“No,” said Byram; “ fortunately they are 
free from the human failing of avarice. 
There is nothing like lust of gold among 
them, but they experience lust of power 
just as men do. That is what prompts 
them to make war on other communities. 
The conquerors become a privileged class, 
and make the conquered perform the heavi- 
est work. In fact, they have tried so many 
experiments in social life that it would be 
very interesting to discuss such subjects 
with them and get the views of enlightened 
ants on the social problems of the age. In 
some respects they are certainly superior 
to men. They cannot control fire, nor turn 
it to any useful account, as even savage 
nations can; but in the matter of govern- 
ment and social organization they are on a 
par with civilized nations.” 

“But what do they do for men?” asked 
Ghopal; “anything like the white ants and 
the worms?” 

“Every creature that lives,” said Byram, 
“contributes all its life, with its droppings 
and finally with its body, to the enrichment 
of the soil. The ants perform an impor- 
tant share of the general duty, for no crea- 
ture can crawl anywhere to die but the ants 
will soon find it. This labor of scavenging, 
shared in by the ants, the jackals and the 
vultures, is a most important one for man. 
If it were neglected, the air would be 
poisoned by putrid exhalations from decay- 


Sometimes two commu- 


208 


ing bodies; but by eating and converting it 
into plant food, they prevent waste as well 
as keep the air pure.” 

The sun was now long past the meridian. 


Charley's Wonderful Journey. 


Leaving the ants to dissect the squirrel and 
dispose of the fragments, Ghopal shoul- 
dered his now familiar burthen and set out 
for Mora. 


CHARLEY’S 


We 


<¢ Se appear to be a stranger to these 
parts,” said the Kangaroo, as he 
suddenly halted before Charley, “why, I 
declare I never saw anybody like you be- 
fore 
“T know you very well, sir,’’ said Charley, 
raising his hat politely, ““you’re the Kan- 
garoo.” 


“Well, I suppose we are all Kangaroos, 
except the opossums and the birds. Every- 
body that jumps on two legs must be a 
Kangaroo, But sakes alive, I never saw 
anybody like you dehind! What on earth 
have you done with your tail? How can 
you jump without it?” 

“We don’t use tails for jumping with,” 
said Charley. 

“Then what do you use them for?” asked 
the Kangaroo. 

“Why, for making soup principally,” said 
Charley. 

“ Making soup with your tail!”’ exclaimed 
the Kangaroo, “why, I never heard of such 
a thing. 

“Oh, you put the tail into a pot with 
some water and boil it, and then you put 


How do you make it?” 


some salt in it and some onions, and when 
it is boiled long enough it is ready to eat.” 
“And did you make soup of your tail and 


WONDERFUL 


JOURNEY. 


eat it?’’ asked the Kangaroo somewhat in- 
credulously. 

“T? Oh_no, I never had any tail,” said 
Charley, “boys and girls do not have tails.” 

“Then how could you make tail soup, if 
you never had any tail?” asked the Kan- 
garoo. 

“Oh, we use ox tails at home,” said Char- 
ley, “but I have read that kangaroo tails 
make the very best soup.” 

“Well, we’re never too old to learn,” said 
the Kangaroo, “but what puzzles me most 
is how you manage to jump without your 
tail. Come along and let me see how you 
do it.” 

The Kangaroo led the way, but Charley 
was alongside of him in an instant, and 
jumped a neck and neck race with him. 
The Kangaroo put up steam and increased 
his jumps from ten feet to fifteen; Charley 
revelled in the new mode of progression 
and was not to be beaten. A river barred 
the way, and the Kangaroo in the excite- 
ment of the race went for a broad place, 
and landed so close to the edge of the bank 
that the earth crumbled beneath him; but 
Charley landed well up the bank, and seiz- 
ing the Kangaroo’s arm as he did so, saved 
him from falling back into the river. The 
next moment they emerged from the timber 
into an open plain, and there before them 
was a whole colony of Kangaroos playing 
leapfrog, a long line of them stretching 
away as far as the eye could reach, 

“ Keep still,” shouted Charley’s compan- 
ion, as the nearest Kangaroo, having been 
vaulted over by all in succession, was about 


Charley's Wonderful Journey. 209 


to start on his vaulting tour, “keep still, though many of the Kangaroos grazed him 
we're coming.” with their tails as they passed, none of 
And away he went, vaulting over each them had managed to give him a fair whack, 


until it came to the very last, 


which followed his predecessor 
so closely that before Charley 
knew he was coming, he got 
a whack between the shoulders 
that stretched him on the grass 
with all the wind knocked out 
of him. When 


he got up again 


Kangaroo in succession, 
occasionally giving one of 


them a vigorous rap with 


his tail as he swept by him. 

Charley followed him 
jump for jump until he 
reached the end of the line, 
when he too gave a back 
and Charley vaulted over 
him. 

Charley was now at the 
head of the row, and had 
to give back to all in succession, and having the Kangaroos were quite a long distance 
watched his leader, and the way he flapped off, and Charley seeing a grove of small 
his tail, and the dexterity with which the trees with what looked like very large fruit 
standing Kangaroos avoided the passing hanging from the branches, strolled toward 
stroke, he too was on his guard, and al- it and found that what looked like large 


210 


fruit were loaves of bread, so he picked a 
long loaf, tasted it, and finding it very sweet, 
sat down to refresh himself after his un- 
usual “Tf I only had a good 
bowl of milk,” exclaimed he. 

“Tf you want milk,” said the ’Possum, 
“there’s a cocoanut grove just beyond, and 
my young ones will soon throw you a few 
nuts down. Here you, Joeys, scramble off 
and fetch some cocoanuts for the stranger.” 

The cocoanuts were soon brought; the 
"Possums dexterously inserted their finger 
nails in the eyes, and opened a passage for 
the milk. Charley widened them with his 
knife, and emptied three or four of them 
with gusto, washing down his bread fruit at 
the same time. 

“What can that mean?” said the Possum, 
as he pointed to an open glade about a 
quarter of a mile distant, the view of which 
was shut out by a screen of low trees. 
“There are little pillars of smoke all over 
the plain.” 

Charley and the ’Possums crept quietly 
up to the screen of trees, and concealing 
themselves got a full view of all that was 
going on in front of them, and a strange 
sight it was. In a space of perhapsan acre 
in extent, the Kangaroos had lighted fifty 
or sixty small fires of dry branches, and on 
every fire was an earthen pot supported on 
three stones. ‘The pots of course were full 
of water, and in front of each fire was a 
Kangaroo with his tail simmering in the 


exertions. 


y Sy 


ino) 
Ae 


Charley's Wonderful Journey. 


water, and all changing from leg to leg in 
a manner that showed they were very un- 
comfortable. 

“What ever can they be doing ?”’ said the 
’Possum. “I never saw anything like it.” 

“T know,” said Charley. “ They're mak- 
ing kangaroo-tail soup, and I’d bet any- 
thing they haven't put any salt in.” 

By this time the water was so hot that 
the Kangaroos could stand it no longer. 
First one took his tail out, and then the 
others in quick succession. As soon as the 
cold air struck them the Kangaroos danced 
around like mad. Then they took their 
tails in their hands and examined them, and, 
when they saw the hair and skin come off, 
their faces became so expressive that Char- 
ley thought he had better leave. 

“There he is!”’ shouted one of the Kan- 
garoos before Charley had got fifty yards. 
“There he is!’’ shouted all in chorus. 

Charley started to run, but they gained 
rapidly on him, and were close behind him 
when he reached the river. He cleared it 
in grand style, and at once settled down 
into jumping instead of running. He now 
began to gain on the Kangaroos, although 
as he looked over his shoulder he found 
that the old man whose acquaintance he 
first made was only a few jumps behind 
him. 

Presently a dense hedge of low trees 
barred his path; it was useless to turn aside; 
he put on a tremendous spurt, cleared the 
hedge at a bound, but as he alighted on the 
other side a prickly sensation ran up his 
leg, which felt as if it were asleep. He 
stood still and breathless. The next min- 
ute the old man Kangaroo bounded clear 
over the hedge and alighted a couple of 
yards in front of him. 

There was not a moment to lose, the 
other Kangaroos were close behind, and 
with a determined effort of the will, Char- 
ley straightened his leg, cleared the Kan- 
garoo at a bound, trying to kick him as he 


passed. 


Economic Ornithology. 


But the Kangaroo, seeing no one in front 
of him, turned sharply around, took in the 
situation in an instant, and with a dexterity 
born of constant practice in leapfrog, 
adroitly avoided the well-meant kick. 

The instant Charley touched the ground 
the Kangaroo was over him, and lashing 
out viciously as he swept through the air 
‘brought his tail down on Charley’s cheek 
with a force that made him reel and fall 
backward. As he looked up he saw a 
dozen Kangaroos in mid-air clearing the 
hedge. “He is down!” they exclaimed in 
chorus. The old man turned on him with 
a face white with rage. Charley struggled 


211 


to rise—in vain. A moan escaped him, and 
in that moment of terror he heard his name 
uttered in the tender and pathetic accents 
of his mother’s voice, threw out his arms 
toward her, and the next instant awoke 
trembling in her fond embrace. 

“Oh mother,” said he, “how fortunate 
you came just at that minute; if you had 
been only a quarter of a minute later, I 
should have been torn to pieces.” 

“T tell you what it is,” said his father 
later in the day when he heard of it, “if 
that boy has any more dreams like that, 
you'll have to give him a smart dose of 
physic.” 


ECONOMIC ORNITHOLOGY. 


HE special Division of the Agricul- 
tural Department at Washington, 
under Dr. C. Hart Merriam, has issued its 
preliminary report on economic ornithology, 
giving the general result of its investiga- 
tions to date. 

The protection of hawks and owls is 
urged in the strongest terms, on the plea 
already familiar to readers of the AuDU- 
BON, that although these birds feast occa- 
sionally on chicken, they swds7st on mice, 
beetles, grasshoppers, etc., benefiting the 
farmer to such an extent that their occa- 
sional depredations in the poultry yard are 
insignificant in comparison. 

The English sparrow comes in for the 
most unqualified condemnation, but it oc- 
curs to us that the investigation does not 
appear to have been conducted in the same 
scientifically impartial spirit that resulted 
in the acquittal of the hawks and owls. 
The Department has called for facts and 
opinions as to the merits and demerits of 
this impudent little settler, and is in posses- 
sion of a mass of replies, amounting, it is 
said, to four hundred printed pages, all 
condemnatory, but when it is remembered 
that only twelve months ago it would have 
been easy to collect as general and violent 


a condemnation of hawks and owls, the 
condemnation of the sparrow appears pre- 
mature. On the same grounds we are dis- 
posed to take exception to the sweeping 
conclusion that all birds subsisting on grain 
are inimical to man, those only being bene- 
ficial which prey on mice and insects. 

These conclusions suggest the view that 
if we could only get rid of the mice and 
insects, we could well afford to spare the 
birds, but Charles Darwin’s investigations 
into the life labors of the earthworm points 
to widely different conclusions, and open up 
a new field for investigation. 

The conclusion that hawks and owls were 
the farmer’s worst enemies was reached by 
drawing general conclusions from isolated 
facts, while a fuller knowledge of the life 
habits of these birds has presented them 
in quite another aspect; and as granivor- 
ous birds can prey on the crops only at 
certain restricted periods, we must ascer- 
tain the economic importance of their habits 
at other seasons before it will be safe to 
reach conclusions. 

The whole subject is one of the greatest 
interest, but want of space compels us to 
postpone further reference to it in this 
issue. 


THE, AUD UBON, <WiG-T EE. 3B O20 


MEMBERSHIP RETURNS. 

THE registered membership of the Society on 
Aug. 31 was 38,981, showing an increase during 
the month of 1,527, drawn from the following States 
and Territories: 

New: Vorksereces cere 


22 
WMermontie. = -icse caer ses 6 
New Hampshire.... 3 
Pennsylvania............ 3 
Massachusetts 16 
IN LS Say Soa-sanc ston 29) Undianaeea-c.-sssp tases 
Mae meses ce cn ose ean 50 North Carolina.......... 20 
Rhode Island 4 Maryland.... 9 
Connecticut 49 Virginia... 46 
(ON Sen ssaceec 45 Georgia... Fs qe 
Wisconsine.. a. ic cree =e 22 West Virginia.........+- 5 
IONE <5249 Gosogcosesss 2or South Carolina.......... I 
Illinois.............. to Florida 3 
Mississippi x “DMennessee..c--5-assenee 12 
INGISSOU de sereec nm ceoeie = x Canada 

IRentuekys oc ciccceiesnicese 7 England.. 

Nebraska 3B rance,scericeesne seater 


1,527 
C, F. AMERY, General Secretary. 


AS BAD AS ENGLISH SPARROWS. 

Ear_y last spring I bought a pair of Baltimore 
orioles and put them into an aviary containing a va- 
riety of birds—waxbills, weaverbirds, silverbeaks, 
and others. The cage or aviary was a space about 
14 ft. long, by 12 ft. wide and r1oft. high, partitioned 
off in a large room by a wire screen. Within it I 
had placed an old dead plum tree, and a few roots, 
stumps, etc., for the birds to perch on. After put- 
ting in the two orioles, I left them until the next 
The first thing I noticed on entering was 
On examination I found 


morning. 
a dead waxbill on the floor. 
both its eyes gone and a small hole in its head. 
Believing the bird had died a natural death (it was 
over six years in my possession, and they seldom 
live longer than that) I thought no more of the mat- 
ter. Its wounds I thought had been inflicted after 
death. The next morning some boys brought me a 
common house wren, with a crippled wing, saying 
they had found it on the street, and I put it in with 
the other birds. That same afternoon a lady friend 
told me there was a dead bird inthecage. On pick- 
ing it up it proved to be the poor little wren with 
both its eyes picked out. I was positive it had not 
died a natural death, as I had been watching it eat 
not half an hour before. After thinking the matter 
over for some time, I concluded to watch and see 
who was doing the mischief. Getting behind a cur- 
tain on the opposite side of the room from where the 


cage was, I sat down and waited. For over an hour 


everything seemed to be going on smoothly, and I 
was just concluding to give up my vigil, when I 
heard a great fluttering. Stepping out from behind 
the curtain I saw the male oriole chasing a small 
African zebra finch around the cage. So intent was 
he on seizing his prey that he paid no attention to 
me whatever, although I struck the wire quite smartly 
with a light cane I had in my hand. Before I had 
time to enter the cage, he had the poor little thing 
in a corner with his sharp bill buried in its head. Of 
course I immediately took the orioles out and put 
them in another large cage with a lot of catbirds, 
thrushes, Japanese robins, etc., and there they are yet. 
Although continually quarreling with the other birds 
over the food, they are too cowardly to show open 
fight. C, T. METZGER. 


EFFECT OF THE ECLIPSE ON BIRDS. 


ALTHOUGH the scientific results of the observation 
of the solar eclipse in the neighborhood of Berlin 
are insignificant, some interesting reports are given 
by a correspondent of the effects upon the lower 
animals of the untimely obscuration of the sun. For- 
esters state that the birds, which had already begun 
to sing before the eclipse took place, became of a 
sudden quite silent, and showed signs of disquiet 
when darkness set in. Herds of deer ran about in 
alarm, as did the small four-footed game. In Ber- 
lin a sicentific man arranged for observations to be 
made by bird dealers of the conduct of their feathered 
stock, and the results are found to deviate consider- 
ably. In some cases the birds showed sudden sleepi- 
ness, even though they had sung before the eclipse 
took place. In other cases great uneasiness and 
fright were observed. It is noticeable that parrots 
showed far more susceptibility than the canaries, be- 
coming very silent during the eclipse, and only re- 
turning very slowly to their usual state.—Zondon 
Globe. 


THE AMERICAN HUMANE ASSOCIATION. 


THIs society will hold its eleventh annual conven- 
tion at Rochester, N. Y., on October 19, 20 and 21, 
and delegates from the Audubon Society are invited 
to be present. We shall be very glad to receive 
communications from any of our local secretaries 
desirous of representing the Society at the conven- 
tion. The Rochester Society will do all in its power 
for the entertainment of visitors. The headquarters 
of the Society will be Powers’ Hotel, terms $3 a day, 
but timely notice being given, an effort will be made 
to secure a reduction of rates and also of railway 
fares, 


—_—_———— 


The Audubon Note Book. 213 


A MAN, A SPARROW AND A SURPRISE. 

Tue Tolland county Leader says: ‘‘A Rockville 
man, who is no lover of sparrows, while passing 
along Elm street one day last week, discovered upon 
a lawn one of the little feathered rascals, so wet and 
bedraggled by the rain which had poured during the 
afternoon that it was unable to fly. He stooped to 
pick it up, intending to convey it to a place of safety 
but the bird hopped away a few feet. Another at- 
tempt was made to capture it, and again a miss was 
made. By this time the ‘Good Samaritan’s’ blood 
was up, and he vowed that he would catch that 
sparrow or perish in the undertaking. So, gathering 
himself together, he made a rush and a grab, but 
before he could seize the bird a big white cat streaked 
in front of him, her claws closed upon the bird, while 
puss executed a somersault. An umbrella flourished 
vigorously in her face failed to frighten her away, 
and betore the would-be rescuer could recover from 
his surprise the cat’s teeth had closed upon the spar- 
row, and puss made off as swiftly and silently as she 
had come.” 


SKUNKS AND POTATO BUGS. 


SOME years ago, while living at home in Vermont, 
a group of men were discussing as to whether or not 
turkeys or any of our domestic birds would eat the 
potato bug; when a trapper in the party remarked 
that he knew an animal that would, and went on to 
say, that while looking for a favorable place to trap 
skunks, he visited a strip of tillable land that for 
years has been largely planted to potatoes. The soil 
is a sandy loam, making it an easy burrowing ground, 
with many decayed pine stumps scattered over it. 
On one side a great wood, and on the other a 
large swamp furnished secure retreat for the shyer 
birds and animals. 

He found many burrows about the stumps scat- 
tered through the fields, and noticed a great amount 
of excrements near the entrances, which were full of 
the harder parts of the potato beetle, showing clearly 
what was the principal diet of the skunk in that local- 
ity. I afterward took occasion on one of my walks 
to verify it, and found great quantities of the horny 
wing-cases of the beetle among the excrements de- 
posited just outside the door of the skunk’s dwelling. 

M. E. HALL. 


Jerrerson, Iowa. 

SPARROWS AND ROBINS AT THE BATH. 

SoME friends from Cleveland, O., visiting me, 
speaking of English sparrows, say they have driven 
nearly all the native birds—mentioning robins in 
particular—away. Now I detest the little rascals as 
much as any one, but I have had great fun watching 
them this summer. I keep a dish that holds two 
quarts filled with water, and have it on the lawn 


where I can see it as I go about my work. The 
robins took immediate possession, and such splash- 
ing and spattering as they would make. As soon as 
the robin began his bath, numbers of sparrows would 
come and look on, but if they came too near, Bob 
would drive them away. During the hot weather 
they got bolder, and I have often seen from three to 
five of them sitting around the edge of the dish, and 
the robin in the middle splashing away as if they 
were not there, or as if he enjoyed it so much himself 
he hadn't the heart to refuse them the few drops 
they got in that way. When sparrows bathe they 
act as though they were novices in the art, and I 
told my daughters, they looked, when all perched 
around the dish or on the trees and bushes near, as 
though they were taking lessons. 

I never saw them attempt anything like driving 
but once. Then a sparrow flew down and lit on the 
robin, and he immediately flew, but it was all done 
in such a flash I could not tell whether he meant to 
drive or get in with him. We had to fill the dish 


three or four times a day. M. A. CLINTON. 
Rocuester, N. Y. 


SWALLOWS’ INTELLIGENCE.—In a_ neighbor's 
bungalow in this district, two of our common swal- 
lows (Hirundo javanica) built their nest, selecting 
as a site for the purpose the top of a hanging lamp 
that hangs in the dining-room. As the lamp is 
either raised or depressed by chains fixed to a cen- 
tral counter-weight, these chains pass over pulleys 
fixed to a metal disk above, on which the nest was 
placed. The swallows evidently saw that if the 
pulleys were covered with mud, moving the lamp 
either up or down would destroy the nest; so to 
avoid this natural result they built over each pulley 
a little dome, allowing sufficient space both for 
wheel and chain to pass in the hollow so constructed 
without danger to the nest, which was not only fully 
constructed, but the young birds were reared with- 
out further danger.—Ceylon Letter. 


SEAGULLS AND HERRINGS.—To the infinite credit 
of the Manx Legislature (says the London G/oée) a 
penalty of £5 is inflicted upon any one who shoots one 
of these birds (seagulls), which accordingly enjoy an 
immunity from slaughter by that hideous travesty of 
the British sportsman, the seaside shooter. Let him 
beware how he attempts to practice his favorite 
amusement at Douglas, Ramsey, Peel, Castletown. 
The fishermen will be down upon him to a man in 
defense of the bird which serves as their guide to 
schools of herrings off the coast. As the armada of 
closely-packed fishes advances, it is always accom- 
panied by a number of swooping gulls, and the 
Manxman then knows that the harvest of the sea is 
waiting to be reaped. 


214 The Audubon Society. 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY FOR THE PROTEC- 
TION OF BIRDS. 


HE AUDUBON SOCIETY was founded in New York 
city in February, 1886. Its purpose is the protection of 
American birds, not used for food, from destruction for mer- 
cantile purposes. The magnitude of the evil with which the 
Society will cope, and the imperative need of the work which 
it proposes to accomplish, are outlined in the following state- 

ment concerning 

THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS. 

Within the last few years, the destruction of our birds has 
increased at a rate which is alarming. This destruction now 
takes place on such a large scale as to seriously threaten the 
existence of a number of our most useful species. It is carried 
on chiefly by men and boys who sell the skins or plumage to 
be used for ornamental purposes— principally for the trimming 
of women's hats, bonnets and clothing. These men kill every- 
thing that wears feathers. The birds of the woods, the birds 
of the field, the birds of the marsh and those of the sea are 
alike slain, at all times and at all seasons. It matters not if 
the bird be a useful one which devours the hurtful insects 
which destroy the farmer's crops, or a bright-plumaged song- 
ster whose advent has been welcomed in spring, and which has 
reared its brood in the door yard during the summer, or a 
swift-winged sea swallow whose flight along the shore has often 
with unerring certainty led the fisherman to his finny prey— 
whatever it be, it must be sacrificed to the bird butcher's lust 
for slaughter and for gain. Besides the actual destruction of 
the birds, their numbers are still further diminished by the 
practice of robbing their nests in the breeding season. 

