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diff --git a/31269-h/31269-h.htm b/31269-h/31269-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f88fb0 --- /dev/null +++ b/31269-h/31269-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6445 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Upon The Tree-tops, by Olive Thorne Miller. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ +div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */ + + + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + color: #A9A9A9; +} + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: #A9A9A9; +} /* page numbers */ + + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + +.caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: smaller;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; +} + + + +.author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;} + +ul.none {list-style-type: none;} + + +.centerbox { width: 45%; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; + } + + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Upon The Tree-Tops, by Olive Thorne Miller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Upon The Tree-Tops + +Author: Olive Thorne Miller + +Illustrator: J. Carter Beard + +Release Date: February 13, 2010 [EBook #31269] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UPON THE TREE-TOPS *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a> +<img src="images/ill-frontis.jpg" width="600" height="385" alt="THE TUG OF WAR—THE SHRIKE (PAGE 38)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE TUG OF WAR—THE SHRIKE (PAGE <a href='#Page_38'>38</a>)</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h1>UPON THE TREE-TOPS</h1> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>OLIVE THORNE MILLER</h2> + +<h3><i>ILLUSTRATED BY J. CARTER BEARD</i></h3> + + + <p class="center">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br /> + The Riverside Press, Cambridge</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"> +Copyright, 1897,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By H. M. MILLER</span>.<br /> + +<br /> +<i>All rights reserved.</i> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.</i><br /> +Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> + +<div class="centerbox"> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Whose household words are songs in many keys,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Whose habitations on the tree-tops even</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Are half-way houses on the road to heaven?</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Longfellow.</span></span><br /> +</p></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTORY" id="INTRODUCTORY"></a>INTRODUCTORY.</h2> + + +<blockquote><p>In the beginning of my study of bird life, when I had a bird-room for +close observation, I was interested to see that our little neighbors in +feathers possess as much individuality of character as ourselves, and in +Chapters XII. and XIII. of this volume I offer two studies of that +period, illustrative of the point.</p> + +<p>Thanks are due to Mr. Frederic A. Ober for the use of his notes on one +of the solitaires, embodied in Chapter XII., and to the Godey Company +for permission to reproduce two shrike pictures.</p> + +<p>I wish also to give credit to my daughter, Mary Mann Miller, for the +minute and conscientious collection of the facts recorded in Chapters V. +and VI., which for convenience are related as if they were my own +observations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></p> + +<p class="author"> +OLIVE THORNE MILLER.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="3" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS"> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left">UPON THE TREE-TOPS.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Tramps with an enthusiast</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_3'>3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Hermit Thrush. <i>Turdus aonalaschkę pallasii.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">American Crow. <i>Corvus Americanus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Sandpiper.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Wilson's Thrush. <i>Turdus fuscescens.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Oven-bird. <i>Seiurus aurocapillus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Wood Thrush. <i>Turdus mustelinus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Olive-sided Flycatcher. <i>Contopus borealis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Golden-winged Woodpecker. <i>Colaptes auratus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Rose-breasted Grosbeak. <i>Habia ludoviciana.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Cow Bunting. <i>Molothrus ater.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">White-throated Sparrow. <i>Zonotrichia albicollis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Black-throated Green Warbler. <i>Dendroica virens.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">American Robin. <i>Merula migratoria.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Song Sparrow. <i>Melospiza fasciata.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">House Wren. <i>Troglodytes ędon.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Bobolink. <i>Dolichonyx oryzivorus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Meadow Lark. <i>Sturnella magna.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Eave Swallow. Petrochelidon lunifrons.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Phœbe. <i>Sayornis phœbe.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Shrike. <i>Lanius ludovicianus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Mysterious stranger</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_35'>35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Red-headed Woodpecker. <i>Melanerpes erythrocephalus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Shrike. <i>Lanius ludovicianus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Thorn-tree nest</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_45'>45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Shrike. <i>Lanius ludovicianus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Golden-winged Woodpecker. Colaptes auratus.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Least Flycatcher. Empidonax minimus.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Yellow-billed Cuckoo. Coccyzus Americanus.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Witching Wren</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_72'>72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Winter Wren. <i>Troglodytes hiemalis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Chipping Sparrow. <i>Spizella socialis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Whimsical Ways in Bird-land</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_88'>88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Yellow-breasted Chat. Icteria virens.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The "Bird of the Musical Wing"</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_103'>103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Ruby-throated Hummingbird. <i>Trochilus colubris.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">My Lady in Green</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_121'>121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Ruby-throated Hummingbird. <i>Trochilus colubris.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Young America in Feathers</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_141'>141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Maryland Yellow-throat. <i>Geothlypis trichus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Thrasher. <i>Harporhynchus rufus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Baltimore Oriole. <i>Icterus galbula.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Catbird. <i>Galeoscoptes Carolinensis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Red-eyed Vireo. <i>Vireo olivaceus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">American Crow. <i>Corvus Americanus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Wilson's Thrush. <i>Turdus fuscescens.