Although it is impossible to get at the number of birds killed 
each year, some figures have been published which give an 
idea of what the slaughter must be. We know that a single 
local taxidermist handles 30,000 bird skins in one year; that a 
single collector brought back from a three months trip 11,000 
skins; that from one small district on Long Island about 70,000 
tirds were brought to New York in four months time. In New 
York one firm had on hand February 1, 1886, 200,000 skins. 
The supply is not limited by domestic consumption. Ameri- 
can bird skins are sent abroad. The great European markets 
draw their supplies from all over the world. In London there 
were sold in three months from one auction room, 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazilian bird skins, and 356,389 East Indian birds. 
In Paris 100,000 African birds have feet sold by one dealer in 
one year. One New York firm recently had a contract to 
supply 40,000 skins of American birds to one Paris firm. These 
figures tell their own story—but it is a story which might be 
known even without them; we may read it plainly enough in 
the silent hedges, once vocal with the morning songs of birds 
and in the deserted fields where once bright plumage flashed 
in the sunlight. 

BIRDS, INSECTS AND CROPS. 

The food of our small birds consists very largely of the 
insects which feed on the plants grown by the farmer. These 
insects a By with such astounding rapidity that a single 

air may in the course of one season be the progenitors of six 
Bittions of their kind. All through the season at which this 
insect life is most active, the birds are constantly at work 
destroying for their young and for themselves, tens of thou- 
sands of hurtful creatures, which, but for them, would swarm 
upon the farmer's crops and lessen the results of his labors, 

A painstaking and ardent naturalist not very lon; ago 
watched the nest of a pair of martins for sixteen hours, from 4 
A.M. till 8 P. M., just to see how many visits the parent birds 
made to their young. He found that in that time 312 visits to 
the four young were made, 119 by the male and x9 by the 
female. If we suppose only six insects to have been irodehe 
at each Visit, this pur of birds would have destroyed, for their 
young alone, in this one summer’s day, not far from 2,000 
insects. The important relations which our birds bear to the 
agricultural interests and so to the general welfare, are recog- 
nized by the governments of all our States. Laws exist for 
their protection, but these laws are rendered inoperative by 
the lack of an intelligent public sentiment to support them. 
They are nowhere enforced. It is for the interest of every 
one that such a public sentiment should be created. 

It is time that this destruction were stopped. 

PURPOSE OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

To secure the protection of our birds by awakening a better 
sentiment, the Audubon Society, named after the greatest of 
American ornithologists, has been founded. The objects 
sought to be accomplished by this Society are to prevent as far 
as possible— 

(1) The killing of any wild bird not used for food. 

“ (2) The taking or destroying of the eggs or nests of any wild 
irds, 

(3) The wearing of the feathers of wild birds. Ostrich 
feathers, whether fea wild or tame birds, and those of domes- 
tic fowls, are specially exempted. 

The Audubon Society aims especially to preserve those 


birds which are now stim t without d pepe Our 
ame birds are already protected by law, and in large measure 
y public sentiment, and their care may be left to the sports- 
man. The great aim of the Society is the protection of 
American non-game birds, The English sparrow is not 
included in our lists, 
PLAN OF THE WORK. 

Obviously the Society cannot supply any machinery of com- 
pulsion to lead individuals and communities to a higher 
regard for bird life and to efforts for its protection. Nor are 
compulsory measures thought necessary. The wrong is toler- 
ated now only because of thoughtlessness and indifference. 
The birds are hilled for millinery purposes. So long as fashion 
demands bird feathers, the birds will be slaughtered. The 
remedy is to be found in the awakening of a healthy pub- 
lic sentiment on the subject. If this enormous destruction of 
birds can once be put in its true light before the eyes of men 
and women and young folks, if interest be aroused and senti- 
ment created, the great wrong must cease. Toso present the 
case to the people as to awaken this corrective sentiment is the 
special work contemplated by the Audubon Society. The 
methods adopted are very simple. Pledges are furnished, sub- 
scription to which constitutes membership, and certificates 
are issued to members. 

TERMS OF MEMBERSHIP. 

The signing of any of the pledges will qualify one for mem- 
bership in the Society. It is earnestly desired that each mem- 
ber may sign all three of the pledges. Beyond the promise 
contained in the pledge no obligation nor responsibility is in- 
curred. There are no fees, nor dues, nor any expenses of an 
kind. There are no conditions as toage. The boys and girls 
are invited to take part in the work, for they can often do 
more than others to practically protect the nesting birds. All 
who are interested in the subject are invited to become mem- 
bers, and to urge their friends to join the Society. If each 
man, woman or child who reads this circular will exert his or 
her influence, it will not take long to enlist in the good work a 
great number of people actively concerned in the protection of 
our birds. It is desired that members may be enrolled in every 
town and village throughout the land, so that by the moral 
weight of its influence this Society may check the slaughter of 
our beautiful songsters. The beneficent influence of the 
Audubon Society should be exerted in every remotest by-way 
where the songs of birds fill the air, and in every crowded city 
pliere the plumes of slain songsters are worn as an article of 

ress, 
ASSOCIATE MEMBERS. 

As there are a very great number of people in full sympathy 
with the Audubon movement, and ready to lend it their moral 
support, but who refrain from joining the Society simply be- 
cause they find it distasteful to sign a pledge, it has been 
determined to form a class of Associate Members. Any one 
expressing his or her sympathy with the objects of the udu- 
bon Society and submitting a written request for membership: 
to any local secretary, will be enrolled on the list of Associate 
Members. All such applications for membership received by 
local secretaries of the Society should be forwarded to the 
General Secretary for registration. 

LOCAL SECRETARIES. . 

The Society has local secretaries in cities, towns and villages. 
The local secretary will furnish this circular of information 
and pledge forms; will receive the signed pledges, keep a list 
of the members, forward a duplicate list with the pledges for 
enrollment and file at the Society's office; and will receive in 
return certificates of meinbership, to be filled out and signed 
by the local secretary and given to the members. No certis 
ficate of membership will be issued to any pee except upon 
the receipt of a signed pledge at the office of the Society. 
Where no local secretary has yet been ap ointed, individual 

plicants for See may address the Society at its 
Bree. No. 40 Park Row, New York. ae 

If there is no local secretary in your town, you are invited 
to act as such yourself, or to hand this to some other perso 
who will accept the office. Upon application we will supply 
copies of this circular and pledge forms 
THE AUDUBON SOCIETY CERTIFICATE. 

The Society furnishes to each member a handsome certificate 
of membership. This bears a portrait of the great naturalist, 
John James Audubon, after whom the Society very appro- 
priately takes its name. a 

The office of the Society is at 40 Park Row, New York city. 
All communications aiouia be addressed 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY, 
No. 40 Park Row, New York. 


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ADVERTISER. 215 


A. J. Cammeyer, 


165, 167 & 169 SIXTH AVE., 
Cor. 


12TH STREET, New York CITY. 


Achilles, the greatest warrior of the elder world, could only 
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216 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE 


ADVERTISER. 


THE SCHOOL: OF “HOME. 


Let the school of home be a good one. 
Let the reading at home be such as to 
quicken the mind for better reading still; 
for the school at home is progressive. 


The baby is to be read to. What shall 
mother and sister and father and brother 
read to the baby? 

BaByLAND. Babyland rhymes and jingles; 
great big letters and little thoughts and 
words out of BAByLAND. Pictures so easy 
to understand that baby quickly learns the 
meaning of light and shade, of distance, 
of tree, of cloud. The grass is green; the 
sky is blue; the flowers—are they red or 
yellow? That depends on mother’s house- 
plants. Baby sees in the picture what she 
sees in the home and out of the window. 

BapbyLanp, mother’s monthly picture- 
and-jingle primer for baby’s diversion, and 
baby’s mother-help. 

Babies are near enough alike. 
LAND fits them all; 50 cents a year. 
to D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 


One Bapsy- 
Send 


What, when baby begins to read for her- 
self? Why Aerself and not Azmself? Turn 
about is fair play—If man means man and 
woman too, why shouldn't little girls in- 
clude the boys? 

Our LirtLe MEN AND WOMEN is an- 
other monthly made to go on with. Basy- 
LAND forms the reading habit. Think of a 
baby with the reading habit! After a little 
she picks up the letters and wants to know 
what they mean. The jingles are jingles 
still; but the tales that lie below the jingles 
begin to ask questions. 

What do Jack and Jill go up the hill 
after water for? Isn’t the water down hill? 
Baby is outgrowing BABYLAND. 

Our LirtLe Men anpd WOMEN comes 
next. No more nonsense. ‘There is fun 
enough in sense. The world is full of in- 
teresting things; and, if they come to a 
growing child not in discouraging tangles 


but an easy one at a time, there is fun 
enough in getting hold of them. That is 
the way to grow. Our LirTLe MEN anD 
WomeEN helps such growth as that. Begin- 
nings of things made easy by words and 
pictures; not too easy. The reading habit 
has got to another stage. 

You may send a dollar to D. Lothrop 
Company, Boston, for such a school as that 
for one year. 


Then comes THE Pansy with stories of 
child-life, tales of travel at home and 
abroad, adventure, history, old and new 
religion at home and over the seas, and 
roundabout tales on the International Sun- 
day School Lesson. 

Pansy the editor; THE Pansy the maga- 
zine. There are thousands and thousands 
of children and children of larger growth 
all over the country who know about Pansy 
the writer, and THe Pansy the magazine. 
There are thousands and thousands more 
who will be glad to know. 

Send to D. Lothrop Company, Boston, a 
dollar a year for THE Pansy. 


The reading habit is now pretty well es- 
tablished; not only the reading habit, but 
liking for useful reading; and useful read- 
ing leads to learning. 

Now comes WipE AWAKE, vigorous, 
hearty, not to say heavy. No, it isn’t 
heavy, though full as it can be of practical 
help along the road to sober manhood and 
womanhood, Full as it can be? There is 
need of play as well as of work; and Wipe 
AWAKE has its mixture of work and rest 
and play. ‘The work is all toward self-im- 
provement; so is the rest; and so is the play. 

Send D. Lothrop Company, Boston, $2.40 
a year for WIDE AWAKE. 


Specimen copies of all the Lothrop mag- 
azines for fifteen cents; any one for five— 
in postage stamps. 


THE NIGHTHAWK., 


Sine AUDUBON MAGAZINE. 


Wot. I. 


eLebe Gr AR AC TE R Ol 


A: has been said before, Audubon’s 
was no well-rounded, complete char- 
acter; loving he was, but wanting in the 
capacity for self-sacrifice; generous, but 
without any controlling sense of duty. Let 
us deal gently with this last-named short- 
coming, for had he been animated by a 
high sense of duty to his gentle wife he 
could not have allowed her to eat the bread 
of dependence and to struggle unaided in 
the battle of life for well nigh twenty years 
of her married life; he would have sacri- 
ficed his predilections, bent his neck to the 
common yoke in some more or less distaste- 
ful business pursuit, and both he and she 
would have missed the crowning triumph 
of their lives. 
_ And indeed Audubon would have been 
quite incapable of this desertion on his own 
motion. He needed his wife’s unqualified 
approval, and her expression of unbounded 
faith in the value of his labors to justify 
his desertion to himself, and we must ap- 
preciate the measure of self-denial this 
required of her before we can begin to 
realize the ideal nobleness of the woman 
who reverently sacrificed the domestic 
hearth and devoted her life, her energies, 
her talents, to affording her husband the 
Opportunity to complete his labors, and to 
aid him with the material means necessary 
to secure the world’s recognition of them. 
~ Down to the loss of the remnant of his 


NOVEMBER, 1887. 


JOHN 


No. ro. 


JAMES AUDUBON. 


fortune through that “infernal saw mill,” 
as he styled it, he had been roaming about 
the woods and observing and painting his 
loved birds, but not as a means to a practi- 
cal end for the benefit of his wife and fam- 
ily. As he told Wilson at Louisville and 
reasserted in his diary, he had at that time 
no thought of publishing. He was simply 
indulging tastes for which he had a craving 
amounting to a passion. He knew, too, 
that his indulgence in this passion led him 
to be regarded as a vagabond; and while 
this estimate stung him to the quick, and 
although he felt in the secret recesses of 
his heart that his pursuit was lofty in com- 
parison with the all-absorbing race for 
wealth, he must nevertheless have suffered 
keenly from a mistrust of his own judg- 
ment. 

But when Wilson called on him for a 
subscription to his work, which he was then 
preparing to publish with material inferior 
in quantity and quality to that which Au- 
dubon had already collected, the latter 
built on the possibilities of turning his own 
collections to account, and on a vastly more 
magnificent scale; but even then he laid 
out no plan of operation to secure means 
to the desired end. On the contrary, he 
just went on dreaming until, his last cent 
sunk in ill-judged enterprises, he was 
thrown entirely on his own resources for 
the support of his wife and family. This 


220 


was the turning point of Audubon’s life. 
Up to this moment all his labors as a natu- 
ralist had been simply the enjoyment of his 
leisure, and it would naturally have been 
supposed that in the position in which he 
was then placed he would have devoted 
himself entirely to retrieving his position 
and providing for his family. He made 
the effort, and being a man of talent and 
culture, soon secured a position in which 
he was enabled to maintain his family in 
comfort, but ere long he drifted away to the 
woods again, and this time with a definite 
purpose. The pastime of his leisure was 
to become the business of his life. He 
had now before him the definite task of 
adding to his collections and completing 
his observation of the birds of America, a 
congenial task which should bring him 
name and fame, in addition to the more 
material reward of labor. 

But while we do justice to the enthusi- 
asm with which he prosecuted the work, to 
the dauntless spirit with which he confronted 
all obstacles, to the sanguine temperament 
which made him cheerful amid reverses, 
and to the tireless industry with which he 
diverted his intervals of leisure to procuring 
means for carrying on his work, we should 
never lose sight of the fact that it was his 
wife’s faith in his work and genius which 
gave substance to his dreams, her prudence 
which foresaw and prepared for the final 
difficulties, her self-denial which devoted 
him to the work, and furnished him with 
the means of success, won by her own rare 
energy and talents. 

That Audubon thoroughly appreciated 
the devotion of his wife, and felt encour- 
aged by her sympathy with his pursuits 
and her faith in his ultimate success, goes 
without saying; but when the day of tri- 
umph came at last, it is very doubtful if he 
realized that his success was in any way 
He had such a 
contempt for money, such a want of appre- 


due to his wife’s efforts. 


ciation of the self-denial necessary to its 


The Character of John Fames Audubon. 


accumulation, and such an imperfect real- 
ization of its importance, that he could 
form no just estimate of the value of his 
wife’s codperation. His work had been 
submitted to the best judges of Europe, 
had been appreciated and won distinction 
for him, ‘That work was his own; the pub- 
lication of his book, the recognition and 
reward of his genius. ‘His sweet Lucy 
had believed in him from the first, and now 
he had justified her faith in him by his 
success,” and could lay his well-earned 
triumphs at her feet. But Audubon’s was 
one of those rare natures which success 
only tended to expand and elevate. The 
craving for appreciation, the keen sensi- 
tiveness to the opinions of others which 
characterized the period of his struggles, 
was succeeded by the calm consciousness 
that the labors of his life were dignified 
and worthy, and recognized by all the world 
as such. The whole character of the man 
expanded in the sunshine of success, he 
ceased to be concerned with what others 
thought of him, and was better prepared 
to appreciate the character of others. 

And now gradually there appears to have 
dawned on hima correct estimate of the 
character of his devoted wife, and of the 
important part she had played in the 
achievement of his success. He had never 
meanly sought to disparage, he had simply 
never realized it; he was the more blinded 
by the fact that she had been foremost in 
rendering homage to his genius; but when 
his eyes were at length directed to the 
truth, when he realized that he owed his 
success to the self-denying devotion of the 
wife whose proffered incense he had been 
receiving as his due, the self-consciousness 
of the man vanished, he was lifted out of 
himself and constrained to bow down and 
reverence a character whose unselfish great- 
ness dawned on him as a new revelation. 
Audubon was humbled by the discovery, 
but eleyated also; the emotion of reverence 
pointed to an ideal standard of excellence 


The Nighthawk. 


outside of himself, and went far to form 
and strengthen his character. He needed 
this calm reliance on his wife’s strength, 
for his own nature was essentially self-in- 
dulgent, and all self-indulgent natures are 
weak. 

And yet how necessary was such a man 
as Audubon to the development of his 
wife's character. The sunshine of later 
years lent softness to it, but it was in the 
hard battling with the storms of adversity 
that it gathered strength, in the long years 
of self-denial for duty’s sake that it ex- 
panded to its full proportions. He laid 
his genius on the altar, she her lofty char- 
acter and wifely devotion; and as they 
breasted the fierce storms of adversity to- 
gether their union became so complete that 


221 


the individuality of each was merged in the 
other, forming that ideally perfect union 
so rarely witnessed. 

Men went to see Audubon and render 
homage to his genius, and came away im- 
pressed with the gentle and guileless sweet- 
ness of his wife and the tender reverence 
he displayed to her. For the greater num- 
ber, Audubon filled the foreground of the 
picture so completely, that the devotion to 
his wife in later years is credited to the 
noble simplicity of his character, without a 
suspicion that this reverence was her just 
due, but here and there some one with 
keener insight than the others has given 
vent to the impression “that Audubon owed 
more to his wife than the world knew, or 


ever would know.” 


diet br, s NeKGsEeh HuAWrke: 


HIS bird seems to be singularly un- 
fortunate in its common names, one 

of them being an absurd survival of ancient 
superstition, and others attributing to it 
characteristics which it does not possess. 
No doubt it was called Goatsucker by the 
early settlers of America because of its re- 
semblance to the European _nightjar, which 
from time immemorial has been supposed 
by the ignorant and vulgar to rob the goats 
of their milk at night. Its name of Bullbat 
alludes to the groaning sound which it 
makes at certain seasons of the year, and 
which bears some resemblance to the low 
bellow of a bull, and to its common habit 
of flying in the dusk of the evening. Cva- 
paud volant, or Flying Toad, which Audubon 
gives as its name among the Louisiana Cre- 
oles, perhaps refers to the same sound, 
which is not unlike the low-pitched tones of 
a toad or frog. Nighthawk, although per- 
haps less objectionable than any of the 
titles given to the bird, is still a misnomer, 


for it is not a hawk, nor is it exclusively a 
night bird. 

Conspicuous enough toward evening, and 
sometimes during the whole day, especially 
when the weather is gloomy and the sky is 
overcast, the Nighthawk is yet a bird about 
which most people know very little. Ex- 
cept during the migration in autumn, when 
in favorable weather it may often be seen 
on the wing at all hours of the day, it is 
most active during the twilight hours. It 
darts about through the upper air with a 
firm, light, yet sustained flight, often utter- 
ing its shrill squeak, and sometimes descend- 
ing like a falling bolt from a great height 
toward the earth, and then turning suddenly 
upward, produces the loud booming sound 
already alluded to, which, if heard near at 
hand, is very startling. This sound is re- 
garded as characteristic of the mating 
season, yet we have heard it as late as the 
first days of August. There is a difference 
of opinion among ornithologists as to the 


to 
to 
to 


way in which this sound is produced, some 
believing it to be vocal and others consid- 
ering that it is caused by the wings when 
the bird suddenly checks itself in its down- 
ward flight. The Goatsucker of Europe is 
said to make a somewhat similar noise when 
perched, which would seem to confirm the 
belief that the sound is made by the voice. 

The Nighthawk is a bird of wide range, 
being found in summer as far north as the 
shores of Hudson's Bay, and in winter ex- 
tending its migrations south to Brazil. The 
typical form, or a closely allied variety, is 
found from the Atlantic coast to the Pacific. 

This bird does not pass the winter in the 
United States, but coming from the south 
enters Louisiana about the first of April. 
A month later it has reached the Middle 
States, but according to Audubon is not 
seen in Maine before June. As soon as 
they arrive, they make their presence known 
by their vociferous cries and by their ac- 
tive and beautiful flight through the air. 
Audubon’s description of its motions at 
this season is so graphic as to be well 
worth quoting. He says: “The motions 
of its wings, which are peculiarly graceful, 
and the playfulness which it evinces ren- 
ders its flight quite interesting. The bird 
appears to glide through the air with all 
imaginable ease, assisting its ascent, or sup- 
porting itself on high, by irregular hurried 
flappings performed at intervals, as if it had 
unexpectedly fallen in with its prey, pur- 
sued, and seized it. Its onward motion is 
then continued. It moves in this manner, 
either upward in circles, emitting a loud, 
sharp squeak at the beginning of each sud- 
den start it takes, or straight downward, 
then to the right or left, whether high or 
low, as it presses onward, now skimming 
closely over the rivers, lakes or shores of 
the Atlantic, and again wending its way 
over the forests or mountain tops. 
the love season its mode of flight is parti- 


During 


cularly interesting ; the male may be said 
to court his mate entirely on the wing, strut- 


The Nighthawk. 


ting as it were through the air, and perform- 
ing a variety of evolutions with the greatest 
ease and elegance, insomuch that no bird 
with which I am acquainted can rival it in 
this respect. 

“Tt frequently raises itself a hundred 
yards, sometimes much more, and appar- 
ently in the same careless manner already 
mentioned, its squeaking notes becoming 
louder and more frequent the higher it as- 
cends ; when, checking its course, it at once 
glides obliquely downward with wings and 
tail half closed, and with such rapidity that 
a person might easily conceive it to be about 
to dash itself against the ground. But when 
close to the earth, often at no greater dis- 
tance than a few feet, it instantaneously 
stretches out its wings, so as to be nearly 
directed downward at right angles with the 
body, expands its tail, and thus suddenly 
checks its downward career. It then brushes 
as it were, through the air, with inconceiy- 
able force, in a semicircular line of a few 
yards in extent. This is the moment when 
the singular noise produced by this bird is 
heard, for the next instant it rises in an 
almost perpendicular course, and soon be- 
gins anew this curious mode of courtship.” 

It is often the case that birds whose pow- 
ers of flight are very highly developed are 
scarcely able to walk at all, and conversely, 
some birds which are swift runners or ex- 
pert swimmers are almost without the power 
of flight. The Nighthawk belongs in the 
first of these categories. Its feet are ridic- 
ulously small and weak for the size of the 
bird, and are besides placed very far back, 
so that it can scarcely walk at all. When 
at rest, it seems to rest on its breast, and 
does not stand on its feet. It is often seen 
perched on the limb of a tree or on a fence 
rail, not across the support, as is the case 
with most birds, but lengthwise of it. 

The Nighthawk builds no nest, but de- 
posits its two oval gray-freckled eggs on 
the bare ground. It seems careless in its 
choice of a position, and we have found 


The Nighthawk. 


them on a naked rock, on the grass in a pas- 
ture land, on a dry sandbar in a river, and 
on a high rocky table land among the sage 
brush. Not infrequently they deposit their 
eggs on the flat roofs of city houses. 
The eggs are so nearly the color of the 
ground on which they rest that they are 
not likely to be discovered except by acci- 
dent or by the actions of the parent bird as 
you pass near her. When the nest is dis- 
covered, the mother tries to lure you away 
from it by feigning to be wounded, and 
flutters and tumbles about on the ground 
at your feet, trembling and panting, with 
open mouth, keeping just out of reach, un- 
til she has led you some little distance from 
her eggs or young. Then her flights be- 
come a little longer, and at length she soars 
away to be seen no more until you have left 
the neighborhood. The young of the Night- 
hawk, like the eggs, harmonize so well in 
color with the ground, that it is not easy to 
discover them, even though your eyes may 
have rested almost on the exact spot from 
which the mother rose. 

The food of this species consists wholly 
of insects. They devour great numbers of 
beetles, moths, grasshoppers, crickets and 
mosquitoes, and are thus extremely useful 
birds. Notwithstanding this well-known 
fact, great numbers of them are shot during 
the autumn when they are migrating, prin- 
cipally in mere wantonness, their swift flight 


223 


making them an attractive target for the 
gunner. 

It is a very common, though erroneous, 
belief that the Nighthawk and the whip- 
poorwill are the same bird. They belong 
to the same family and are near relatives, 
but are quite distinct. 

The Nighthawk is 9% inches in length 
and 23% inches across its outspread wings. 
The bill is very short and feeble, measuring 
only ¥% inch along its ridge, but its mouth 
is enormous, opening to behind the eyes. 
As might be expected in a bird which is to 
a certain extent nocturnal in its habits, its 
eyes are very large. The wings are long, 
extending when closed beyond the forked 
tail. The claw of the middle toe is notched, 
or comb-like. The ground color of the 
plumage is brownish black, barred and 
sprinkled with white and cream color. A 
conspicuous white bar extends across the 
five outer primary quills. The tail feathers 
are barred with brownish gray, and the four 
outer ones on each side are marked with a 
white spot toward the tip. A broad trian- 
gular white band marks the throat and sides 
of head. The lower tail coverts are white, 
sparsely barred with black. The female is 
somewhat smaller than the male, has the 
wing spot smaller, the white throat band 
much obscured by brownish and blackish 
markings, and lacks the white spots on the 
tail feathers. 


UND ERT LG Ht EOW SE 


ENEATH the tall white lighthouse strayed the children 
In the May morning sweet; 
About the steep and rough gray rocks they wandered 


With hesitating feet; 


For scattered far and wide the birds were lying 


Quiet and cold and dead; 


That met while they were swiftly winging southward 


The fierce light overhead. 


CELIA THAXTER. 


HINTS TO AUDUBON 


FIFTY 


MAG 


COWBIRD., 


HE cowbird is one of the smaller 

blackbirds. ‘The male has an irides- 

cent body and purplish-brown head and 

neck. ‘The female has no brilliant coloring, 
and is decidedly dingy in appearance. 

About the size of the kingbird, the cow- 
bird imposes upon its brothers in the same 
systematic manner. It employs subtle 
measures, however, and the result of its 
work is much worse than that of the king- 
bird’s. Coues says of its habits: “Like 
the European cuckoo, it builds no nest, lay- 
ing its eggs by stealth in the nests of vari- 
ous other birds, especially warblers, vireos 
and sparrows; and it appears to constitute, 
furthermore, a remarkable exception to the 
rule of conjugal affection and fidelity among 
birds. A wonderful provision for the per- 
petuation of the species is seen in its in- 
stinctive selection of smaller birds as the 
foster-parents of its offspring; for the larger 
egg receives the greater share of warmth 
during incubation, and the lustier young 
cowbird asserts its precedence in the nest; 
while the foster-birds, however reluctant to 
incubate the strange egg (their devices to 
avoid the duty are sometimes astonishing), 
become assiduous in their care of the found- 
ling, even to the neglect of their own young. 
The cowbird’s egg is said to hatch sooner 
than that of most birds; this would obviously 
confer additional advantage.” 

In describing the song of the cowbird, 
Mr. Bicknell says: “It has an indefinite 
beginning, which is continued into a high 
attenuated note, ending with a sound curi- 
ously like that of bubbling water. This 
irresistibly suggests a bubble-like bursting 


* CopyriGHT, 1887, py Florence A, MERRIAM, 


COMMON BIRDS AND HOW TO 


WORKERS.* 


KNOW THEM. 


forth of sound after a long audible inhala- 
tion. * * * The singular bodily action 
which accompanies the vocal expression of 
the cowbird conveys the suggestion that the 
air sacs of the body are brought into play 
in the production of song. The ducking 
of its head, the spasmodic motion of its tail, 
the half-opening of its wings, the swelling 
of its body, which collapses with the culmi- 
nating notes; all this, seems to point to the 
utilization of the air sacs—to their inflation 
and the muscular expulsion of the contained 
air—in the execution of its singular vocal 
performance.” 


INDIGO BIRD. 


In his extremely interesting paper in the 
July number of the AupUBON MAGAZINE, 
Mr. Ridgway shows what a mistake peo- 
ple have made in depreciating our American 
songsters. With equal justice an article 
might be written calling attention to the 
brilliant plumage of many of our Northern 
birds. The oriole, bluebird, goldfinch, 
purple finch, barn swallow, scarlet tanager, 
red-headed woodpecker, yellow-bellied vireo 
and numbers of our warblers would excite 
wondering delight if they should bear 
South American or European labels. In- 
deed, we need to establish a fashion of ap- 
preciating our national gallery of beauties 
among birds as well as among roadside 
flowers. 

One of our most brilliant every-day 
beauties, and one whose song also merits 
close attention, is the indigo bird. Only 
in a poor light is he as dull as our com- 
mon indigo. In the sunlight his coat 
is the most intense, exquisite blue, the 
shade of which varies as he moves, and is 
described by Thoreau as “glowing indigo;” 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 225 


by De Kay as “sky blue, showing in some 
lights a greenish tint;” by Baird in his 
“Birds of North America,’’ as “bright ultra- 
marine blue;” by Ridgway in the “History 
of North American Birds,” as “blue, tinged 
with ultramarine on the head, throat, and 
middle of breast; elsewhere with verdigris- 
green;” and by Coues as “indigo blue, in- 
tense and constant on the head, glancing 
greenish with different lights on other 
parts.” To this Coues adds more details, 
with a description of the female. He says: 
“Wings and tail blackish, glossed with 
greenish-blue; feathers around base of bill, 
black; bill dark above, rather paler below. 
* * * Female above plain warm brown, 
below whity-brown.” * * * She has 
a very pretty tinge of blue on her shoulders 
and tail feathers, but if the light is not right 
to bring this out, the peculiarly warm 
brown, which is almost burnt sienna, is 
enough to distinguish her from the ordinary 
brown birds whom she approaches in size 
and build. Her habit of jerking her tail 
from side to side is also characteristic. 
The indigo bird is one of our most ener- 
getic and untiring songsters. He is usu- 
ally seen on the top of a bush or a small 
tree not more than twenty or thirty feet 
from the ground; sometimes in the edge of 
the woods, or in a clump of bushes beside 
the road, but oftener, Nuttall says, in the 
garden, where his breezy, sunny song shows 
that he is making the most of all the light 
and air that are to be had. He revels in 
sunshine, and like the scarlet tanager and 
red-eyed vireo, sings as loudly through the 
noonday heat as in the cooler hours. His 
vivacious roundelay has been variously syl- 
labified, but the rhythm and tone may be 
suggested by che-ree’ che-ree’ che-ree’ che-ree! 
che-rah’ rah-rup’. The last half varies 
greatly, sometimes being che-rah’ rah-ah- 
rup, or che-rah’ che-rip’ cherup'. Very often 
the song ends with an indescribable, rapid 
flourish of confused notes. Nuttall says 
that during the nesting, the father bird 


shortens his song, but this is not always 
so, as I have heard the full song from the 
beginning till the end of the season. 

This June a pair of indigo birds built in 
the edge of the woods only a few rods from 
the house, but I think they never ceased to 
regret their temerity. The nest was a 
pretty little bunch of dry leaves and grass, 
its deep, narrow cavity lined with hair. It 
was wedged into the fork of a tiny beech, 
only six inches from the ground, and not 
more than three feet from the carriage 
drive. The mother would sit perfectly 
quiet when wagons passed, but as soon as 
she found that I had discovered her nest 
she would fly off in distress whenever I hap- 
pened to be walking by. To verify the 
apparently conflicting statements concern- 
ing the color of the eggs, and satisfy myself 
that in some lights the pure white changed 
to a beautiful greenish-blue, I went several 
times before they were hatched; and when 
the birds appeared, went still oftener to 
watch their growth. But unlike the vireos 
and sparrows, the mother never got used to 
me, and to the last suspected me of—I don’t 
know what murderous intentions—darting 
off into the low bushes with her metallic 
cheep, cheep, as soon as she caught sight of 
me, and almost refusing to feed her babies 
till I had gone back to the house. Her 
husband, though of rather a suspicious 
temperament, could not share her alarm; 
he chirped and jerked his tail about, but his 
anxiety had a perfunctory air. 

Earlier in the season I saw a very marked 
instance of this difference in temperament. 
I was walking through the edge of a clear 
ing when I started up a mother indigo bird, 
apparently looking for a good site for her 
nest. She was much excited, and flew about 
hither and thither, crying cheep, cheep, and 
twitching her tail nervously. She made so 
much noise that her husband heard her, 
and came flying home to find out what was 
the matter. He did not think either my 
dogs or I looked belligerent, but he followed 


226 


her about from limb to limb to be on hand 
in case anything should happen. It was 
very evident that he did not sympathize 
with her fears, as he neither cried out nor 
jerked his tail; and after he had chased her 
here and there, up and down, back and 
forth, for some time, he turned toward her 
on the branch and looked at her as much 
as to say, “Oh! you tiresome creature; why 
will you be so absurd? Don’t you see 
they’re not going to hurt you?” 

His contempt had no effect, however, 
and—he opened his mouth at her! This 
threat of conjugal authority subdued her, 
and at last she meekly flew off into the 
woods with him. 


LEAST FLYCATCHER. 


If you have been in the country, or even 
in some of our smaller towns during the 
spring and summer, you have probably 
noticed the reiteration of a peculiarly abrupt 
call of two notes—a che-beck’ che-beck’ com- 
ing from the apple trees and undergrowth. 
If you have followed it up you have dis- 
covered a small gray bird, in coat and 
habit a miniature of the phoebe and wood 
pewee, jerking his tail and whole body with 
his emphatic call. 

This small bird seems to be a piquant 
satire on the days of tournament and joust, 
when knights started out with leveled lances 
to give battle to every one they met. He 
is a fearless little warrior, snapping his bill 
ominously as he charges, full tilt, at his 
enemy. 

Last summer I heard this snapping, to- 
gether with loud calls of che-deck’, coming 
from a thicket, and went to see what was 
going on. There, in alow willow, I found 
a family of young, sunning themselves 
while their mother brought them their din- 
ner. It seemed a very peaceable scene, but 
a picket fence ran along just back of the 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 


willow, and I soon discovered that this was 
the tilt yard. Whenever a song sparrow or 
pewee happened to light there, and stretch 
its wings for a sun bath, the fierce little 
mother would suddenly appear, dart at the 
inoffensive bird, and fairly throw him off 
the fence with the abruptness of her on- 
set. 

After unseating her enemy she would 
fly off as fast as she had come, career about 
in the air tiil she had snapped up a fly or 
miller, dart back, thrust it into one of the 
open mouths with a jab that threatened to 
decapitate the little one, and seemed to 
mean, ‘“‘ There, take it quick if you've got to 
have it,’’ and with a flirt of the tail and 
wings, before I had time for a second look, 
would be off in hot pursuit of another in- 
sect. 

I wanted to see if she would be afraid of 
me, and so crept up by the fence, almost un- 
der the little birds. ‘Two of them sat there 
side by side, in the most affectionate man- 
ner, nestling down on the branch and show- 
ing their soft white feathers to the best 
advantage. They did not mind me, and 
closed their eyes as if the warm sunlight 
made them sleepy. All of a sudden their 
mother flew up to one of them with a fly, 
but the sight of me startled her so that 
instead of giving it to him she sprang up on 
top of his head and was off like a flash, al- 
most tumbling him off from the branch, and 
leaving him looking very much scared and 
bewildered. As soon as her nerves re- 
covered from the shock, she came back again 
and went on with her work as if I had not 
been there. 

The father seemed to be as restless and 
pugnacious as the mother, and, if appear- 
ances were to be trusted, was quarreling 
with his neighbors in a tree near by, while 
his wife guarded the picket and fed her 
young. 

FLORENCE A, MERRIAM, 


BYRAM 


AND 


GAO PAS 


VII. 


a they neared the town, Byram several 

times pricked up his ears and lis- 
tened. Finally he asked Ghopal if he did 
not hear any sounds of distant revelry. 
Ghopal had heard nothing, but ere long the 
sound of tom-toms fell distinctly on his 
ear. 

“Some wedding, perhaps,” said Ghopal. 

“JT think not,” said Byram. “Do you 
not see something like a cloud between us 
and the town?” 

“Ves, truly,” said Ghopal, “and what is 
more, it is advancing toward us. You are 
right, O Byram. The tom-toms are not 
being beaten for a wedding, but to drive off 
the hosts of locusts that are come up over 
the land. Here they come; we are among 
the advanced guard of the destroyers al- 
ready.” : 

As he spoke the locusts came flying 
against our travelers. They alighted on 
the fields on either side, they filled the air 
as high as the eye could reach, obscuring 
the daylight, while from far and near came 
the clanging of the tom-toms, the shouting 
of many voices raised in the vain hope of 
preventing the locusts from alighting. Vain 
hope indeed, for they were already weary 
with their flight, and apparently incapable 
of going further. Those that fell, soon cov- 
ered every blade of the young crops; the 
fields were alive with them, but the clouds 
appeared no thinner. Far as the eye could 
reach the air was filled with their swarms, 
while crows and hawks and minas and 
smaller birds flitted among them, gorging 
themselves. 

‘Say, Byram,” said Ghopal, exultingly, 
“these people do not appear very thankful 
to Brahma for sending the locusts; but I 
suppose they are blessings more or less 
disguised ?” 

“A flight of locusts,” said Byram, “is 


rarely welcomed by man, but their visitation 
is not an unmixed evil.” 

“So much I am willing to concede at the 
outset,” saidGhopal. “Creatures that cover 
the ground so densely and clear the herbage 
so effectually, must pay tithes with their 
droppings; but the question between us, 
now that the seed is sown and the crops 
well above ground, is, “ Does it benefit man 
to have them consume them, as they are 
doing?” 


“The Indus is a dangerous river,’’ said 
Byram; “many a village has been carried 
away by it, but when we come to strike the 
balance of the account, we must admit that 
Sind and the Sindees owe everything to the 
Indus; but Mora has arrived,* and we must 
defer our dispute for the present.” 

Scarcely had they entered the town before 
they were recognized by a party of shop- 
keepers and farmers who, to the number of 
about fifty, were discussing the visitation. 

“Oh, Byram,” said one of the shopkeep- 
ers, “you have brought trouble with you 
this time !” 


“How so?” said Byram. ‘Brahma sent 


*The Sindees, on reaching a town, always speak of the town 
as having arrived. 


228 Byram and CGhopal. 


his locusts from the north—a strong army 
—for which be thankful; us he sent from 
the south with good counsel.” 

“Oh, Byram the Wise,” said a woman, 
advancing, “men say that thou art chari- 
table and never turned a deaf ear to the 
needy. Look at me, a widow, whose field 
was sown only ten days ago, and now all 
will be destroyed by morning, and where 
shall I get seed to renew it?” 

“Tell me, good woman,” said Ghopal, 
before Byram could reply, “do you think 
you could manage with one pie?’”* 

“Why do you mock me?” replied the 
woman. “Will apie buy half a bushel of 
grain, or is not the price already seventy- 
five cents a bushel, in consequence of the 
locusts, as men say ?” 

“T am not mocking thee,’’ said Ghopal, 
“but a Faquir’s rags do not often conceal 
as much money as would supply the needy 
with a pie a head, in a visitation of locusts. 
Count the people whose fields are destroyed 
and tell us how many there are.” 

“Go to your homes now,” said Byram, 
“and to-morrow I will rest here and take 
counsel of the bankers and shopkeepers in 
this matter, but be of good cheer. There 
remain just twelve days for millet sowing, 
and all the cotton that has spread its sec- 
ond pair of leaves will sprout afresh after 
the locusts have left.” 

The people were by no means disposed 
to a hopeful view of the situation, but the 
shopkeepers, good people who thrive on 
their neighbors’ necessities, were congratu- 
lating themselves that they would now get 
double rates for the surplus grain of the 
year, and extolled Byram’s wisdom loudly. 
Very soon, too, the usual supplies began 
pouring in, an old woman came to prepare 
Byram’s food, and our travelers were left 
to repose after their journey. 

The next morning the shopkeepers spread 
the news around that Byram the Wise would 
halt in Mora for that day and give good 


* The third of a cent. 


counsel in respect of the visitation of locusts, 
and that they, the shopkeepers, would take 
heed to it, and that the people should do so 
also. 

Accordingly, about an hour after sun- 
rise, the farmers having finished their morn- 
ing meal, began to flock into the town, and 
Byram inquired of them what the locusts 
had done during the night. 

“Come out and see,” said the people; 
“vou have a stout fellow to carry you.” 

So Byram sprang on Ghopal’s shoulders, 
and they went out and strolled through 
some fields on which the locusts had been 
feeding all night. The ground was literally 
strewn with them, and every green blade 
skeletoned and freighted to the ground. 

“ They will leave nothing,” said the farm- 
ers; ‘“‘by to-morrow every blade, every 
green thing will have disappeared.” 

“And in its place,” said Byram, “ will 
remain a heavy dressing of manure that 
will double your crops. The locusts are 
passing southward; to-morrow you may 
plow in their droppings and sow fresh 
seed.” 

“ And to-day,” said Ghopal, “if you are 
wise, you will get out your oxen and rollers 
without a moment’s delay, and the locusts 
that you will crush into the earth will enrich 
the ground still more than the droppings. 
Make the best of a bad bargain, and take 
all you can out of the locusts.” 

“Nay, not so,” said Byram. “Brahma 
will dispose of the locusts when they shall 
have completed the task he has assigned 
them, but it is not for man to take the life 
of any living thing thoughtlessly.” 

“ But how are we to get fresh seed?” said 
the people. “Some Bunyas from Nowshera 
have already arrived, and they talk of fix- 
ing the price of jowari at three rupees (one 
dollar and fifty cents) a bushel.” 

“How can the farmers pay three rupees 
a bushel for seed grain?” said another. 
“When the harvest comes the Bunyas will 
buy the crop at forty cents and take four 


Byram and Ghopal. 229 


bushels for one, besides the interest, which 
will raise it to five bushels.” 

“Tt is folly to cast the blame of high prices 
upon the Bunyas,”’ said one of their number 
who was present. “When grain is scarce 
and everybody wants it, the price must be 
high, whether the Bunyas will or not.”’ 

“T will discuss this question of prices 
with the Bunyas on my return to the Serai,”’ 
said Byram, “and do you prepare to resow 
your fields without delay. To-morrow is 
an auspicious day, and with the blessing of 
Brahma, you shall have abundant crops this 
year, and your land be renewed. A flight 
of locusts when the land is covered with a 
heavy green crop will benefit the land as 
much as a five-year fallow.” 

“That may be true enough,” said an old 
farmer. ‘I remember when the locusts 
came five years ago, just a week later than 
to-day, the fields were resown the very last 
day or two of the season, and the crops 

ere moderate, but the next year we had 
the finest harvest that had been known for 
years, and the crops have been pretty good 
since—better at least than they were before 
the locusts, when a third part of the fields 
laid fallow because the soil was exhausted. 
Yes, the locusts may be lucky for the crops, 
but the Bunyas are in league with Brahma, 
and charge interest on his blessings at the 
same rate as on their own loans.” 

“Not so,” said a Bunya, “we depend 
for our success on good seasons just as 
much as the farmers, and share their good 
and bad fortune with them.” 

“ Quite true,” said the previous speaker. 
“Brahma sends good and ill fortune to be 
shared among the Bunyas and cultivators, 
and the Bunyas take as much good fortune 
as fairly counterbalances the ill fortune 
which they manage to allot to the farmers 
as their share.”’ 

At this there was a laugh, and Byram, 
reflecting that when a people can joke over 
their misfortunes they are in the best mood 
for remedying them, proposed a return to 


the Serai, and a consultation with the shop 
keepers to fix the price of seed grain. 

The whole body of merchants, to the 
number of several hundred, 
promptly to the summons, as did also the 
cultivators and people of all castes, for all 
were interested in the matter. 

When they were all assembled they asked 
Byram to open the meeting, which he did 
in a few words: 

“ Every one knows,” he said, ‘that after 
land has been cropped some years the crops 
get poorer and poorer from year to year, 
until the farmer is compelled to manure 
or fallow it. In this country farmers have 
no manure, it is all burned for fuel, but at 
intervals Brahma sends a flock of locusts, 
which dress the fields and render them fruit- 
ful for a few years. The locusts take what- 
ever green stuff is on the land and convert 
it into manure, at a profit to the farmer. 
They pay good interest on what they take. 
But the farmer gets neither principal nor 
interest until the next crop, and for this he 
is dependent on an advance of seed from 
the Bunyas. Now if the Bunyas charge as 
much interest as the locusts pay, the farmer 
will gain nothing by the visitation, but if the 
Bunyas are moderate, both they and the 
farmers will be enriched. What say you, 
Gunnoo Lall?” asked he, turning to a portly 
old banker; “have the merchants agreed 
on the price of grain?” 

“There is news that the locusts have 
devastated the whole country southward of 
Mooltan, and there is some talk of fixing 
the nerrick of jowari millet as high as eighty 
cents a maund.” 

At this there was a great outcry among 
the people, some of whom said they would 
rather leave their land untilled than pay 
such a monstrous price. 

“That is too high a figure,” said Byram, 
“The rate yesterday was thirty-six cents, 
and if stocks are heavy it would be wiser 
not to increase the price, which but for the 
locusts would have fallen before harvest 


responded 


230 


time to twenty or twenty-four cents. It will 
be something for the Bunyas to get full 
prices for all the grain on hand, and with 
the blessing of Brahma, the farmers will be 
able to pay it and live.” 

“But the stocks are not heavy,” said one 
Bunya, who was immediately supported by 
a score of others; and then began a general 
clamor, everybody talking at once, in loud, 
disputatious tones. Byram took no part in 
it, and the discussion was continued until 
sunset, Bunyas and farmers breaking up 
into little knots, discussing and arguing 
among themselves and with each other. At 
sunset they had arrived at a dead-lock, the 
farmers asserting that more than forty-eight 
they would not give, the Bunyas that less 
than sixty-four they would not take. 

“Better refer the matter to the arbitra- 
tion of five,” said Gunnoo Lall.” 


AN EARNEST APPEAL 
OYS, spare the birds. What I am go- 
ing to say will not be addressed to 
the ingrain bad boy; for him there is little 
hope for reform. The boy who feels pleas- 
ure in killing a poor innocent bird, or in 
robbing it of its eggs, or its young, is not 
far removed from the Pomeroy boy, who 
took pleasure in enticing little children into 
cellars, and other out of the way places, 
and then killing them. To such boys I 
have not a word to say; they are past re- 
demption, and unless they repent and re- 
form, the devil, in his own good time, will 
surely get them. 

But there is another class of boys, who 
are naturally kind and tender-hearted. To 
such boys I would say, become missionar- 
ies to other boys, who practice unkindness 
through thoughtlessness and the bad exam- 
ple of innately bad boys. Persuade these 
kindly disposed boys to come and go with 
you, and be disciples of the Audubon 


An Earnest Appeal to “Young America.” 


“Agreed,” said the Bunyas. 

The leading farmers discussed the propo- 
sition a few minutes and then said: 

“We, too, are agreed. Let there be two 
bankers, two farmers, and let Byram the 
Wise give the casting vote.” 

The proposal satisfied all parties, the ar- 
bitrators were selected, and after an hour’s 
talk which did not in any way affect the 
issue, Byram announced that forty-eight 
cents a maund had been fixed for seed 
grain for the next three days. 

Bunyas and farmers were alike pleased 
that the matter had been so satisfactorily 
settled. The Bunyas said that Byram had 
been influenced more by consideration for 
the poor than by strict justice, but this, of 
course, was intended for the ears of the 
farmers, to make them think they had got 
the best of the bargain. 


LO “YOUNG AMERICAS 


Society, teach them to preach a crusade 
against cruelty to animals in general, and 
birds in particular. 

To thinking, kind-hearted men it is un- 
necessary to say anything. I judge others 
by myself. When I was a thoughtless boy, 
led on by the example of other thoughtless 
and bad boys, I used to throw stones at 
birds; aye, and rob their nests, too, and 
now that Iam an old man, I feel exceed- 
ingly sorry that I did it. 

I well recollect that, once of a time, I 
shot a robin. He flew some distance, and 
fell in the tall grass. I went and picked 
him up and found that I had inflicted a fatal 
wound in his breast. ‘The poor wounded 
bird looked up into my face so imploringly, 
that it caused me to shed tears, and now, 
to-day, at the age of eighty-five years, I am 
haunted by the pitiful imploring look of 
that poor, innocent, dying bird, and feel- 
ings of deep remorse come over me when- 


An Earnest Appeal to “Young America.” 


ever Isee arobin. I would be willing to 
make great sacrifices to be made guiltless 
of the wanton murder of that poor innocent 
bird. 

Now boys, as it was and is with me, so it 
will be with you by and by. Ifyou slaughter 
the poor birds through thoughtlessness 
now, when you shall come to realize the 
great sin of wantonly taking the life of a 
poor innocent bird, you will never to the 
day of your death cease to regret it. 

Now just here I desire to make a special 
plea in behalf of the so-called catbird. 
Boys are taught to “hate catbirds.” To 
hate and persecute catbirds seems to be an 
article in their creed. This strong un- 
reasonable prejudice seems to be a bad 
feeling inherited from theirfathers. I have 
observed it through the four generations of 
boys and men that I have known. 

Now why is this so? To be sure, the 
catbird will steal your cherries; but then 
he is no more to blame in that regard than 
the robin, and many other kinds of birds 
that are useful to man. He is entitled to 
his share of the fruit, as but for him and 
other kinds of birds, the worms would have 
destroyed the very trees that the cherries 
grow upon. 

And then you have heard him mew like 
a cat, hence his vulgar name, and the al- 
most universal boy prejudice against this 
very interesting bird. 

If you are an observant boy, as you should 
be in regard to all things, you will have 
noticed that this bird never makes the cat- 
like cry except when provoked to do it by 
some one disturbing him, or his and his 
mate’s nest. It is his mode of swearing at 
his enemies. 

I once had the same prejudice in com- 
mon with other boys; but, since I have be- 
come’ better acquainted with him, I have 
come to love him above all other birds. 
His far-famed Southern cousin, the mock- 
ingbird, in melody can’t play second fiddle 
to him. 


oer 


Perhaps you have never noticed his song; 
if not, you have missed a rare treat, and if 
you desire to hear the sweetest song made 
by any known American bird, you just wait 
till next spring; find where a pair of these 
birds have their nest; visit the place in 
the early morning; you will find the male 
bird perched on the highest tip of the tall- 
est tree in the neighborhood of the nest, 
where his wife is breeding the coming 
young family, and you will be ravished by 
such a marvellously thrilling melody of bird 
song as you never dreamed or had any con- 
ception of before. The song is not so 
varied as that of the mockingbird, but O! 
how much sweeter. Now, if you prefer 
form to feathers, you will admire his grace- 
ful shape as much as his unrivalled song. 

Some naturalists have followed the vul- 
gar idea and have named this bird Zurdus 
felivox. Others have named it Orpheus 
carolinensis. There are still other names, 
but the last named is the most befitting, 
and should be adopted to the exclusion of 
all other names. The Grecian Orpheus 
never sang more true to nature than does 
our Orpheus. 

But, call him by what name you will, 
don’t shoot him, don’t stone him, don’t rob 
his nest,spare him and protect him; for in- 
dependent of his unsurpassed vocal powers, 
with which he ravishes your ears, he richly 
earns his living in orchard and in garden, 
and does little or no harm to any one. 

Again I say, boys, spare the birds, and 
above all other birds protect the wrong- 
fully despised and hated catbird. Do him 
justice; don’t call him by a low, vulgar 
nickname; he deserves the name of Orpheus, 
the sweetest singer of ancient Greece. 

To all boys, and to men as well, good or 
bad, I would say, if your tastes tend in that 
direction, shoot any game birds in proper 
season, but at no other time, and then as 
many as you may need for the table of 
yourselves or your friends; but not one 
bird more than you so need. 


2 


As to the English sparrow, kill him, 
wherever you find him, in season and out 
He is a tramp, and a marauder 
of the worst kind. He has never been 
known to do any good, and is of no use, 
except to be served up on toast. He wages 
a constant warfare upon better birds, and 
destroys the grain and fruit of the farmer 
and the gardener. ‘Therefore, I say, give 
him no quarter, but go for him as you 


of season. 


32 All Night on a Mountatn. 


would for any other -thief and robber. 
Here, now, is a chance for the bad boy 
to exercise his bad propensities, and at the 
same time accomplish a great good. Let 
him go for the English sparrow. 

Now, boys, you just follow my advice, 
and you will be respected by all good men, 
and will deserve to be happy now and here- 
after. 

Iam, the friend of the boys and the birds, 


In Camp at Paso Beacn, Florida, Sept. 26, 1887. ’ 
‘ ae 2) e 
e 


AA NEG EO aN) 


OU may talk as you please about 
camping out and all that sort of 
thing, but I shall never forget the first 
night I spent out of doors. It was one 
summer several years ago, and we were 
staying up in the mountains. In the same 
house with us were two other boys, Charley 
Huston and Will Campbell, and it wasn’t 
long before we were pretty good friends, 
and together we explored the whole neigh- 
borhood. 

Well, one day we started on a long walk. 
We went down our mountain (the one the 
hotel is on) to the river; here there is a 
little ferryboat that crosses the river four 
times a day, once over and back in the 
morning, and again in the afternoon. We 
got in and went across, and proceeded to 
climb the mountain opposite ours. 

Neither Will nor I had ever been there 
before, so everything was strange and new 
3ut Charley knew all about it, as he 
had spent the previous summer in the same 
place, and had often walked over with his 
father! So of course he was guide; but as 
far as that goes, he always was guide, for 
he was a little older, a good deal quieter, 
and a great deal wiser than either Will or I. 


to us. 


A MOUNTAIN. 


He had a funny, quiet way about him that 
seemed to say, “I’m going to boss this 
thing,” and no matter how much a fellow 
might rebel against it, he was just as firm 
as arock. Will and I had gotten used to 
it by this time, and didn’t mind it, so that 
this day, when he said, “We'll take this 
path,” we did not say anything, but simply 
followed. 

About midday we came upon a certain 
stream, where he said we were to eat our 
dinner. I wonder why it is that sandwiches, 
or even dry bread, no matter how stale, will 
taste so good in the woods, while at home 
we would turn up our noses at such poor 
fare. I do not remember ever having eaten 
any dinner with a better appetite than I did 
that day, although our bread had fallen into 
a small mountain creek we had crossed, and 
was still soggy and very heavy. 

After dinner we started to come home 
again, but by a different route from the one 
we had previously taken; indeed, as well 
as I remember, we went around the moun- 
tain instead of over it. It was longer but 
much pleasanter, as there was not so much 
uphill work about it. 

It was about four o’clock when Charley, 


All Night on a Mountain. 


who was ahead, called our attention to a 
bird’s nest overhead. 

“What kind is it, Charley?” I asked, for, 
having lived in the city all my life, I did not 
know one bird’s nest from another. 

“Tt’s a wood thrush’s,”’ he answered, “one 
of the finest singers we have.” 

“Oh, my !” I said, “do you suppose there 
are any eggs?” 

“Not now, it’s too late, but I guess there 
are young birds; yes, there must be, for 
here comes the mother with something in 
her mouth.” 

We watched the pretty brown creature as 
she fed her little ones, with a great deal of 
interest, until Charley said: 

“Come, fellows, or we'll miss the boat; 
it’s getting late.” 

“No, sir,” I said, “I’m going to have a 
look at these birds first. Come on, Will, 
give us a boost, will you?” and I began to 
shin up the tree. 


“Well, look at them, then, but hurry up,” ~ 


said Charley, and I'll wait down here for 

you.” 
So Will and I climbed up into the branches 

and gazed with awe into our first bird’s nest. 


“Why, ain’t they ugly!” said Will, and he wm 
was right, too, for it almost frightened me BBA 


when I looked down their great gaping 
mouths. 

“T say, Will,” said I, “I wonder how it 
would do for us each to take one and raise 
it in a cage?” 

“Tet’s,” said Will, “for you know Char- 
ley said they made splendid singers.” 

No sooner said than done, we immedi- 
ately transferred two miserable babies from 
the nest into a pocket-handkerchief. Then 
we told Charley what we were about, but 
instead of being pleased he was very angry. 

“Vou wouldn't do such a thing, would 
you? Let the poor little things alone.” 

But we insisted, and debated as to whether 
we should take a third, in case one should 
die. 

“How can you be so cruel, Ned?” he 


233 


called from below. ‘I didn’t think it was 
in you. Put those birds into the nest this 
minute and come down here.” 

“T won't!” I shouted back. 
to take one home to my sister, her canary 
died last winter.” 

He got very angry, and, after scolding a 
good deal, went off and left us, saying he 
wasn’t going to miss the boat if we were. 

We had no fear of missing the boat, but 
by the time we slid down the tree with our 
treasures, Charley was nowhere in sight. 

The path, if it could be called a path, 
was longer and rougher than we supposed, 
and we had to walk slowly, so as not to 


“Tm going 


joggle our birds, so by the time we got to 
the river, the boat had gone. 

Here was a pretty mess, sure enough, 
there was no other boat we could take, and 
no one lived on the mountain, so we just 
had to sit down and think about it. Fin- 
ally I said that the only thing we could do, 
would be to walk up the river about five 
miles where there was a village, there we 
could get a boat, cross the river and take 
the train back to the hotel. 

This was not a very pleasant prospect, 
you may be sure, especially after all the 
walking we had already done that day; but 
there was nothing else to be done, so we 
started out, lugging our poor little prison- 
ers with us. 


234 


We had hardly gone two miles, when 
Will sank down and said: 

“Oh, Ned; I can’t walk another step, 
I’ve a blister on my foot as big as a hen’s 


egg,” 


55 

I proposed going on alone, and getting 
a boat, and then I would pick him up on 
the way back, but he wouldn't let me. So 
we had to sit down and rest, and then I 
thought, “ Perhaps I can persuade him to 
go a little further.” But that did not work, 
for long before he began to be in the least 
rested, it had grown so dark we could 
scarcely see. 

Poor Will, I don't wonder he was tired, 
he was a whole year younger than I was 
and not half as strong, and a walk like that 
is enough to tire out any eleven-year-old 
boy. ; 

We did not much fancy the idea of stay- 
ing out all night, and what made it more 
disagreeable was the howling of a wildcat 
not far off. 

We tried to look on the bright side of 
things, but it was hard work; we would 
keep thinking of home and what they were 
doing there. Mrs. Campbell, who was an 
invalid, was probably sitting in the corner 
of the porch that was most sheltered, and 
mamma pacing the terrace with Effie, 
wondering what made me so late. 

And so the sun set, and the twilight 
deepened, and night came on; and with it 
the queer summer night noises, which one 
don’t mind at home, safe in bed, but ob- 
jects to most decidedly out in the woods 
alone, particularly if a wildcat leads the 
concert. 

They made such a din, that, tired as I 
was, I could not for a long time get a wink 
I rather envied Will, who slept 
as peacefully through it all as if he was at 
home in his own bed. 


of sleep. 


After a long time I got used to the noise 
and dropped off. I do not think I dreamed 
anything, but I woke up about half an hour 
before dawn with the idea that mamma was 


All Night on a Mountatn. 


calling me, so I sat up-with a start, and oh, 
how dark and lonely the woods were. The 
concert had stopped and all was as still as 
death. The silence, I think, was worse 
than the noise. 

I turned to Will, who had not changed 
his position, and felt almost inclined to 
wake him to keep mecompany. Iam glad 
now that I did not do such a selfish thing. 
At last the sense of utter loneliness got the 
better of me, and I leaned my head on my 
arms and cried, yes, cried hard, although I 
was twelve years old, and big for my age. 
I never felt so badly in all my life. SoI 
cried for mother and I cried for home, and 
I felt better for it. 

When I was pretty nearly through, I heard 
a faint little noise. I stopped and listened, 
and then I heard a faint little peep, such a 
lonely, forsaken, homesick little peep, that 
it went straight to my heart and cut like a 
knife. 

Of course I knew what it was, and it sent 
me right down into the blues again, just as 
I was getting better, when I remembered 
how the mother bird had cried that after- 
noon when we robbed the nest. And then 
I thought of how those poor little birds 
must have felt, out away from home all 
night, as long as I felt so badly myself, and 
how much more helpless they were than we, 
till I wondered at, and despised myself for 
being so heartless and cruel. And then 
came the thought of my mother, and of 
what she would say if I told her. I fancied 
I saw her face grow grave as she said: 

“Oh! Ned, Ned; I did not think my son 
would do so mean and so cruel a thing.” 

It made me feel awfully bad, and I made 
up my mind that just as soon as it was 
light enough I would put them back in the 
nest if I had to walk ten miles todo it. As 
soon as it was light enough to see, I went 
to look at my prisoners, and oh! what a 
sight met me. One of them was dead and 
the other was crying piteously. What if 
one of us had died that night on the moun- 


The Rice Bird. 


tain side. Think of poor mamma or Mrs. 
Campbell if Will or I had been brought 
home dead. 

With a great lump rising in my throat I 
tried to dig some worms for the remaining 
bird. I found a few, but he refused to eat 
them. So with a heavy heart I picked up 
the handkerchief and started out to look 
for the nest, leaving Will still sleeping. I 
found it, hardly a mile away, so I climbed 
up and dropped the live birdie into the 
nest, and the dead one I wrapped up in the 
handkerchief again, and buried it tenderly 
at the foot of the tree. Then I turned to 
come away with a lighter heart. 

Just as I did so the sun came up over the 
hills, and there burst from the forest the 
most beautiful music I had ever heard. At 
first it was low and sad, as though the birds 
were singing a requiem over the grave of 


235 


the little thrush, then more voices joined 
it, until it became a glorious chant, which 
followed me all the way back to where Will 
was sleeping. 

As soon as he woke we started for the 
river, for we did not intend to miss the 
boat this time. It was a slow, painful 
journey, for we were both so stiff and sore 
we could hardly walk. But we got there 
in time, and my! weren't we glad to step 
on to the other shore. 

We found out afterward that Charley had 
come over in the boat the evening before 
and had sent a search party over to the 
mountain to look for us, but as we had 
started to walk up the river, we did not 
hear them hallooing for us. 

And so ends the story of my first and last 
robbery of a bird’s nest. 

E. B. Barry. 


THE RICE BIRD: 


CENTURY or more ago, the people 

of the Southern States took up 

arms against the rice bird; genuine fire- 

arms, too, charged with gunpowder, of 

which they have exploded so enormous a 

quantity, that the very atmosphere ought to 

be reeking with the smoke of “villainous 

saltpetre’ and tremulous with the reverb- 
erations of incessant fusilades. 

At seed time, when the birds are winging 
their way northward, and again a few weeks 
before harvest, when the young birds are 
making their first flight to the southern 
paradise, the air is rent with the din of fire- 
arms from gray dawn till eventide; hun- 
dreds of thousands of birds, if not millions, 
are shot annually, and it may be some sort 
of satisfaction to the planter to inflict ruth- 
less justice on the predatory foe, but in so 
far as concerns the economic results of the 
crusade, it is beyond all dispute that the 
rice birds thrive on powder and shot, and 


were never more numerous than at present. 
There is nothing anomalous in this; the 
rice bird is one of our native birds, capable 
of holding his own in the struggle for exist- 
ence, he is consequently constantly trench- 
ing on the limits of his food supply both 
North and South, and all the shooting of 
the planters has no other effect than to save 
them from the wholesale destruction that 
must inevitably result from exceeding those 
limits. The most energetic shooting has 
no other effect than to maintain some ap- 
proach to uniformity in numbers, and if the 
planter would take into consideration the 
amount of damage sustained by trampling 
down the rice in the pursuit of the foe, he 
would find it more profitable to submit to 
their depredations, relying on the facts that 
rice culture will spread, but the rice birds 
can never increase beyond the limits of 
their food supply in that season in which it 
is scarcest. 


THE AUDUBON NOTE 


MEMBERSHIP RETURNS. 


THE registered membership of the Society on 
Sept. 30 was 39,750, showing an increase of 767 


during the month from the following sources: 


Wew Works sos ani,. ces see 231 California 


17 

Connecticut <..:...:..-.. 19 26 
Massachusetts........... 83 I 
Pennsylvania............ 29 45 
New Hampshire......... 38 2 
28 Washington Territory.... 2 

2 District of Columbia,.... I 

I 

6 

14 

Kentucky... 28 
Wisconsin. ....... 30 
Colorado ..... Bae eee 37 
MOWR ces sac vip we kwon 5 
Michigan. <-> ..-<.s<s<s- I 
767 


~ 
C. F. AMERY, General Secretary. 


MIGRATORY NOTES. 


WiTH the season of southward migration the 
young birds’ troubles begin. From far beyond the 
reach of human vision the migrating birds sight the 
glimmering lighthouses and bear down upon them in 
fatal unconsciousness of the danger, only to dash 
their little lives out on the irons which guard the 
lenses from injury. 

Fifteen hundred small birds were found dead at 
the foot of the Statue of Liberty one morning, and 
from further south accounts reach us of unpremedi- 
tated self-immolations on a similar scale. 

The instinct which prompts migratory birds to 
fly toward lighthouses has doubtless been given 
them for a useful purpose. Some have supposed 
that they are guided on their course by certain stars 
toward which they are lured by a passionate impulse, 
until they sink exhausted by the way, to find them- 
selves in a land of sunshine and plenty. If this is 
the case; if night after night is spent in the weary, 
hopeless longing to merge themselves in the bright 
distant sphere that comes no nearer, one may im- 
agine the wild delirium of exultant delight with 
which they approach the lighthouse beacon, every 
pulse vibrating with desire to merge themselves in 
its warm, delicious, brilliant glow. Every nerve is 
strained to the utmost, the glowing light comes 
nearer—they are there—there is a heavy thud, con- 
sciousness is suspended, their little lives are battered 
out upon the impaling iron, and one after another 
they fall to the ground dead. Happily the speed 
with which they dash themselves against the pro- 
tecting irons generally results in instantaneous death, 


BOOK. 


Men and nations, too, have an instinctive craving 
for light, and have been equally lured to their 
destruction by the glamor of false lights. 


CRANKS. 

THE genus ‘‘crank” is divided into many species 
and sub-species, but one of the most common and 
most obnoxious types is that of the poor, deluded 
wretch who persists in venting his malice for some 
imagined slight. 

The Audubon Society has for more than eighteen 
months been pestered by such a crank, who writes. 
paragraphs for country papers warning people not to 
sign the Society’s pledges as the agents or local sec- 
retaries are swindlers (or conjurers?) who convert 
the pledges into promissory notes. 

Perhaps the writer isa bird skinner, perhaps he 
has offered his services as a local secretary and been 
rejected, we know not. All we know is that the 
paragraphs bear internal evidence of malice. 

The swindle is said to be perpetrated ‘‘ under the 
guise of a so-called society for the protection of 
birds.” 

Unfortunately for the writer, if his aims really are 
malicious, local secretaries are local and well-known 
residents of the localities in which they act, and 
rarely solicit the signatures of other than personal 
acquaintances. The Society has no agents going 
about the country in quest of members. There is no 
need, The Society numbered five thousand mem- 
bers when these paragraphs first appeared; now it 
numbers forty thousand. Who shall say how much 
we are indebted to our crank friend for publishing 
us in out of the way places? 


“MANUAL OF NORTH AMERICAN BIRDS." 

WE have received a copy of the ‘‘Manual of North 
American Birds,” by Robert Ridgway. It isa grand 
work of 600 pages, octavo, supplemented by an in- 
dex and 123 plates containing nearly 500 outline 
drawings of generic characters admirably executed. 

For the naturalist it is sufficient to say that the 
work is ready; for the sportsman and dilettanti 
naturalist it may be added that this work, pro- 
jected and commenced by Professor Spencer F. 
Baird, and carried out by Mr. Robert Ridgway, is a 
standard work of reference representing the highest 
type of systematic ornithology, a work which in the 
language of its preface is intended asa ‘‘convenient 
and satisfactory means of identifying any American 
bird in all its variations of plumage.” Professor 
Baird has left us, but he lived to see the completion 


— 


The Audubon Note Book. 


of the work in the preparation of which he retained 
to the last a lively interest, which neither harassing 
cares nor physical suffering could damp. The whole 
plan and treatment of the work bears the impress of 
his own character, simple, exact, orderly, scientific, 
but these characteristics could not have been im- 
pressed upon it, excepting by one who shared them 
in common with him. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippin- 
cott Co. Price $7.50. 


THE EDITOR'S TALK. 


THE signature of General Spinner, whose pleas- 
ant lecture to boys is published on another page, 
will recall to some of our readers the pleasure it has 
afforded them in time past to become possessed of 
documents bearing his signature in the days when 
he was at the head of the Treasury. This is the 
General Spinner who, during his long service in that 
Department, earned for himself the appellation of 
“Watch Dog of the Treasury,” an expression which 
in few words conveys a higher tribute to the stern, 
unflinching fidelity with which he guarded the 
nation’s trust, than could be spread over a volume 
of studied encomium. The General's official services 
belong to history. He is now a young man of 86, 
young because he is still overflowing with mirth and 
sympathy—sympathy with young people and with 
birds also, and with all nature, animate and inani- 
mate, and of course he is a warm supporter of the 
Audubon Society. He is no friend of the English 
sparrow, because he accepts the popular view that 
these impudent little foreigners, without beauty or 
song, are destroying or driving away the native 
birds, whose presence gladdens both eye and ear. 
Whether the General is right or wrong is not of 
much consequence. The sparrows are rapidly reach- 
ing the limits of their food supply, and this reached, 
two-thirds of their numbers must die every year; a 
necessity which renders their culinary treatment an 
importment branch of economic ornithology. The 
General’s recommendations, if carried into effect, so 
far from exterminating the sparrow, will simply 
afford a test of his merits, which will be sure to re- 
sult in his protection during the breeding season. 


A NEw SouTH WALEs paper is credited with a 
story now going the round of the American press to 
the effect that an American woman, Mrs. Mackay, 
having determined to possess a mantle made of the 
breasts of the bird of Paradise, has arranged to 
send a couple of ‘‘sportsmen” to New Guinea to ob- 
tain the needed supply, estimated at five hundred 
skins. Of course all ladies who wear feather milli- 
nery must directly or indirectly employ skin hunters 
to shoot the birds, and one who buys a single skin 


237 


for her hat breathes as open a defiance of the better 
sentiment of the age as she who wears five hundred; 
the question of wholesale or retail indulgence is de- 
pendent on length of purse. Nevertheless we hope 
that for the credit of American women the story is 
not true. A woman who could seek to draw atten- 
tion to herself by such an exhibition on her person 
of the evidences of wealth, must be necessarily un- 
conscious of the impression she would create among 
people of good taste abroad; but it is hard for the 
average American woman to read such statements 
without feeling mortified at the reflection that 
foreigners accept such stories in good faith, and 
base their estimate of American women on incidents 
which, if true, are equally as characteristic of the 
nouveau richesse in monarchical as in republican 
societies. 


CORRESPONDENTS occasionally omit to give their 
address, or they send in packets of signed pledges 
without any communication, and very likely charge 
the Society with neglect for failing to reply, or to 
send certificates. A Brooklyn (N. Y.) correspondent 
sent in some 25 pledges early in October, but as 
they were unaccompanied by any communication 
and had no street addresses on them, we do not know 
where to sent certificates. 


PROPOSED improvements in Trinity Cemetery will 
necessitate the removal of Audubon’s remains from 
their present resting place. There is to be a new 
avenue laid out to be called Audubon avenue, at the 
head of which it is proposed to erect a monument 
worthy of the great naturalist; but it is understood 
that the New York Academy of Sciences favor the 
transfer of the remains to Trinity Church. 


Mr. H. S. Martor, of Brooklyn, Conn., has 
bought sixty acres of woodland, which he appropri- 
ates as a harbor of refuge for birds. 


Wuat I FouND IN THE Birp’s NeEst.— One 
morning as I and my dog were strolling in the woods 
to see the birds, I happened to spy a bird's nest in a 
pine tree. I hastily climbed up to the nest to take a 
look at it, and just as I was going to put my hand 
in it I heard a squeaking noise, and out jumped two 
woodmice and four or five young ones. My dog 
Joe then jumped upon the little ones and killed three 
of them. One of the old ones ran up a birch tree, 
and as I went to grab her she bit my finger, and I 
threw her upon the ground; she then ran into a hole 
in a stump. I then went home very much pleased 
with my adventure. I remain your loving friend, 
Harry W. Younc (South Hingham, Mass.), 


238 The Audubon Society. 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY FOR THE PROTEC- 
TION OF BIRDS. 


o lnae AUDUBON SOCIETY was founded in New York 
city in February, 1886. Its purpose is the protection of 
American birds, not used for food, from destruction for mer- 
cantile purposes, The magnitude of the evil with which the 
Society will cope, and the imperative need of the work which 
it proposes to accomplish, are outlined in the following state- 
ment concerning 
THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS. 

Within the last few years, the destruction of our birds has 
increased at a rate which is alarming. This destruction now 
takes place on such a large scale as to seriously threaten the 
existence of a number of our most useful species. It is carried 
on chiefly by men and boys who sell the skins or plumage to 
be used ie ornamental purposes—principally for the trimming 
of women’s hats, bonnets and clothing. ‘These men kill every- 
thing that wears feathers. The birds of the woods, the birds 
of the field, the birds of the marsh and those of the sea are 
alike slain, at all times and at all seasons, It matters not if 
the bird be a useful one which devours the hurtful insects 
which destroy the farmer's crops, or a bright-plumaged song- 
ster whose advent has been welcomed in spring, and which has 
reared its brood in the door yard during the summer, or a 
swift-winged sea swallow whose flight along the shore has often 
with unerring certainty led the fisherman to his finny prey— 
whatever it be, it must be sacrificed to the bird butcher's lust 
for slaughter and for gain. Besides the actual destruction of 
the birds, their numbers are still further diminished by the 
practice of robbing their nests in the breeding season. 

Although it is impossible to get at the number of birds killed 
each year, some figures have been published which give an 
idea of what the slaughter must be. We know that a single 
local taxidermist handles 30,000 bird skins in one year; that a 
single collector brought back from a three months trip 11,000 
skins; that from one small district on Long Island about 72,000 
birds were brought to New York in four months time. In New 
York one firm had on hand February 1, 1886, 200,000 skins. 
The supply is not limited by domestic consumption, Ameri_ 
can bird skins are sent abroad. The great European markets 
draw their supplies from all over the world. In London there 
were sold in three months from one auction room, 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazilian bird skins, and 56,389 East Indian birds, 
In Paris 100,000 African birds have een sold by one dealer in 
one year. One New York firm recently had a contract to 
supply 40,000 skins of American birds to one Paris firm. These 
figures tell their own story—but it is a story which might be 
known even without them; we may read it plainly enough in 
the silent hedges, once vocal with the morning songs of birds 
and in the deserted fields where once bright plumage flashed 
in the sunlight. 

BIRDS, INSECTS AND CROPS. 

The food of our small birds consists very largely of the 
insects which feed on the plants grown by the farmer. ‘These 
insects multiply with such astounding rapidity that a single 

air may in the course of one season be the progenitors of six 
Billions of their kind. All through the season at which this 
insect life is most active, the birds are constantly at work 
destroying for their young and for themselves, tens of thou- 
sands of hurtful creatures, which, but for them, would swarm 
upon the farmer’s crops and lessen the results of his labors. 

A painstaking and ardent naturalist not very long ago 
watched the nest of a pair of martins for sixteen hours, from 4 
A.M, till 8 P. M., just to see how many visits the parent birds 
made to their young. He found that in that time 312 visits to 
the four young were made, 119 by the male and 193 by the 
female. If we suppose only six insects to have been brought 
at each visit, this pair of birds would have destroyed, for their 
young alone, in this one summer’s day, not far from 2,000 
insects. The important relations which our birds bear to the 
agricultural interests and so to the general welfare, are recog- 
nized by the governments of all our States. Laws exist for 
their protection, but these laws are rendered inoperative by 
the lack of an intelligent public sentiment to support them, 
They are nowhere enforced. It is for the interest of every 
one that such a public sentiment should be created, 

It is time that this destruction were stopped. 

PURPOSE OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

To secure the protection of our birds by awakening a better 
sentiment, the Audubon Society, named after the greatest of 
American ornithologists, has been founded. The objects 
sought to be accomplished by this Society are to prevent as far 
as possible — 

(x) The killing of any wild bird not used for food. 

(2) The taking or destroying of the eggs or nests of any wild 
birds, 

(3) The wearing of the feathers of wild birds. Ostrich 
feathers, whether from wild or tame birds, and those of domes- 
tic fowls, are specially exempted, 

The Audubon Society aims especially to preserve those 


birds which are now practically without protection. Our 
ame birds are already protected by law, and in large measure 

y public sentiment, and their care may be left to the sports— 
man, The great aim of the Society is the protection of 
American non-game birds, The English sparrow is not 
included in our lists, 

PLAN OF THE WORK. 

Obviously the Society cannot supply any machinery of com- 
pulsion to lead individuals and communities to a higher 
regard for bird life and to efforts for its protection, Nor are 
compulsory measures thought necessary. The wrong is toler— 
ated now only because of thoughtlessness and indifference, 
The birds are Lilled for millinery purposes. So long as fashion 
demands bird feathers, the birds will be slaughtered. The 
remedy is to be found in the awakening of a healthy pub- 
lic sentiment on the subject. If this enormous destruction of 
birds can once be put in its true light before the eyes of men 
and women and young folks, if interest be aroused and senti- 
ment created, the great wrong must cease, To so present the 
case to the people as to awaken this corrective sentiment is the 
special work contemplated by the Audubon Society. The 
methods adopted are very simple. Pledges are furnished, sub- 
scription to which constitutes membership, and certificates 
are issued to members, 

TERMS OF MEMBERSHIP. 

The signing of any of the pledges will qualify one for mem- 
bership in the Society. It is earnestly desired that each mem- 
ber may sign all three of the pledges, Beyond the promise 
contained in the pledge no obligation nor responsibility is in- 
curred. There are no fees, nor dues, nor an expenses of any 
kind. There are no conditions as to age. The boys and girls 
are invited to take part in the work, for they can often do 
more than others to practically protect the nesting birds, All 
who are interested in the subject are invited to become mem-= 
bers, and to urge their friends to join the Society. If each 
man, woman or child who reads this circular will exert his or 
her influence, it will not take long to enlist in the good work a 
great number of people actively concerned in the protection of 
our birds. It is desired that members may be enrolled in every 
town and village throughout the land, so that by the moral 
weight of its influence this Society may check the slaughter of 
our beautiful songsters. The beneficent influence of the 
Audubon Society should be exerted in every remotest by-way 
where the songs of birds fill the air, and in every crowded city 
Wee the plumes of slain songsters are worn as an article of 

ress, 
ASSOCIATE MEMBERS, 

As there are a very great number of people in full sympathy 
with the Audubon movement, and ready to lend it their moral 
support, but who refrain from joining the Society simply be- 
cause they find it distastefal to sign a pledge, it has been 
determined to form a class of Associate Members. ay one 
expressing his or her sympathy with the objects of the udu- 
bon Society and submitting a written request for membership 
to any local secretary, aillaee enrolled on the list of Associate 
Members. All such applications for membership received by 
local secretaries of the Society should be forwarded to the 
General Secretary for registration, 

LOCAL SECRETARIES, 1 

The Society has local secretaries in cities, towns and villages. 
The local secretary will furnish this circular of information. 
and pledge forms; will receive the signed pledges, keep a list 
of the members, forward a duplicate list with t e pl ges for 
enrollment and file at the Society’s office; and will receive in 
return certificates of membership, to be filled out and signed 
by the local secretary and given to the members. No certi- 
ficate of membership will be issued co any person except upon 
the receipt of a signed pledge at the o' ce of the Society. 
Where no local secretary has yet been ap ointed, individual 
Bem icant for membership may address the Society at its 
office, No. 40 Park Row, New York. ae 

If there is no local rea in your town, you are invited 
to act as such yourself, or to hand this to some other person 
who will accept the office. Upon application we will supply 
copies of this circular and pledge forms. 

THE AUDUBON SOCIETY CERTIFICATE. 

The Society furnishes to each member a handsome certificate 
of membership. This bears a portrait of the great naturalist, 
John James Audubon, after whom the Society very appro-~ 
priately takes its name. : 

‘The office of the Society is at 4o Park Row, New York city. 
All communications should be addressed 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY, 
No. 40 Park Row, New York. 


Print Your Own Cards! 


PRESS $3, Circular size $8, Newspaper size 
$44. Type setting easy; printed directions, Send 
2 stamps for list presses, type, etc., to factory, 

KELSEY & CO., Meriden, Conn. 


AUDUBON 


ESTABLISHED 1852 
OFFICES:COR.FULTON & WILLIAMS 
NEW YORIG 


PARLISTS © 
) MATERIALS. 


SKETCHING OUTFITS® 
OF ALLKINDS 

TUBE COlORS‘WATER CoLoRS- CRAYONS 
DRAWINGPAPER: CANVASBRUSHES 0153 MEDIAS: 
MATHEMATICAL INSTRUMENTS 

HOUSE PAINTERS COLORS 

FRES(e CoLORS: FINE VARNISHES 
Correspondence inviled-Catalogues cf our different 


P| departments To responsible parties. 
5) snus DEVOE & Se 176 RANDOLPH? ChICAG 


Sener ASD 


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NEERIRO IE) 


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Bicol i ANTHONY & CO. 
; 591 Broadway, N.Y. 


Manufacturers and Importers of 


PHOTOGRAPHIC + 
+ INSTRUMENTS, 


Apparatus and Supplies 


OF EVERY DESCRIPTION. 


Sole proprietors of the Patent Detec- 
tive, Fairy, Novel and Bicycle 
Cameras, and the Celebrated Stan- 
= ley Dry Plates. 

Amateur Outfits in great variety 
¢ from $9.00 upwards. Send for catalogue 
or call and examine. 

=" More than Forty Years Estab- 
lished in thts line of business. 


FOUR FIRST a MEDALS AWARDED 


HUSBAND'S EXHIBITIONS. 


eS - 


More agreeable to the taste and 
smaller dose than other Magnesia. For 
sale at Druggists and Country Stores, 
in bottles only, with U. S. Govern- 
ment Kegistered Label attached, with- 
out which none is genuine. 


And by T. J. HUSBAND, JR., Philadelphia, Pa. 
The Universal Fashion Co.’s 


Cut Paper PATTERNS, for Ladies’ and Children’s Gar- 
ments, are acknowledged to be the best in existence. Correct 
styles and perfect fit. Ladies, send for a Catalogue of 
UNIVERSAL PATTERNS free to any address, or 15 cents 
for the ALBUM OF FASHIONS, a handsome folio book 
with over 1,000 illustrations and descriptions. 


UNIVERSAL FASHION COMPANY, 
40 East 12th st., New York. 


M: AG AZINE ADVERTISER. 


A. J. Cammeyer, 


165, 167 & 169 SIXTH AV ES 


Cor. 12TH STREET, New York CIty. 


Achilles, the greatest warrior of the elder world, could only 
receive his death wound in his heel. 
have died since his day by receiving their death blow also 


Many men and women 


upon the foot, discovering all too late that this was a vital 
part of the body. Wet feet, cold feet, hot and perspiring feet, 
are as dangerous to health and life as the wound that slew 
Achilles. and 
protect them from the rapid and extreme changes of our 


Be wise in time and cover your feet properly, 


climate. 

I have every sort and variety of Shoes for Men, Women and 
children, thus providing the amplest care, comfort, protection 
and safeguards for the feet in every necessity and emergency- 


Ladies’ Hand-Sewed 
Welt Button Boots, 


$3.00 


Per Para 


Ladies’ Kid-Top, Straight Patent Leather Tip, Hand- 
Sewed Welt Button Boots......... ........------ 


Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Straight Goat Button Boot 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Curacoa Kid Button Boo 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Straight Goat, Foxed Kid- 


Top, Waukenphast Button Boots..... ..........--- 3-00 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt Calf, Foxed Kid-Top, Wau- 
Kenphastibnttonmmboolsseemc sence == com os ce sical cs 3.00 


These Shoes are especially pee to take the plade of the 
highest grade custom work of the finest material and finish, 
and the best workmanship that can be produced. I do not 
hesitate to warrant them equal to any custom made that are 
They 
and it makes no 
difference what the preference may be, I can guarantee a per-— 
fect fit and satisfaction in every instance. 


CANVAS SHOES. 
My stock of Canvas Shoes of every description for Ladies, 
Misses and Children is now complete, such as Lawn Tennis, 
Bicycle, Yachting, and for all outdoor sporting purposes, at 
astonishingly low prices. 
I have tireless shoes for walkers, wing like slippers for dan- 


sold from $6 to $7 per pair, and at almost half the price. 
are made in every variety, shape and form, 


cers, dressy shoes for promenaders, low shoes for the comfort— 
loving; in fact every kind of foot covering for Men, Women 
and Children, and at prices much Icwer than the same quality 
and make of goods are sold for elsewhere. 

People out of town should send for Illustrated 
Catalogue, which is mailed free on application. 


A. J. CAMMEYER, 


Sixth Avenue & Twelfth Street. 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Unheard-of Premiums 


for Work 


The best magazines in the world for the young of all ages—five of 
them (see below). 

The best things to be got in this part of the world for the money 
—about three hundred of them (see a sample or two below). 


The things are paid to those who get subscribers. The unheard-of 


part is the rate. It is more than generous. 


Here are the magazines : 


Baébyland: nurse-help for the mother 
and baby joy for the little one; soc. a year. 

Our Little Men and Women: delight- 
ful hours and years for beginning read- 
ers; $1. 


The things to be 


Pansy: for the Sunday school age 
and aim; $r. 

Chautauqua Young Folks Fournal: 
for studious young folks; $r. 


Wide Awake: library, study, play- 
house, life at home and abroad, com- 
panionship of the wise and good; $2.40 
a year. 


paid are better than money, because they are 
more than the money could possibly be. They are better also, some of 
them, because you never heard of them, and wouldn’t have the chance 
to get them for some time yet. 

But the rate! For $1.25 in new subscriptions we pay $r in mer- 


chandise! More than that on the average. Some things we get to 


better advantage than others. We pay as we buy. 


Take a well-known example: the Wa- 
terbury watch with chain and whistle 
and agate charm, We call them alto- 
gether worth $3, and pay them for $4 
in new subscriptions. Another well- 
known example: the Weeden engine, 
price $1.25, for $1.35 in new subscrip- 
tions. 

Another example not well-known but 
worth knowing: the Hartman steel-wire 


doormat, price $4, for $4.50 in new sub- 
scriptions. Another: the Bissell Carpet 
sweeper, price $3, for $325. Another: 
the Kerosene Brick, price 35 cents, for 
ocents. Another; a photographic out- 
ft, Horsman's Eclipse, $2.50, for $2.75. 
Another: everything children wear, $r 
for $1.60. Another: jack-plane pencil- 
sharpener, 25 cents, for 30 cents. An- 
other; silver-plated ware, $x for $1.10. 


Another: a Mason & Hamlin organ (ca- 
talogue price $165) for $110 in new sub- 
scriptions, Another: your choice of 
Prang’s water color art studies and re- 
productions ofoil paintings, $x for $1.10. 
Another: your choice of 2000 books, any 
book we publish, $1 for $1.20. And so 
on through 32 pages of picked-out things 
for children and picked-out things for 
the family. 


Send five cents for a sample copy of any one magazine, or fifteen 


cents for all. 


D  LOTHROP 


COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


Franklin and Hawley Streets Boston 


pee: 


PORTRAIT OF AUDUBON. 


PAINTED BY HIMSELF, 


Tur AtpuBON MAGAZINE. 


WiGhea we 


JANUARY, 1888. 


AUDUBONIAN SKETCHES. 


T may be remembered by those who 
read Zhe Auk for October (1886), 
that the writer published therein a paper 
entitled “On an old portrait of Audubon, 
painted by himself, and a word about some 
of his early drawings.” <A frontispiece il- 
lustrated that number, being a reduced 
portrait of Audubon, the original of which 
he had painted himself, which original came 
temporarily into my possession at Fort Win- 
gate, New Mexico, where I had had a pho- 
tograph made of it, and subsequently elec- 
trotyped the latter. 

The article in Zhe Av& fully explains the 
way by which it came about that such a 
rare privilege was extended to me, with 
other matters relating thereto. Now the 
present circulation of Zhe Auk is not as 
great as it will surely come to be some day, 
and as no doubt many widely separated 
members of the AUDUBON SOCIETY never 
saw the portrait of our great ornithologist 
referred to above, the thought struck me, 
that it would contribute to their pleasure to 
republish this picture in THE AUDUBON 
MacGazine. This, as you see, with the ready 
assent of Dr. Grinnell, I have done for you. 

The good people who loaned me this 
original portrait of Audubon, also present- 
ed me with three of his original boy-draw- 
ings; these are still in my possession, and I 
have had them one and all photographed 
for publication in the present connection. 


I. 


In describing this old portrait and these 
three drawings in Zhe Auk I said: “It will 
be remembered by those conversant with 
the life of Audubon, that sometime during 
his youth he spent a year or more with his 
parents at Nantes, France. His wife tells 
us in his biography, that while at Nantes, 
this famous young devotee of nature made 
a hundred drawings of European birds. 
These were brought back by him in his 
portfolio on his return to America, and it 
proves to be three of these juvenile efforts 
that I now have in my possession. Rare 
old treasures they are to be sure, and would 
that I could commit to paper the quickly- 
passing thoughts they inspire in my mind, 
as I hold them up one at a time before me! 

“They cause us to wonder whether Audu- 
bon really dreamed, as he worked away over 
these crude productions, of the man he 
was to be some day. And we wonder, too, 
as we examine them, at the rapidity of his 
artistic development and improvement. 

“They are each and all drawn by a com- 
bination of crayon and water-colors upon 
a thin and not expensive kind of drawing- 
paper, now brittle and soiled by age. Au- 
dubon had evidently numbered these draw- 
ings of his, and these numbers are 44, 77, 
and 96,a European magpie, a coot, and a 
green woodpecker, respectively. 

“As I have said, the earliest of these 
drawings is the one of the magpie, and let 


“AOH VY SVM UH HM wavW ‘ 1dnVvY JO DNIMVUd “IVNISIVO 


NC 


“AHIdOVN NVACOUNA AHL 


Audubonian Sketches. 


us look at it fora moment. It is life size, 
as they all three are, and the bird is repre- 
sented standing on the ground, being drawn 
lengthwise on the paper. The execution is 
quite crude, though the naturalist ‘sticks 
out’ in it, for notwithstanding the some- 
what awkward position the bird is in, there 
is life in it. The ground is simply a wash 
of pale green and brown, while over on one 
side of the paper he has ‘tried his brush,’ 
having made some rough concentric circles 
with paint dabs about them. Beneath this 
drawing we find written in lead-pencil in 
two lines, ‘La Pie, Buffon,’ ‘Pye, Piot 
Magpye, Pianet, english,’ and over to the 
left-hand corner, ‘No. 44.’” 

The second picture is that of a coot, and 
is here a marked improvement upon the 
magpie. Far more pains have been taken 
with the feet, legs, bill, and eye, though lit- 
tle has been gained in the natural attitude 
of the bird. It is also represented standing 
upon the dry ground, which is here of a 
pale, violet wash, unbroken by anything in 
the shape of stones or vegetation. Except 
very faintly on the wing, no attempt has 
been made to individualize the feathers, the 
entire body being of a dead black, worked 
in either by burnt cork or crayon. Beneath 
this figure has been written in lead-pencil, 
but gone over again by the same hand in 
ink,‘ La foulque ou La Moselle—Buffon, 
Riviere Loire Joselle—’ “ English—the 
Coot.” 

As is usually the case among juvenile ar- 
tists, both this bird and the magpie are rep- 
resented upon direct lateral view, and 
no evidence has yet appeared to hint to us 
of the wonderful power Audubon eventu- 
ally came to possess in figuring his birds 
in their every attitude. 

- There is a peculiar pleasure that takes 
possession of us as we turn to the third and 
last of these figures, the one representing 
the green woodpecker (Gecinus viridis). It 
isa wonderful improvement, in every par- 
ticular, upon both of the others. The de- 


269 


tails of the plumage and other structures 
are brought out with great delicacy and re- 
finement of touch; while the attitude of the 
bird, an old male, is even better than many 
of those published in his famous work. 

The colors are soft and have been so han- 
dled as to lend to the plumage a very flossy 
and natural appearance, while the old trunk 
upon the side of which the bird is repre- 
sented, presents several evidences of an in- 
crease of the power to paint such objects. 

We find written in lead-pencil beneath 
this picture, in two lines, and in rather a 
Frenchy hand, “ Le Pic vert, Buffon,” “the 
Green Woodpecker—British Zoology.” 

When Mrs. Walker, the lady who pre- 
sented me with these drawings, forwarded 
them, I received from her a very valuable 
letter, and in it she tells me that “there was 
a portfolio of quite a number and variety of 
birds left with my father by Mrs. Audubon, 
but they have been given to different mem- 
bers of our family. He left a half-finished 
portrait of his wife and two sons, a portrait 
of himself in oil colors, taken by himself 
with the aid of a mirror, and a life size 
American eagle; were they now in my pos- 
session I would most willingly send them 
for your inspection. 

“Mrs. Audubon was governess in my fa- 
ther’s family for several years, also in that 
of aneighbor’s of ours. I presume you are 
aware she supported herself and sons by 
teaching during the years of Mr. Audubon’s 
wanderings through America in pursuit of 
his collections. I was but a child at the 
time. He was with us eight months [in 
Louisiana], but during the greater part of 
the time was wandering all over the State, 
walking the almost entire time;—no insect, 
worm, reptile, bird or animal escaped his 
notice. He would make a collection, return 
home and draw his crayon sketches, when 
his son John would stuff the birds and such 
animals as he wished to preserve. I regret 
greatly, Doctor, that I cannot gratify you 
in giving a more minute account of Mr. Au- 


THE EUROPEAN COOT. 


ANOTHER OF AUDUBON’S BOY SKETCHES, 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 271 


dubon’s life while with us. But I was too 
young at the time, and as all of the older 
members of my family have passed away, I 
cannot collect such items as I might have 
done some years since. The two [three] 
crayons I beg you will accept.” 

In describing the portrait of Audubon, I 
said further in Z7%e Avk that “several months 
after receiving this letter, Mrs. Walker came 
to Fort Wingate to visit her daughter, and 
to my great pleasure brought with her the 
oil painting of Audubon she speaks of in 
the letter just quoted. I hold this valued 
little art treasure in my left hand as I pen 
these words. It is a quaint and winning 


LLNS © 


FIFTY COMMON 


AUDUBON 


BIRDS AND 


picture, painted on rather thin canvas, and 
tacked to a rough, wooden frame, some 26 
ems. by 31 cms., and evidently home-made. 
But the hair, ‘Ae eves, the mouth, the nose 
are Audubon’s! Not only that, but given 
us by Audubon’s hand, and that grand old 
naturalist’s face grows upon us as we look 
into it. He wears an old-fashioned dark- 
green coat, and a still more old-fashioned 
neck-cloth and collar. The background is 
filled in by rather a rosy-tinted sky, shading 
off into a blue above.” 

So much for this rare old portrait, and 
so much for these precious and original 
boy-drawings of Audubon. 


R. W. SHUFELDT. 


WORKERS.* 


HOW TO KNOW THEM. 


Vill. 


RED-EYED VIREO. 


MONG tthe songs that come through 

the open window in summer, there 

is one that I hear when the midday heat 
has silenced all the others. It comes from 
the upper branches of the trees about the 
house, and is a preoccupied warble of three 
loud, guttural notes, given with monotonous 
variety. In rhythm it is something like 
he-ha-wha or ha-ha-wha, or, again, he-ha- 
whip in rising inflection, and e-ha-whee in 
falling cadence. If I go out and focus my 
glass on the dull-colored bird moving along 
over the branches inspecting the leaves 
in a business-like way, it turns out an ex- 
quisite little creature, tinted more deli- 
cately than the waxwing, and having much 
the same glossy look and elegant air. It 
is a slender bird, about half as large as a 
robin. Its back is olive, and its breast 
white, of such tints that when the sunlight 
is on the leaves it is well disguised, for its 
back looks like the upper side of the leaf, 


* COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. 


and its breast like the under side with the 
sun onit. If the bird is considerate enough 
to fly down into the lower branches; as it 
turns its head to one side, [ can make out 
its ash-colored cap and the lines that bor- 
der it—first a black one, then a white, and 
below that, another black line, running 
through the eye. If its search among the 
lower branches has been successful, it runs 
along a limb sidewise, holding its worm out 
at bill’s length, shaking it over the limb as 
if afraid of dropping it before it is ready 
to eat. 

But although one becomes attached to 
the cheery bird that sings at its work from 
morning till night, in park and common, as 
well as about the country house, the best 
way to know it is to follow one of the family 
into the edge of the woods where it builds 
its nest. Such an exquisite little work- 
man as you discover it to be! It wonders 
how the ovenbird can like to nest on the 
damp ground, and how the redstart can 
wedge its house into a crotch—how can 


272 FTints to Audubon Workers. 


she ever keep her babies quiet without a 
cradle! The coarse mud-plastered house 
of the robin fills it with superior surprise. 
For its part, it usually chooses a lithe slen- 
der sapling that responds to all the ca- 
prices of the wind, and from the fork of 
one of its twigs hangs a dainty birchbark 
basket. For lining, it picks up leaf-bud 
‘cases, the curving stems of the maple seeds 
—wings the children call them—and now 
and then a spray of hemlock. With the 
artist's instinct it puts the strips of brown 
bark next the lining, and keeps the shining 
silvery bits for the outside. Sometimes it 
puts in pieces of white, crisp, last year’s 
leaves, and often steals the side of a small 
wasp’s nest to weave in with the rest. For 
ornament, bits of white cobweb-like sub- 
stance that look as.if taken from cocoons, 
are fastened on here and there. What could 
you have more daintily pretty? Nothing, 
after the four white oval eggs with their 
delicate wreath of brown dots are laid on 
the maple wing stems in the bottom. On 
such a nest as this, with the tender green 
leaves to shield her from stray sunbeams, 
and the wind to rock her gently back and 
forth, brooding must lose some of its weari- 
some monotony; and you are tempted to 
account for the difference between the ner- 
vousness of some bird mothers and the con- 
tented trustfulness of the vireo. 

One day I came quite unexpectedly upon 
a nesting mother vireo. Here was a chance 
to see her red eyes. I leveled my glasses 
at them and stared with all the rudeness of 
an enthusiast. Nearer and nearer I crept, 
but got within two feet of the tree before 
she stirred. Then she flew off with only a 
mildly complaining wee-ough, and sat down 
on a tree near by to see what I would do 
next. What I did do was to discover a 
wasp’s nest about two feet over hers, to 
wonder at the proximity, and, although it 
looked as if it was ‘to let,’”’ to retreat with 
more respectful consideration than I had 
accorded her. 


There were a number of vireo families 
that I was watching last spring, and one of 
them built so low that by pulling down the 
end of the branch I could reach into the 
nest. One day when I went to examine the 
eggs, they had turned into a family of such 
big yellow-throated youngsters that they 
filled the nest. The mother did not seem to 
be about, so I sat down with my dogs near 
by to wait for her. I supposed she was off 
worm hunting, and would fly back in great 
excitement when she discovered the intrud- 
ers. But all at once, almost over my head, 
I heard a low, crooning whee-ah! I turned 
in surprise, and there was my mother bird, 
looking down at me with all the composure 
of an old friend. IVAa-wha-wha, she said, 
as she saw the dogs and took in the group 
again. But as we kept still, and did not 
offer to molest her children, she soon began 
looking about for worms, saying /e7-fer-eater 
as she worked. She would turn her head 
and look down at us once in a while with 
mild curiosity; but although I went back 
to the nest to test her, she seemed to have 
perfect confidence in me, not showing the 
least alarm. Afterward I heard the vireo 
song from her, and concluded that se was 
the father of the family, left on guard while 
the mother was taking herrest. I thought 
perhaps that accounted for some of the in- 
difference, but after that, when I went to 
see them, I found both old birds, and always 
met with the same trustful confidence. In- 
deed, they would talk to me in the most 
friendly manner, answering my broken bird 
talk with gentle sympathetic seriousness 
that said very plainly they knew I meant 
well, and sounded very sweet and winsome 
in their low caressing tones. 

To their enemies, however, these beauti- 
ful birds are neither gentle nor confiding. 
Last June, as I was watching a chestnut- 
sided warbler from the undergrowth near 
my vireo’s nest, I heard a great commotion 
among the thrushes and vireos, and hurried 
out of my cover to see what was the trouble. 


ee 


Flints to Audubon Workers. 


I heard a low complaining croon from one 
of the vireos, and looking up saw to my 
surprise a gray screech owl flying blindly 
about among the branches. After a little 
he stumbled on toa dead limb and sat down, 
trying to feel at home. But the vireos were 
crying ominously kray, kree-kree-kree-kree, 
and when he thought how they had darted 
down and snapped their bills at him as he 
came along, he edged uneasily over the 
branch. Just then my dog came running 
up noisily through the dead leaves under 
the tree. What could becoming next! The 
scared, awkward owl turned his head over 
to one side and strained his eyes to see. 
His ears stood up, and his big pupils grew 
bigger and bigger with fright. He looked 
like a great booby entrapped by a practical 
joke. But this was too serious. No owl 
could bear it. What with a dozen vireos 
and thrushes threatening him, some wild 
animal or other rushing about at the foot 
of the tree—and who knows but he added 
the pair of big glass eyes almost as large as 
his own, through which another mysterious 
object was menacing him? Away he flew, 
as fast as his blundering wings could flap, 
followed by the angry vireos, who saw him 
well out of their neighborhood before they 
let him alone. The next day I scared up 
the foolish fellow again in the same place, 
and found that the nearest vireo’s nest was 
gone! Not a trace was left, nothing but 
one feather! Had he taken his revenge in 
the night? The trees were silent, and I 
had to be satisfied with giving him sucha 
scare as would keep him away in future. 
For crow blackbirds the vireos show the 
same hostility, and I fear with almost as 
good reason. 

But although the vireos are such inter- 
esting friends and such hearty enemies, 
there is another reason for admiring them. 
They are picturesque little artists, and 
work in charmingly with the landscape. 
Only last September, when the mountain 
ash leaves were turning to flame and the 


273 


berries were lit up by the sun till they glowed 
richer than coral, a vireo suddenly came out 
and, leaning his white breast against a bunch 
of berries, went to work to swallow a whole 
coral bead. Another morning, in the spring, 
one of the little creatures was perched on 
a dead twig in the top of a tree, and flooded 
in sunlight till his silvery breast glistened 
and he seemed to breathe out the spirit of 
the woods and the sun together in his sweet 
musing note. 


KINGLETS. 


Do you know these dainty little birds 
that visit us twice a year? Some bright 
September morning you wake up and find 
them flitting about the apple trees, and 
know that fall has come. But they tell you 
the fact in such a breezy, cheery way that 
you think only how glad you are to see 
them. In April they are back just long 
enough to sing out “ How do you do?” and 
then are off for the north so that summer 
shan’t catch them. 

How do they look? Well, they are fluffy 
little things with grayish olive coats and 
whitish vests. That is the way I thought 
of them when I had only a vague idea that 
one of the family had a golden crest, and 
the other wore a ruby crown. But one 
fall, when they came back to the old thorn- 
apple by the garden, I thought I would 
learn to know the cousins apart. That 
morning one little fellow had the tree all to 
himself. And what a queer gnome he was! 
A fat ball of feathers, stilted up on long, 
wiry legs, with eyes that, though oddly set, 
far back from his bill, were so near to- 
gether that they seemed to prevent his see- 
ing straight ahead. He would flash one 
eye on me, and then with a jerk turn his 
whole body round and flash the other, 
scolding in the funniest way with his fine 
chatter. I could not see that he had any 
crown at all, and so was as much puzzled 
as ever to decide which kinglet he was. 

He and his friends were here by themselves 


274 


about two weeks, working industriously all 
the while—dear little brownies—to clear 
our mountain ashes and apple trees of in- 
sects before leaving us. I came to know 
them as far off as I could see them, by the 
restless way they had of lifting their wings, 
twinkling them in the air, as they hunted 
about the branches. And how they did 
hunt! Clambering up a limb, turning from 
one side to the other, with one big eye 
close to the bark looking out for insects; 
fluttering under a twig like a humming- 
bird, and then catching hold upside down 
to pick off their victim; flitting about from 
branch to branch; stopping a moment to 
eye me inquisitively, and then hurrying on 
with their work—the pigmies were never 
idle. 

At the end of two weeks I had seen no 
crown of any kind. But one day I had a 
surprise. Hearing a little note from a 
Norway spruce, I looked up and saw a 
kinglet, but—what was it? Instead of being 
one of my gnomes, he was the most 
human, every-day sort of a bird, with a 
naive interrogative air that might have 
argued him an American. Then his tiny, 
stubby bill stuck out from his big head so 
as to give him a pert, business-like air that 
gave my idea of kinglets another shock. 
What was he? Could I have been wholly 
mistaken? Was my elf no kinglet at all— 
was ‘his the kinglet? Such a crown! I 
had comforted myself for my gnome’s lack 
of crown by thinking that it was concealed 
like the kingbird’s, but here—how could 
such a crown as this ever have been hid- 
den? Why, the black lines came down to 
his absurd little bill, and the gold between 
them was plain enough to be seen almost 
as far off as he himself. I came in bewil- 
dered enough, but the moment I saw De 
Kay’s plates I understood it all. This 
was the golden-crowned, and my pigmies 
were the ruby-crowned kinglets. After that, 
the two were here together in great num- 
bers for two weeks, when the ruby left as 


flints to Audubon 


Workers. 


he had come, two weeks in advance of the 
golden. - 

When they were both here, I used to go 
out and stand under the apple trees to 
watch them. Sometimes there must have 
been twenty in one tree. They were very 
tame, but rarely found time to look at me. 
Seen together, the golden is appreciably the 
smaller; his legs look shorter, and he is not 
so plump—appears more like an ordinary 
bird. His back is grayer than the ruby’s, 
and when his wings are crossed on his 
back you get an effect of bars near the 
tips. Mr. Golden-crown has a concealed 
patch of cadmium orange in the center of 
his crown, but his wife is content with the 
plain gold, and the children often show 
neither black nor gold. All the goldens 
seemed to have less of the wild bluebird 
habit of lifting their wings when lit, but 
they hang upside down even more than the 
rubies, often flying up from one spray to 
light upside down on the one above. The 
goldens had a business-like way of getting 
under a leaf and picking off the insects one 
after another as fast as their tiny bills 
could work. ‘Their song is said to be in- 
ferior to that of the rubies, which is con- 
sidered a ten-days’ wonder, coming from 
such a tiny bird. 

Before the rubies left I surprised one of 
them into raising his beautiful scarlet crown. 
The goldens, being the hardier of the two, 
not only winter further north, but this fall 
stayed here through our first snows, long 
after the rubies had left. One day, when 
there were several inches of snow on the 
ground, two of them followed the lead of a 
winter wren, and when I opened the front 
door, flew off from a bunch of mountain 
ash berries that hung on the piazza! 

The nest of both the kinglets is often 
pensile, being hung from the tip of an 
evergreen branch, It is said to be a “ball- 
like mass of green moss, lined with hair 
and soft feathers,” the eggs being dull 
white, finely speckled. 


Hints to Audubon Workers. 


WHITE-THROATED SPARROW. 


Though the white-throats nest in the 
Adirondacks and other dense northern for- 
est regions, like the kinglet, they come to 
us for only about a month in spring and fall. 
In Northampton, Massachusetts, I have 
heard their clear spring whistles— 


i AMES I I I ai Ie 
I - TI - pea-bod-dy, pea-bod-dy, pea-bod-dy 
@e s 
imam A 
| so se s es oe 
6.12. Cibg f 


i 6 POEs - pea-bod-dy, pea-bod-dy 


coming from the wooded bank of Mill River, 
from the low bushes of the fields, and the 
undergrowth of the woods on the outskirts 
of the city; and in the fall have seen them 
scratching among the leaves under the ever- 
greens of Round Hill. 

In the spring they get here—on the west- 
ern border of the Adirondacks—about the 
last of April, when they keep pretty close 
to the sheltering evergreens, although their 
spirits are not chilled, and they whistle quite 
cheerfully to themselves among the boughs. 
When they come in September, they have 
lost their song, but are more talkative than 
ever. The first I knew of their return this 
fall, I came out into the clearing one day, 
and found two of them sitting atilt of a 
blackberry bush in front of me. As they 
were sitting opposite each other and seemed 
rather interested in me than otherwise, | 
had a good look at their white chins and 
ash gray breasts as well as their black-strip- 
ed chestnut backs, and their pretty crowns. 
The crown consists of five lines; a central 
grayish line is inclosed by two black lines, 
which are bounded in turn by the whitish 
line over the eyes. While I was watching 
the sparrows, their attention was diverted 
by the barking of a gray squirrel in the 
woods, but they seemed to listen to him as 
they did to me, with quiet interest, little 
more. 

A large flock of them stayed here for 


275 


about a month, keeping always near the 
same spots—a brush heap, an old dead tree 
top, by which water and grain were kept for 
them, and a raspberry patch a few rods 
away. From the raspberry patch would 
come their quarrying note that Mr. Bick- 
nell speaks of, that peculiar chink that gives 
the sound of a chisel slipping on stone, and 
which, when coming from a flock at a little 
distance, gives the effect of a quarry full of 
stone cutters. As I went through the patch 
they would fly up from among the bushes, 
some uttering a little surprised chree, some 
calling cheep as they flew noisily by, while 
others clung, crouching close, to the side of 
a stem, looking back to see who I was. 

The small slate-colored snowbirds, the 
juncos, were with the sparrows more than 
any other birds; but the ovenbird, whose 
premises they had invaded, looked down 
on them with mild curiosity until it was 
time for her to go south; and later, a fam- 
ily of chewinks chased them off from the 
fence by way of turnabout justice. Still, 
you are tempted to feel that the white- 
throats need little punishment. They have 
none of the petulance or arbitrariness of 
chippy, but with the sweet temper of the 
song sparrow, these larger cousins have a 
thoughtful bearing that harmonizes with 
their spring song, which, like the melodi- 
ous call of the bluebird, is tinged with sad- 
ness. 

One morning in September I did not 
find the white-throats in the raspberry 
patch, and so went on to an opening in the 
edge of the woods just south of it. The 
sun was fairly streaming down, and the 
half Indian summer haze, melting into the 
soft lights and shadows of the surrounding 
green woods, gave a mystic loveliness to 
the spot. A delicate young birch stretched 
up, sunning itself; a maple trunk stood in 
shadow with one spray of a drooping branch 
dipped in emerald sun dye; the red leaves 
lodged here and there seemed to be shaken 
out of sight by the green bushes, but a 


276 Flints to Audubon Workers. 


fresh breath of wind murmured that sum- 
mer was past and—was it a footstep? No! 
It was an army of little autumn pedestri- 
ans! A happy host of white-throated spar- 
rows, hopping about on the ground under 
the bushes. Busy and fearless, their foot- 
steps pattered on the leaves as they hunted 
the ground over, sometimes coming within 
two or three feet of me without taking 
fright. A chipmunk scudded through the 
bushes after his playfellow without startling 
them. From every side came their happy 
chee-ree; a cobweb shimmered in the sun- 
light. What if fall were coming? It 
brought these little friends of ours! 


WINTER WREN. 


One October day when the raspberry 
patch was astir with fluttering kinglets and 
warblers, and noisy with the quarrying of 
white-throats, the muttered excuses and 
wait, wait of tardy crows flying hurriedly 
over from all directions to the caucus in the 
southwest; I found the piquant little win- 
ter wrens bobbing about among the bushes 
oblivious to everything but their own par- 
ticular business. 

I gave one of them a start as I came 
upon him unexpectedly, and so, when I 
caught sight of a second, kept cautiously 
quiet. But, if you please, as soon as he got 
a glimpse of me, the inquisitive brown 
sprite came hurrying along from one rasp- 
berry stem to another, his absurd bit of a 
square tail over his back as usual, never 
stopping till he got near enough for a 
good look. There he clung, atilt of a 
stem, bobbing his plump little body from 
side to side, half apologetically, but say- 
ing guip with an air that assured me he 
was afraid of no giants, however big! 
When I had admired his mottled, dusky 
vest and his rusty brown coat with its fine 
dusky barring, and noted the light line over 
his eye, and the white edging of his wing; 
and when he had decided to his satisfaction 
what I was doing there in the woods, he 


went hopping along, under an arching fern, 
off to the nearest stump, When they are 
hunting about, their tails standing over their 
backs, their necks bent forward and their 
straight bills sticking out ahead, these little 


wrens have a most determined air! Here © 


you see one examining the sides and top of 
an old stump, running about, dipping down 
into the hollow and then flitting off among 
the bushes, chattering guip-guap as he goes. 
There one flies against the side of a tree to 
peck at a promising bit of bark, and then 
clambers several feet up the side of the trunk 
to show what a good gymnast he is, and 
further along, one pops up with a worm in 
his mouth; shakes it well before eating, 
and then wipes his bill with the energy 
characteristic of the active, healthy temper 
of the whole wren family. 

I have never heard the summer song 
which Audubon describes so enthusiastical- 
ly, but last fall one of the wrens favored me 
with a creaky little winter song that was 
really quite sweet with all its shrillness. 

On the twelfth of October the ground 
was covered with snow, and the roads were 
so white and still I hardly expected to find 
anything in the raspberry patch. But walk- 
ing through, I found one of the little wrens, 
as active and busy as ever. As I stood 
watching him he climbed into the cosiest 
cover of leaves that a bush ever offered a 
bird for shelter, and I supposed he would 
settle himself to wait for the sun. But no! 
he examined it carefully, turning his head 
on one side and then the other, probably 
thinking it would be a very nice place for 
some tender sparrow, and then flew out 
into the cold snowy bushes again. 

On the twenty-second of the month, when 
we had had a still heavier fall of snow, and 
they found it too cold even to take dinner 
from a golden-rod stem, one of the confid- 
ing little birds came on the piazza right in 
front of my window to hunt. You should 
have seen him work! He ignored the 
crumbs I threw out for him but flitted 


—E_ 


ai 


Byram and Ghopal. 277, 


about examining all the cracks and crannies 
where a fly might edge itself into the 
moulding, and running over the shrivelled 
vines trained over the piazza. Once he 
dropped a worm, and you should have 
seen him come tumbling down after it! 
The nest of this brave little Esquimau 


is said to be snug and warm, made of moss 
and lined with soft feathers, and lodged “in 
crevices of dead logs or stumps in thick, 
coniferous woods.” What a pleasure it 
would be to follow him north, and study all 
his pretty ways in the dark forest home, 
where he furnishes mirth and sunshine. 


FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. 


BYRAM 


AND 


GHOPAL. 


VIII. 


GREAT many of the Bunyas vis- 

ited the Serai in the evening, now 
chatting with Byram, now collecting in 
little knots and discussing the probable 
effect of the visitation on prices elsewhere. 
There were always some about Byram’s 
cot. The idea that iocusts were sent by 
Brahma to improve prices and insure a 
market for stocks of grain on hand was 
familiar enough to the Bunyas, but the idea 
that they were sent to dress the farmer’s 
land and improve his crops was a novel 
one—and no less interesting than novel. 
The people generally had been in the habit 
of regarding a visitation of locusts as a 
plague due to some oversight or neglect of 
Brahma; and the Bunyas were not alto- 
gether insensible to the reproach constantly 
leveled at them, that they fattened on other 
men’s calamities. But now that the locusts 
were said by Byram the Wise to be bless- 
ings, and their periodical visits necessary 
to the maintenance of the fertility of the 
soil, it was manifestly just that the Bunyas 
should come in for their share of the bene- 
fits. They sat and discussed the matter 
until it was evident enough to every com- 
prehension that the droppings and dead 
bodies left behind by the locusts must 
necessarily fertilize the soil, and with the 
prospect of selling out all their remaining 
supply of grain at enhanced prices, their 
hearts expanded, so that they extolled 
Brahma and felt that inward satisfaction 


which springs from the performance of a 
good action which has returned a hand- 
some profit. 

Ghopal took no part in the discussion. 
He summed up the collections of the past 
week in his mind, and yearned to have the 


money in possession, but the more he re- 
flected on the light Byram had thrown on 
the functions of insects in the economy of 
nature, the more hopeless appeared his 
chance of getting the money in accordance 
with the terms of the contract. 

Tf all the fertility of the soil, he mused, 
is really due to animal remains, and if 
white ants and worms, or any one of them, 
can easily pile up an inch or two in a cen- 
tury, they cannot help rendering man a 
service, living or dying; but suppose these 


278 


locusts had come ten days later!—probably 
they will go south for another ten days, 
and it will be too late to redeem their 
devastations by resowing. Suppose they 
came two or three years in succession! 
they would breed a famine, and what would 
it help people dying of famine to know 
that the land is being improved in fertility? 

Such was the tenor of Ghopal’s reflec- 
tions as he sat apart apparently listening to 
the conversation maintained by Byram. 
After the townspeople had all withdrawn 
to their homes, he challenged Byram to a 
renewal of the discussion. 

“Of course,” he said, “now that you 
have opened my eyes to the fact that all 
the fertility of the soil is due to animal re- 
mains, I recognize that even a visitation of 
locusts has its redeeming features. As re- 
gards the present visitation here and now, 
there is time to sow the land, and the evil 
may be remedied, but not without heavy 
cost to the cultivators, most of whom will 
have to buy grain at double rates or more 
for seed, and to keep them alive until 
harvest; but suppose the locusts had come 
ten days later, it would have been too late 
to resow the fields, and the people would 
have starved.” 

“As regards the enhanced price of 
grain,” said Byram, “that is not due to 
the rapacity of locusts but to the rapacity 
of man. But as regards your second ob- 
jection, it would be better that the locusts 
throw the soil out of cultivation every time 
they visit a region than that they never 
came. When the land can be resown, the 
visitation is a clear gain to the people at 
large, and this is not affected by the fact 
that the Bunyas reap all or more than all 
the profit for themselves. When it is too 
late to resow, the land is benefited by fal- 
low, and the area affected is always a very 
small one in comparison with the area of 
the whole country, so that prices ought not 
to be affected to more than a very small 
extent for carriage. The farmers, too, 


Byram and Ghopal. 


could afford to lose a season, confident of 
an improved return from their winter crop, 
provided they had only to repay bushel for 
bushel with a small interest for the loan. 
What crushes the farmers is the advance 
in prices and the heavy interest from seed 
time till harvest, when prices fall in the 
proportion that the harvest is abundant. 
The worst enemy of mankind is always 
man.” 

“These Bunyas must be enormously 
wealthy,”’ said Ghopal. 

“By no means,” said Byram. ‘They 
demand more interest than their debtors 
can ever pay, and these, having no hope, 
have no energy. The land is poorly culti- 
vated and gives the lowest possible return, 
the cattle are poorly fed and stunted in 
growth. ‘The creators of wealth are poor, 
and all who depend on them, Bunyas, Brah- 
mins or Rajpoots, must of course share in 
the general poverty. The poorest country 
may retain a wealthy king, but if little 
wealth is produced, the privileged classes 
cannot be rich, or at least they cannot be 
both rich and numerous.” 

“But we are getting away from the point,” 
said Ghopal. “What I wanted to urge is, 
that if the locusts come too late for resow- 
ing, or two years in succession and create 
a famine, the people will linger on in slow 
starvation and many of them die. How in 
such case would you call their visitation a 
benefit to man?” 

“The Gods,”* said Byram, “do not ap- 


pear to trouble themselves about how many 
die, provided some are left to restock the 
earth. In this matter they make but small 
distinction between locusts and men, Of 
these locusts now here perhaps ninety-nine 
in every hundred will be dead before har- 
vest, and the gods will not interfere to 
save them, but the hundredth they are 
careful to keep alive, and that one in 
every hundred is enough to breed a fresh 


* Referring to the Hindoo Trinity, Creator, Preserver and 
Destroyer. 


Byram and Ghopal. 


swarm against they be wanted. And so with 
man. The Gods see them die with indiffer- 
ence, but not all. Some they save alive, 
and these multiply and spread over the 
waste regions, and bring them under plow 
again. If the people burn their manure 
for fuel and there were no insect nor other 
creature to dress the land, the whole race 
of man would die out of the land.” 

At this point Ghopal emitted something 
between a snore and a groan, which advised 
Byram that he had given up the contest. 
The sage, too, laid his head upon the pil- 
low and was soon asleep. 

Ghopal ate his breakfast and fed the 
birds somewhat mechanically. If he had 
regular wages, he thought, or only half 
the collections, he would not mind the 
wandering life so much, at least not fora 
year or two; but to carry Byram about 
from year’s end to year’s end for nothing 
but his food, was as bad as being a potter 
with a debt like a millstone round his 
neck. Every day the chances of finding 
flaws in Byram’s work appeared more hope- 
less; still he did not like the humiliation 
of going back from his contract and ask- 
ing for wages. 

Thus musing, he took Byram on his 
shoulders and started off to make the usual 
collections. The Bunyas’ hearts were open, 
and they gave liberally. None gave less 
than a cent, the majority three cents; and 
when the round was ended Ghopal, who 
kept strict count, made the amount a dol- 
lar and eighty-two cents, or within a trifle 
of his month’s pay as potter. 

Byram changed it for silver at a money- 
changer’s table before leaving the city, and 
placed it in his girdle, but as soon as they 
were on the road he addressed Ghopal 
about it. 

“This money,’ said he, “already nearly 
five rupees, is more than I ever had in my 


279 


life, and is getting burdensome; it troubles. 
me. <A Faquir’s rags are no fitting recep- 
tacle for more than the needs of the day.” 

“Tf the money troubles you,” said Gho- 
pal, “let me have it; I could carry ten 
times as much and go the lighter for it.” 

“That wouid not be right,” said Byram. 
“Unless you can earn it in accordance with 
the terms of our contract it belongs to the 
poor and necessitous.” 

““Then,” said Ghopal, “give it to me as 
to the poorest and most necessitous. I 
have no home, no caste; a stranger in a 
strange land and among a strange people; 
dependent even for bread on the alms of 
the charitable. Above all, I have rendered 
you daily services which give me a higher 
claim on you than others could advance.” 

“Powerfully argued,” laughed Byram. 
“Come, now, Ghopal. Take the half of it, 
if thou wilt, and I will give the other half 
in charity to the poor, of whom there is 
never any lack.” 

“Give five rupees to the first poor people 
you meet,” exclaimed Ghopal, “simply to 
get rid of it! That surely were not wise. 
The story would be spread abroad, and 
before morning a hundred poor families 
would set out in pursuit of us in the vain 
hope of relief.” 

Byram laughed inwardly, but made no 
reply. As they proceeded on their way 
Ghopal’s attention was drawn to an ad- 
joining field in which the minas by hun- 
dreds were feeding on the locusts. 

“T have him now,” thought he. “If all 
these insects render man such valuable 
services that it would be wrong to destroy 
them, surely the birds must be a mistake, 
for they are the great destroyers of in- 
sects.” 

“Courage, Ghopal. The money is not 
growing less, and shall ere long be trans- 
ferred to your waistband.” 


ALL ABOUT 


PARTACUS died. No one knew what 
his ailment was. He had been well 
fed, watered and bathed. Plenty of gravel 
always lay on the bottom of his pretty fancy 
cage, and some greenery made him glad 
at proper intervals. Also a rusty nail dis- 
colored the water in his cup whenever it 
was necessary. He was young, he was 
handsome, he was an entrancing singer. 
Yet he drooped for several days, and in 
spite of efforts to relieve him, he rolled 
upon his glossy back one morning, kicked 
his slender toes feebly once or twice, gasped 
and died. Georgianna’s papa said it must 
be the name. Georgianna’s papa had not 
exactly approved of the name from the first. 
He used to make pretended mistakes in 
pronouncing it, the most common one being 
«Sparagus.”’ 

Georgianna was only two years old at 
that time, and she was a touching little 
mourner, as she carried the dead bird, 
wrapped in cloth, to its grave dug in a flower 
bed. She cried and said, “Don’t hurt 
Spar'tus. Spar’tus seepy, I dess!” 

A stick was set up to mark the place, 
and the bird cage was hung in the garret, 
where it at once set about catching all the 
stray particles of dust that floated near it. 

This was in August. The next May, one 
warm day, when papa came home from the 
store, he brought an odd something that 
looked like a clumsy paper toy house, with 
aring on top. He set it carefully down on 
the floor and unwound the paper. There 
was a cage, with a lively young canary 
inside, just two months old. Quite as 
handsome as Spartacus. He was yellow, 
with a dark star on the back of his neck, 
and papa christened him “ Zip.” The cage 
was brought from the garret once more, 
made clean and ready, its door was opened 
and set against the opened door of the bor- 
rowed cage, and Zip was induced to hop 


SOME 


CANARY Bigs: 


into his new quarters. The discarded hook 
Was again screwed into the window casing, 
and Georgianna was made the happy owner 
of the songster. 

Zip grew and prospered. He was tame 
and yet warlike. He would hop on any 
family finger, thrust beween the wires, and 
peck it fiercely. Sometimes he would chal- 
lenge the passer to a fight by sounding a 
queer little note and sticking his head as 
far outside the cage as he could reach. He 
learned to be musical all by himself, unless 
some bird teacher came at night and taught 
him, when all the bipeds without feathers 
were soundly sleeping. And howhe didsing! 

For more than a year Zip’s life was un- 
eventful. He knew no want and seemed 
to feel no discontent. But one morning, 
after being cleaned and hung on the side 
veranda for fresh air, suddenly a pair of 
catches snapped back,his cage floor dropped, 
and with one wild flutter Zip was free. 

“O, my lovely bird!” screamed Georgi- 
anna, with loud weeping, and all the house- 
hold was dismayed, as they rushed outside 
and saw the bewildered bird sitting on a 
branch of the corner maple tree. Could 
they ever get him again? 

Only a wee-bit canary! Yet every heart 
beat high with resolve to capture the truant. 
Surely it could be done, since he was out 
of his cage for the first time in his life. 
Alas for hope! Zip would answer their 
calls by chirps, and would turn his slender 
head one side and look down with a bright, 
black eye. But he would not come down. 
And he soon began to try his wings. Let 
those say who will that the caged bird can- 
not fly. From branch to branch, from tree 
to tree, from tree to roof Zip flew, lightly 
and readily. And from morning until noon, 
grandma, mamma, Nora and Georgianna fol- 
lowed him about. Mamma offered a good 
reward to any boy who would climb a tree 


All About Some Canary Birds. 


and get him. Plenty of boys climbed up, 
but not one of them earned any money. 

A great many people would stop as they 
passed, and look and say it was too bad and 
offer some suggestion. An amazing num- 
ber told how they had lost—and found— 
canaries. But none of their methods were 
successful in getting Zip under shelter. 
His cage hung empty and open over the 
veranda with its floor securely fastened. 
But he was not tempted to enter. 

When grandpa and papa came home the 
chase was renewed with fresh endeavor, in- 
terrupted by a hasty dinner, after which 
grandpa declared he would stay home and 
help catch. He did help—but not to catch. 
When night came Zip was yet out in the 
wide, wide world. 

At early sunrise next morning Georgi- 
anna’s papa rose, confident that he would 
catch Zip napping and bring him down. 
Not so! In an elm tree, on the topmost 
branch, wide awake and hopping about in 
the morning sunshine, was Zip. He looked 
like a live bit of fall sunshine himself, and 
he sang joyously. 

When the breakfast bell rang he still 
sang, and papa went toward the house with 
a disappointed face. As he walked up the 
steps he glanced at the cage, waiting for its 
old-time occupant. To his astonishment a 
canary bird was sitting inside, swinging 
merrily. Not Zip, but a real canary, with 
dark feathers and a topknot on its head, 

Papa promptly shut the cage and carried 
it into the house. “Didn't I say I would 
bring you a bird?” he said to Georgianna, 
who screamed with pleasure. There were 
exclamations of wonder from all, and the 
welcome stranger was hung on Zip’s hook 
in the dining-room, ate of Zip’s feed, pecked 
at Zip’s cuttle-bone, and before breakfast 
was over gave them so loud and thrilling a 
song that no one could be heard until it 
was over. Georgianna was a good deal 
comforted, though she was not resigned to 
the loss of Zip. 


281 


“T have a bird anyway,” she said, and at 
once named it, calling it “Stray” at her 
mother’s suggestion. “I shall have two 
when Zip is caught,” she concluded. 

A half dozen people cannot chase two 
whole days, even for so sweet a pet as Zip. 
Grandpa went back to business at noon, 
Nora baked cookies, and mamma shut the 
outside door, sighing, for a heavy, cold rain 
began to fall. It continued all the after- 
noon. They all tried to cheer Georgianna 
by saying there was plenty of shelter for 
birds in the big trees. But they all had 
misgivings, and in her secret heart mamma 
never expected to see Zip any more. Es- 
pecially as it grew so chilly when it was 
near night that they built a light fire. How 
could the poor, tender bird live? It might 
survive out of doors in the sunshine, but 
now! 

Just a half hour before supper the door 
bell rang. Mamma opened the door and 
saw a boy in a wet coat, covering the made 
hollow of one hand with that of the other. 

“Ts this your bird?” asked the boy, show- 
ing limp, bedraggled Zip, who lay on his 
side without a motion. 

“Tndeed it is!” exclaimed mamma, de- 
lighted. ‘Where did you find him?” 

She asked the boy in and took the poor 
chilled bird into her warm hands, breath- 
ing softly on it. Grandma heated some 
cotton, and wrapping him in it, put him on 
the floor of a dilapidated cage found some- 
where by Nora. Meanwhile the boy told 
them how he had seen the bird lying by the 
roadside, under a great tree from which 
it had been beaten by the rain, and that 
another boy had told him where it probably 
belonged. 

There was great rejoicing. The boy got 
a dollar out of the general satisfaction, and 
when papa came home, and saw the little 
flyaway hopping about the old cage, seem- 
ing no worse for his adventure, he declared 
the reward was too small. 


So Georgianna had two birds? Not at 


282 


all. When the newcomer had been with 
them three days, there came to the door a 
nine-year-old girl with big, expectant eyes. 

“Mamma heard you caught a canary,” 
she said; “and may I please look and see 
if it is mine?” 

“Of course you may,” replied grandma. 
And as soon as the little girl looked she 
began to cry and to say, “ O, Dick! O, 


Five Hundred Dollars Reward. 


you darling Dick! ‘That's just like your 
cage, and that’s just why you went into it.” 
And she bore him away, with smiles and 
thanks that made his giving a pleasure. 

As for Zip, he never again escaped. And 
as I write this tale of his excursion, he 
chirps and swings, and preens and sings 
just overhead. But whether he longs some- 
times for one more excursion, I cannot say. 


Mrs. GEORGE ARCHIBALD. 


FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS 


N our November Note Book we drew 
attention to a series of paragraphs 
which for the past year or more have ap- 
peared in the country papers of New York, 
New Jersey and Pennsylvania, to the gen- 
eral purport that some one, in some remote 
part of the State, had been induced to affix 
his signature to a pledge to refrain from 
the destruction of non-game birds, and that 
the document had been converted into a 
promissory note, generally for a consider- 
able amount. Sucha paragraph published 
in a paper would share the general fate 
of such news items, and be extracted by 
one paper after another over a wide area; 
as soon as it had run its course a similar 
story would be started as news in another 
locality. These stories were all so vague 
as to persons and localities, that it was very 
difficult to institute any systematic inquiry 
into their truth or origin, but the result of 
all our inquiries was that the stories were 
utterly without foundation, and the persons 
named generally fictitious. The reference 
to the Audubon Society showed unmistak- 
able evidences of malice, but the pretense 
that one of our pledges could be converted 
into a promissory note, was so absurd that 
any one seeing the document would sign it 
without the smallest anxiety on that score. 
We were consequently disposed to treat 
the whole matter with a mere passing ex- 


REWARD. 


pression of contempt, but since we pointed 
out that it was only obscure country papers 
which could be induced to give insertion to 
such charges, a successful attempt has been 
made to get them palmed off as news items 
in the New York dailies. On Dec. 1 the 
New York IJVorld published a pretended 
news item from Jeffersonville, this State, 
to the effect that a person named had been 
victimized to the extent of several hundred 
dollars in this way, and no notice being 
taken of it, another paragraph was pub- 
lished in the New York Sw as a news letter 
from Seneca Falls, this State, giving a most 
circumstantial account of how a woman, pro- 
fessing to represent our Society, had called 
on several residents, Deacons, J. Ps, and 
other conspicuous persons and got a lot of 
signatures, which were converted into pro- 
missory notes, ranging from a dollar and a 
half to five hundred dollars. The whole 
statement was so circumstantial and detailed 
that it was difficult to believe that it was 
mere invention, but here as usual all our 
inquiries lead us to believe that the story is 
without a shadow of foundation in fact. 
The people named were addressed in de- 
tail, but without eliciting any reply, and 
even our letters are coming back to us with 
the intimation that the addresses are not 
known. 

The publishers of the AuDUBON MaGa- 


The Audubon for 1888. 


ZINE find it desirable to put a stop to these 
annoyances, and hereby offer a reward of 
five hundred dollars for evidence leading to 
the conviction of any person or persons 
making use of the pledge forms of the 
Audubon Society for the Protection of 
Birds, by fraudulently collecting money on 
them when signed, or by converting said 
forms into promissory notes, or by any un- 
lawful means whatever. We hold it impos- 


283 


sible that the pledge forms could be so used, 
and we do not believe that they have been, 
but if they have been or shall be so used, 
our offer of the reward of $500 remains 
open. 

The Audubon Society is an incorporated 
institution, and as such will protect its cor- 
porate name, and its numerous authorized 
agents against the frauds, aspersions and 
malice of enemies of the cause. 


THE 


E_ have every reason to congratulate 
ourselves on the reception given 
to the AupUBON MaGaziINne, a reception 
due in great measure to the sympathetic 
efforts of local secretaries and other friends 
of bird protection to whom our warmest 
acknowledgements are due for their friendly 
co-operation. They have introduced the 
MaGaAZINE to the notice of their friends, 
many of whom have been struck with the 
high quality of its entertaining and in- 
structive matter, and the very low price at 
which it is published. 

The AupuBoN MaG AZINE was not launch- 
ed as a money-making speculation, but as 
the most effectual means for disseminating 
such a measure of reliable and useful in- 
formation about birds, as would tend to 
excite a general interest in the subject and 
insure their protection. While aiming at sci- 
entific exactness, no effort has been spared 
to make it attractive to young people, and 
as it wins its way wherever it is introduced, 
we look for a wide circulation. 

-To secure this it is necessary that all 
friends of the Audubon movement should 


AUDUBON 


FOR 1888. 


aid us in the future as they have done in 
the past. It will be seen by reference to 
the list of prizes offered on another page 
that we are not unmindful of the assistance 
rendered, and in the interests of bird pro- 
tection we hope there will be no relaxation 
of effort until it shall become “familiar as 
househoid words” in every home in the 
country. That is a very imperfect school 
course that does not include natural his- 
tory. 

There is no way in which the good work 
of protecting our birds can be so effectively 
helped on as by increasing the knowledge 
of the public about them. People must be 
taught how useful a part of Nature’s system 
the birds are before they will be interested 
in their protection, and the most effective 
method of conveying this instruction is by 
increasing the circulation of the AUDUBON, 
the only publication in the world which is 
devoted solely to this object. 

This should be a pleasant task for each 
member of the Audubon Society, and our 
new arrangements makes it a profitable one 


as well. 


THE AUDUBON NOTE BOOK. 


MEMBERSHIP RETURNS. 
Tue registered membership of the Society on 
Nov. 30 was 42,246, showing an increase of 1,462 
during the month, due to the following sources: 


NeW, WOK. aisieis wis.ei si gag Kansas:..+.-.-.esavecees r 
Massachusetts......-.... 6x5) Lowatess..ncececanee eas pad 
New Hampshire......... A Allinois-;eecdesne sees 7 
New Jersey... 40 A NUSSOUT is see coae aren 13 
Maine ..... 48) ODIO: - a amemes seen erie 47 
Connecticut . 56 Michigan ro 
Wermont.. cece een sie = --' 26 Indiana...... 3 
Pennsylvania........ --. 52 California...... 5 
District of Columbia. .... 3 Rhode Island... .. I 
3 Minnesota.........-....5 15 
6 Indian Territory......... 1 

3 Dakota 

15 Canada 


C. F. Amery, General Secretary. 


ECONOMIC ORNITHOLOGY. 
A REPLY. 


Editor Audubon Magazine: 

The October number of the Audubon Magazine 
(page 211) contains a notice of the “‘preliminary re- 
port on economic ornithology” recently published in 
the annual report of the Department of Agriculture 
for 1886. 

In reading this notice I was surprised to see 
several incorrect statements of fact, and was aston- 
ished to find myself accused of expressing opinions 
that I have never held. 

In regard to the English sparrow, the report in 
question contains the following: ‘‘In advance of 
the publication of the special bulletin on the English 
sparrow question, which will contain in detail the 
evidence on which the following statements are based, 
it is thought desirable at the present time to set forth 
some of the results of the investigation for the inform- 
ation of the general public,” etc. In view of the 
above, I beg to ask for the facts which led my critic 
to say: ‘‘It occurs to us that the investigation does 
not appear to have been conducted in the same 
scientifically impartial spirit that resulted in the ac- 
quittal of the hawks and owls.” Inasmuch as the 
report on the English sparrow has not yet been pub- 
lished, I would like to ask what my critic knows 
about the facts upon which the conclusions have been 
based, or the spirit in which the investigation has 
been conducted; also, what led him to assert that 
the replies received to our circular on the sparrow 
are ‘‘all condemnatory"’? 

After disposing of the sparrow, the reviewer states: 
“On the same grounds we are disposed to take ex- 


ception to the sweeping conclusion that all birds sub- 
sisting on grain are inimical to man, those only being 
beneficial which prey on mice and insects.” I respect- 
fully challenge the editor of the AUDUBON MAGAZINE 
to show that I have ever expressed, either in print or 
in conversation, any opinion which can be construed 
into the views here attributed tome. I beg to pro- 
test against this sort of wholesale misrepresentation, 
which is due, of course, to carelessness on the part 
of the reviewer, who could not have read the report 
he has seen fit to criticise. 

In conclusion, may I ask if the editor of the AUDU- 
BON MAGAZINE considers it entirely fair to lead his 
readers to regard as an enemy to the good cause he 
upholds the very man to whose efforts is largely due 
the formation of the Bird Protection Committee of 
the American Ornithologists’ Union, from which 
committee the Audubon Society movement is a direct 
outgrowth? C. HART MERRIAM. 

Wasuincton, D. C., Oct. 20, 1887. 

While it is plain from the above that Dr. Merriam’s 
position was not correctly defined by us in the infer- 
ences which were drawn from his preliminary report 
on the house sparrow, it is at the same time unfor- 
tunate that he should not have been more explicit in 
stating his position in the text of that report. If, 
for instance, the testimony received by the Bureau 
was not all condemnatory, it is strange that in the 
abstract given us, nothing favorable to the bird should 
have appeared. We are quite willing to modify our 
statement, and to say that as the printed “‘results of 
the investigation” contain no hint of any testimony 
favorable to the bird, it is only fair to infer that it 
was all unfavorable. Perhaps it was such an omis- 
sion of anything in defense of the sparrow that gave 
us the impression that the investigation was not 
strictly impartial. Our remark relative to Dr. Mer- 
riam’s classification of birds as beneficial or injurious 
was based on this statement in the report, that ‘‘the 
food of all species consists either of animal or vege- 
table matter or both, and its consumption must be 
serviceable or prejudicial to the interests of mankind. 
Therefore, according to the food it eats, each bird or 
mammal may be classed under one of two headings 
—beneficial or injurious. Many species are both 
beneficial and injurious, and it is impossible to assign 
them to either category until the percentages of their 
food elements have been positively determined and 
the sum of the good balanced against the sum of the 
evil. 

“It is well known that certain birds and mammals 
are directly destructive to farm crops, causing a loss 


The Audubon Note Book. 285 


of many thousands of dollars each year, and that 
others are highly beneficial, preying upon mice and 
insects which are injurious to vegetation * * *.” 

While a strict interpretation of this by the average 
reader would bear out our construction of it, we are 
gratified to be told by Dr. Merriam that he is not 
willing to be understood as wholly condemning birds 
whose food is solely vegetable. 


BIRD HELPERS. 

Mrs. MAry TREAT, the well-known entomologist, 
writes in the American Agriculturist: I wish to add 
my testimony in a few words in favor of the various 
birds that visit our gardens and orchards, in the 
capacity of helpers, as they feed upon some of the 
most noxious insects which we have to contend with. 

First and foremost among these helpers is the 
purple martin. It is the general impression that 
this bird takes insects only on the wing, but it does 
more than this. I saw numbers of them this past 
summer taking the rose-bugs from the grapevines. 
They swooped down and picked them off without 
alighting. They circled around in companies, back 
again to the same vine, each one snatching off a 
bug as it passed. And not only the rose-bug falls 
a victim to its appetite, but it even stoops to take 
the Colorado potato-beetle. This has been seen by 
others in our town, as well as by myself. Put up 
boxes for the martins, and see that the English 
sparrow does not get possession. 

The oriole is another great helper. It knows how 
to pull the bag-worm from its case, and does it sys- 
tematically and rapidly. The tent caterpillar and 
fall web-worm it also has a liking for; it ruthlessly 
tears the tents and webs to pieces and destroys un- 
told numbers. Allow no gunner to shoot one of 
these beautiful, gaily-dressed birds on your premises 
—not even if the lady of his choice is pining for a 
skeleton to perch on her hat. 

For several years past the leaves of our elm trees 
have been ruined by the elm-beetle. Last year I 
noticed the cedar bird devouring the beetle and 
larve. This year our elms are comparatively free 
from the pests. The leaves are scarcely injured at all, 
and the cedar birds are obliged to look close to find 
a beetle. They hunt over the trees in small flocks. 
They also destroy many other injurious creatures. 
This bird likes berries. Raise enough for them as 
well as for yourselves, and they will pay you back 
with interest. 

The catbird and red-eyed vireo both eat the un- 
savory pear-slug. But it is not necessary to mention 
the good services rendered by our most common 
birds, such as the robin, brown thrush, catbird, 
bluebird and wren, as all observing horticulturists 


are aware of the good they do. 
are also doing good work. 


Our winter birds 
The seed-eating ones 
pick up great quantities of the seeds of noxious 
weeds, while our woodpeckers, jays and chickadees 
are constantly on the lookout for hibernating insects. 
Spare and encourage the birds, both winter and 
summer, about your home grounds and fields. 

THE story that went the round of the English and 
American papers to the effect that Mrs. Mackay, wife 
of the California millionaire, had sent two “‘sports- 
men” to the East Indian Islands to procure five hun- 
dred skins of the bird of paradise for a mantle, ap- 
pears to be wholly unfounded in fact, and to have 
been part of a system of malicious attack to which 
that lady was undeservedly subjected. As we said 
at the time, there was nothing in the story if true 
which rendered the act in any way more reprehensible 
than the instances of indulgence in feather millinery 
which meet the eye everywhere; but if one was 
shocked at the contemplation of an act of bad taste 
attributed to Mrs. Mackay, what must be the senti- 
ment with which right-minded persons contemplated 
the malice that could prompt an unfounded story to 
the discredit of an unoffending person. We have no 
direct authority for denying the story, but we find it 
denied in a newspaper clipping sent us by one of our 
correspondents, and we know enough of journalistic 
ethics to have full confidence that no member of the 
daily press would be tempted to shield a maligned 
person unless authorized to do so. 


A PIGEON WALKS NINE MILES.—About the mid- 
dle of November, Lorenzo Beers of Stratford, Conn., 
sold a number of tumbler pigeons to E. M. Beards- 
ley of Huntington, Conn. A week or more after 
their removal two of the birds returned to their old 
home, and were sent back to Mr. Beardsley, who 
plucked the quills from one wing of each bird asa 
precaution against an attempt to fly again to Strat- 
ford. On the 15th of December one of the pigeons 
came walking down the street to the Beers residence, 
having walked the whole distance, nine miles, from 
Huntington. 


THERE hangs in our office a calendar for the com- 
ing year, illustrated with a beautiful vignette, with a 
spray of poppies in the background. It is chaste 
in design and perfect in execution—a genuine work 
of art, designed and engraved on steel by John A. 
Lowell & Co. It may be duplicated by sending 25 
cents to Doliber, Goodale & Co., of Boston. 


AN advertisement in a Florida paper asks for ro00 
young alligators, 500 pounds of large alligator teeth, 
500 roseate spoonbill wings and all the alligator skins 
in the county. The advertiser is a naturalist / 


286 The Audubon Society. 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY FOR THE PROTEC- 
TION OF BIRDS. 


HE AUDUBON SOCIETY was founded in New York 
city in February, 1886. Its purpose is the protection of 
American birds, not used for food, from destruction for mer- 
cantile purposes. The magnitude of the evil with which the 
Society will cope, and the imperative need of the work which 
it proposes to accomplish, are outlined in the following state- 

ment concerning 

THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS. 

Within the last few years, the destruction of our birds has 
increased at a rate which is alarming. This destruction now 
takes place on such a large scale as to seriously threaten the 
existence of a number of our most useful species. It is carried 
on chiefly by men and boys who sell the skins or plumage to 
be used for ornamental purposes—principally for the trimming 
of women’s hats, bonnets and clothing. Fhese men kill every- 
thing that wears feathers. The Binks of the woods, the birds 
of the field, the birds of the marsh and those of the sea are 
alike slain, at all times and at all seasons. It matters not if 
the bird be a useful one which devours the hurtful insects 
which destroy the farmer's crops, or a bright-plumaged song- 
ster whose advent has been welcomed in spring, and which has 
reared its brood in the door yard during the summer, or a 
swift-winged sea swallow whose flight along the shore has often 
with unerring certainty led the fisherman to his finny prey— 
whatever it be, it must be sacrificed to the bird butcher's lust 
for slaughter and for gain. Besides the actual destruction of 
the birds, their numbers are still further diminished by the 
practice of robbing their nests in the breeding season, 

Although it is impossible to get at the number of birds killed 
each year, some figures have been published which give an 
idea of what the slaughter must be. We know that a single 
local taxidermist handles 30,000 bird skins in one year; that a 
single collector brought back from a three months trip 11,000 
skins; that from one small district on Long Island about 70,000 
birds were brought to New York in four months time. In New 
York one firm had on hand February 1, 1886, 200,000 skins. 
The supply is not limited by domestic consumption. Ameri- 
can bird slans aresent abroad, The great European markets 
draw their supplies from all over the world. In London there 
were sold in three months from one auction room, 404,464 West 
Indian and Brazilian bird skins, and 356,389 East Indian birds, 
In Paris 100,000 African birds have been sold by one dealer in 
one year. One New York firm recently had a contract to 
supply 40,000 skins of American birds to one Paris firm. These 
figures tell their own story—but it is a story which might be 
known even without them; we may read it plainly enough in 
the silent hedges, once vocal with the morning songs of birds 
and in the deserted fields where once bright plumage flashed 
in the sunlight. 

BIRDS, INSECTS AND CROPS, 5 

The food of our small birds consists very largely of the 
insects which feed on the plants grown by the farmer. These 
insects paulteply with such Sstiuniting rapidity that a single 

air may in the course of one season be the progenitors of six 
Billions of their kind. All through the season at which this 
insect life is most active, the birds are constantly at work 
destroying for their young and for themselves, tens of thou- 
sands of hurtful creatures, which, but for them, would swarm 
upon the farmer's crops and lessen the results of his labors. 

A painstaking and ardent naturalist not very long ago 
watched the nest of a pair of martins for sixteen hours, from 4 
A.M. till 8 P. M., just to see how many visits the parent birds 
made to their young. He found that in that time 312 visits to 
the four young were made, 119 by the male and 193 by the 
female. If we suppose only six insects to have been brought 
at each Visit, this pair of birds would have destroyed, for their 
young alone, in this one summer’s day, not far from 2,000 
insects. The important relations which our birds bear to the 
agricultural interests and so to the general welfare, are recog- 
nized by the governments of all our States. Laws exist for 
their protection, but these laws are rendered inoperative by 
the lack of an intelligent public sentiment to support them, 
They are nowhere enforced. It is for the interest of every 
one that such a public sentiment should be created. 

It is time that this destruction were stopped, 

PURPOSE OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 

To secure the protection of our birds by awakening a better 
sentiment, the Audubon Society, named after the greatest of 
American ornithologists, has been founded. The objects 
sought to be accomplished by this Society are to prevent as far 
as possible — 

(x) The killing of any wild bird not used for food. 
aA The taking or destroying of the eggs or nests of any wild 

irds. 

(3) The wearing of the feathers of wild birds. Ostrich 
feathers, whether from wild or tame birds, and those of domes- 
tic fowls, are specially exempted, 

The Audubon Society aims especially to preserve those 


birds which are now mpacticaly. without protection. Our 
ame birds are already protected by law, and in measure 
y public sentiment, and their care may be left to the sports- 
man. The great aim of the Society is the protection of 
American non-game birds. The English sparrow is not 
included in our lists, 
PLAN OF THE WORK. 

Obviously the Society cannot supply any machinery of com- 
pulsion to lead individuals and communities to a higher 
regard for bird life and to efforts for its protection. Nor are 
compulsory measures thought necessary. The wrong is toler- 
ated now only because of thoughtlessness and indifference. 
‘The birds are killed for millinery purposes. So long as fashion 
demands bird feathers, the birds will be slaughtered. The 
remedy is to be found in the awakening of a healthy pub- 
lic sentiment on the subject. If this enormous destruction of 
birds can once be put in its true light before the eyes of men 
and women and young folks, if interest be aroused and senti- 
ment created, the great wrong must cease. To so present the 
case to the people as to awaken this corrective sentiment is the 
special work contemplated by the Audubon Society. The 
methods adopted are very simple. Pledges are furnished, sub- 
scription to which constitutes membership, and certificates 
are issued to members, 

TERMS OF MEMBERSHIP. 

The signing of any of the pledges will qualify one for mem- 
bership in the Society. It is earnestly desired that each mem- 
ber may sign all three of the pledges. Beyond the promise 
contained in the pledge no obligation nor responsibility is in- 
curred. There are no fees, nor dues, nor any expenses of an’ 
kind, There are no conditions as to age. The boys and girls 
are invited to take part in the work, for they can often do 
more than others to practically protect the nesting birds. All 
who are interested in the subject are invited to become mem- 
bers, and to urge their fiends to join the Society. If each 
man, woman or child who reads this circular will exert his or 
her influence, it will not take long to enlist in the good work a 
great number of people actively concerned in the protection of 
our birds. It is desired that members may be enrolled in every 
town and village throughout the land, so that by the moral 
weight of its influence this Society may check the slaughter of 
our beautiful songsters. The beneficent influence of the 
Audubon Society should be exerted in every remotest by-way 
where the songs of birds fill the air, and in every crowded city 
pers the plumes of slain songsters are worn as an article of 

ress, 

a ASSOCIATE eS nea Eal . 

s there are a very great number o} ople in full sympathy 
with the Audubon BS Enea and ready to lend it their Pore 
support, but who refrain from joining the Society simply be- 
cause they find it distasteful to sign a pledge, it has been 
determined to form a class of Associate Members. Any one 
expressing his or her sympathy with the objects of the Audu- 
bon Society and submitting a written request for membership 
to any local secretary, will be enrolled on the list of Associate 
Members. All such applications for membership received by 
local secretaries of the Society should be forwarded to the 
General Secretary for registration, 

LOCAL SECRETARIES. - 

The Society has local secretaries in cities, towns and villages. 
The local secretary will furnish this circular of information 
and pledge forms; will receive the signed pledges, er} a list 
of the members, forward a duplicate list with the pledges for 
enrollment and file at the Society’s office; and will receive in 
return certificates of membership, to be filled out and signed 
by the local secretary and given to the members. No certi, 
ficate of membership will be issued to any person except upon 
the receipt of a signed pledge at the office of the Society. 
Where no local secreta Es yet been appointed, individual 
applicants for membership may address the Society at its 
office, No. 40 Park Row, New York. aw 

If there is no local secretary in your town, you are invited 
to act as such yourself, or to hand this to some other person 
who will accept the office. Upon application we will supply 
copies of this circular and pledge forms. 

THE AUDUBON SOCIETY CERTIFICATE. 4 

The Society furnishes to each member a handsome certificate 
of membership, This bears a portrait of the great naturalist, 
John anes Audubon, after whom the Society very appro- 
priately takes its name. _ - 

The office of the Se is at 4o Park Row, New York city. 
All communications should be addressed 


THE AUDUBON SOCIETY, 
No, 40 Park Row, New York. 


Print Your Own Cards ! 


PRESS $3, Circular size $8, Newspaper size | 


$44. Type setting easy; printed directions. Send 
2 stamps for list presses, type, etc., to factory, 
KELSEY & CO., Meriden, Conn. 


AUDU BON M: AG AZINE 


O Stee crsasczaa—o} [G] 


FWDEVOES6 


ESTABLISHED 1852 
OFFICES:COR.FULTON & WILLIAMSS 
NEW YORIG 


ARTISTS —- 
MATERIALS. 


CHT 


SKETCHING OUTFITS® 
a 


OF ALLKINDS 
UBE COLORS‘ WATER CLORS-CRAYONS 
DRAWING PAPER: CANVASBRUSHES 01K58 MEDIUMS: 
MATHEMATICAL INSTRUMENTS 


HOUSE PAINTERS COLORS 
FRESC CLORS: FINE VARNISHES 


Correspondence invited: Catalogues of our different 


departments To resbonsible barlies. 
} COFFIN-DEVOE & Ce-176 RANDOLPH'S™ ChilCAGO}} 


Go] Ss este 


4 
) 
A 
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a: 


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NS Sz5 nav . 


Eada ANTHONY & CO. 
591 Broadway, N.Y. 


Manufacturers and Importers of 


PHOTOGRAPHIC + 


+ INSTRUMENTS, 
Apparatus and Supplies 


OF EVERY DESCRIPTION. 


Sole proprietors of the Patent Detec- 
tive, Fairy, Novel and Bicycle 
Cameras, and the Celebrated Stan- 
ley Dry Plates. 

Amateur Outfits in great variety 
« from $9.00 upwards. Send for catalogue 
or call and examine. 

tS" More than Forty Years Estab- 


FOUR 


lished tn this line of business. 
FIRST eee MEDALS AWARDED 
EXHIBITIONS. 

HUS BAN D’ SI. smaller dose than other Magnesia, For 
sale at Druggists and Country Stores, 
in bottles only, with U. S. Govern- 

MAGNESIA. out which none is genuine, 

And by T. J. HUSBAND, JR., Philadelphia, Pa. 
THE UNIVERSAL PATTERNS 
ence. Correct styles and perfect fit. Catalogue of UNI- 
VERSAL PATTERNS free toany address, or send r5 cts. 
for the ALBUM OF FASHIONS, a handsome folio book 
the UNIVERSAL MAGAZIN EK, a Monthly for Fash- 
ions and Home Literature. Profusely illustrated. Only $1.co 
a year, ro cents a copy. 


More agreeable to the taste and 

ment Registered Label attached, with- 

For Ladies’ and Children’s Garments are the best in exist- 
with over 1,000 illustrations and descriptions. Subscribe for 
UNIVERSAL FASHION CO., 40 East 12th Street, New York. 


ADVE RTISE oR. 


A. J. Cammeyer, 


165, 167 & 169 SIXTH AVE. 
Cor. 


287 


12TH STREET, New York CITY. 


Achilles, the greatest warrior of the elder world, could only 
receive his death wound in his heel. Many men and women 
have died since his day by receiving their death blow also 
upon the foot, discovering all too late that this was a vital 
part of the body. Wet feet, cold feet, hot and perspiring feet, 
are as dangerous to health and life as the wound that slew 
Achilles. Be wise in time and cover your feet properly, and 
protect them from the rapid and extreme changes of our 
climate. 

I have every sort and variety of Shoes for Men, Women and 
children, thus providing the amplest care, comfort, protection 
and safeguards for the feet in every necessity and emergency. 


Ladies’ Hand-Sewed 
Welt Button Boots, 


$3.00 


Per: Paik 


Ladies’ Kid-Top, Straight Patent Leather Tip, Hand- 
Sewed Welt Button Boots 


SQhBOesh s2obcoccosoDes $3.00 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Straight Goat Button Boots.. 3.00 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Curacoa Kid Button Boots... 3.00 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt, Straight Goat, Foxed Kid- 
Top, Waukenphast Button: Bootssjan0 Sch es 00 
Ladies’ Hand-Sewed Welt Calf, Foxed Kid-Top, Wau- 
Kenphastesnttonpboots. .o.. sacs secs es ae cisnientee a 3.00 


These Shoes are especially designed to take the place of the 
highest grade custom work of the finest material and finish, 
and the best workmanship that can be produced. I do not 
hesitate to warrant them equal to any eustom made that are 
sold from $6 to $7 per pair, and at almost half the price. They 
are made in every variety, shape and form, and it makes no 
difference what the preference may be, I can guarantee a per- 
fect fit and satisfaction in every instance. 


CANVAS SHOES. 

My stock of Canvas Shoes of every description for Ladies, 
Misses and Children is now complete, such as Lawn Tennis, 
Bicycle, Yachting, and for all outdoor sporting purposes, at 
astonishingly low prices. 

I have tireless shoes for walkers, wing like slippers for dan- 
cers, dressy shoes for promenaders, low shoes for the comfort- 
loving ; in fact every kind of foot covering for Men, Women 
and Children, and at prices much Icwer than the same quality 
and make of goods are sold for elsewhere. 

People out of town should send for Illustrated 
Catalogue, which is mailed free on application. 


AL). CAMMEVEKs 


Sixth Avenue & Twelfth Street. 


288 


AUDUBON MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Unheard-of Premiums 


for Work 


The best magazines in the world for the young of all ages—five of 


them (see below). 


The best things to be got in this part of the world for the money 


—about three hundred of them (see a sample or two below). 


The things are paid to those who get subscribers. 


part is the rate. 


It is more than generous. 


Here are the magazines : 


Babyland: nurse-help for the mother 
and baby joy for the little one; 50c. a year. 

Our Little Men and Women: delight- 
ful hours and years for beginning read- 
ers; $1. 


The things to be 


more than the money could possibly be. 


Pansy: for the Sunday school age 
and aim; $r. 

Chautauqua Young Folks Fournad: 
for studious young folks; $x. 


The unheard-of 


Wide Awake: library, study, play- 
house, life at home and abroad, com- 
panionship of the wise and good; $2.40 
a year. 


paid are better than money, because they are 


They are better also, some of 


them, because you never heard of them, and wouldn’t have the chance 


to get them for some time yet. 


But the rate! 


chandise ! 


better advantage than others. 


Take a well-known example: the Wa- 
terbury watch with chain and whistle 
and agate charm. We call them alto- 
gether worth $3, and pay them for $4 
in new subscriptions. Another well- 
known example: the Weeden engine, 
price $1.25, for $1.35 in new subscrip- 
tions. 

Another example not well-known but 
worth knowing: the Hartman steel-wire 


More than that on the average. 


doormat, price $4, for $4.50 in new sub- 
scriptions, Another: the Bissell Carpet 
sweeper, price $3, for $3.25. Another: 
the Kerosene Brick, price 35 cents, for 
eas Another: a photographic out- 

t, Horsman's Eclipse, $2 50, Er $2.75. 
Another: everything children wear, $x 
for $1.60. Another: jack-plane pencil- 
sharpener, 25 cents, for 30 cents, An- 
other; silver-plated ware, $x for $1.10. 


For $1.25 in new subscriptions we pay $1 in mer- 
Some things we get to 


We pay as we buy. 


Another: a Mason & Hamlin organ (ca- 
talogue price $165) for $rro in new sub- 
scriptions. Another: your choice of 
Prang’s water color art studies and re- 
productions of oil paintings, $1 for $1.10. 
Another: your choice of 2000 books, any 
book we publish, $1 for $1.20. And so 
on through 32 pages of picked-out — 
for children and picked-out things for 
the family. 


Send five cents fora sample copy of any one magazine, or fifteen 


cents for all. 


Dp, (LOTHROF 


COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


Franklin and Hawley Streets Boston 


| 


QL The Audubon magazine 


Bi- logical 
& Medical 
Serials 


PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE 
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET 


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