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Towhee Bunting. <i>Pipilo erythrophthalmus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Down the Meadow</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_163'>163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Golden-winged Woodpecker. <i>Colaptes auratus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Red-winged Blackbird. <i>Agelaius phœnicens.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Bluebird. <i>Sialia sialis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Vesper Sparrow. <i>Poocaėtes gramineus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Eave Swallow. <i>Petrochelidon lunifrons.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Tree Swallow. <i>Tachycineta bicolor.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">In a Colorado Nook</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_177'>177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Summer Yellow-bird. <i>Dendroica ęstiva.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Western Chewink. <i>Pipilo maculatus articus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Arkansas Goldfinch. <i>Spinus psaltria.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Maryland Yellow-throat. <i>Geothlypis trichus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">House Wren. <i>Troglodytes ędon.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Red-shafted Flicker. <i>Colaptes cafer.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Western Meadow Lark. <i>Sturnella magna neglecta.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Idyl of an Empty Lot</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_192'>192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Night Hawk. <i>Chordeiles virginianus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">English Sparrow. <i>Passer domesticus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Thrasher. <i>Harporhynchus rufus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Junco. <i>Junco hyemalis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">White-throat Sparrow. <i>Zonotrichia albicollis.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Ruby-crowned Kinglet. <i>Regulus calendula.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Hermit Thrush. <i>Turdus aonalaschkę pallasii.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">IN THE BIRD-ROOM.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Solitaire</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_205'>205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Clarin. <i>Myadestes obscurus.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Blue Jay. <i>Cyanocitta cristata.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Brazilian Cardinal.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Mountain Whistler. <i>Siffleur montagne.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Trembleur.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Townsend's Fly-catching Thrush. <i>Myadestes Townsendii.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Incompatibility in the Oriole Family</span></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_227'>227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Orchard Oriole. <i>Icterus spurious.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left">Baltimore Oriole. <i>Icterus galbula.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="3" width="55%" cellspacing="0" summary="List of Illustrations"> +<tr><td> </td><td align="left"></td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Shrike.</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>The tug of war</i> (page <a href='#Page_38'>38</a>)</td><td align="right"><a href='#frontis'>Frontispiece.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Hermit Thrush.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>Singing his way down to us</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_8'>8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Shrike.</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>Babies in gray</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_36'>36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Winter Wren.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>Cuddled up together on a log</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_86'>86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Yellow-breasted Chat.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>Love-making</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_98'>98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Ruby-throated Hummingbird.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>The nest with my lady upon it</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_110'>110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Baltimore Oriole.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>Feeding the baby</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_150'>150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Golden-winged Woodpecker.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>Taking breakfast</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_164'>164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Solitaire and Blue Jay.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>Studying the blue jay</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_216'>216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Orchard Oriole.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><i>The enemy in the glass</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_230'>230</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span><br /><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2><br /><br /><a name="UPON_THE_TREE-TOPS" id="UPON_THE_TREE-TOPS"></a>UPON THE TREE-TOPS.<br /><br /></h2> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I.</h2> + +<h4>TRAMPS WITH AN ENTHUSIAST.</h4> + + +<p>To a brain wearied by the din of the city, the clatter of wheels, the +jingle of street cars, the discord of bells, the cries of venders, the +ear-splitting whistles of factory and shop, how refreshing is the +heavenly stillness of the country! To the soul tortured by the sight of +ills it cannot cure, wrongs it cannot right, and sufferings it cannot +relieve, how blessed to be alone with nature, with trees living free, +unfettered lives, and flowers content each in its native spot, with +brooks singing of joy and good cheer, with mountains preaching divine +peace and rest!</p> + +<p>Thus musing one evening, soon after my arrival at a lone farmhouse in +the heart of the Green Mountains, I seated myself at the window to make +acquaintance with my neighbors. Not the human; I wished for a time to +turn away from the world of people, to find rest and recreation in the +world outside the walls of houses.</p> + +<p>My room was a wing lately added to the side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> of the cottage farthest +from the life that went on in it, from the kitchen and dairy, from the +sight of barns and henhouses. It was, consequently, as solitary as it +could be, and yet retain a slight hold upon humanity. It was connected +with the family and farm life by two doors, which I could shut at will, +and be alone with nature, and especially with the beloved birds.</p> + +<p>From my window I looked upon a wide view over the road and the green +fields, and across the river to a lovely range of the Green Mountains, +with one of the highest peaks in the State as a crown. Close at hand was +a bank, the beginning of a mountain spur. It was covered from the road +up with clumps of fresh green ferns and a few young trees,—a maple or +two, half a dozen graceful young hemlocks, and others.</p> + +<p>The top of the bank, about as high as my window, was thick with daisy +buds, which I had caught that day beginning to open their eyes, +sleepily, one lash at a time; and on looking closely I saw ranks of them +still asleep, each yellow eye carefully covered with its snow-white +fringes. When the blossoms were fully opened, a few days later, my point +of view—on a level—made even</p> + +<blockquote><p>"The daisy's frill a wondrous newness wear;"</p></blockquote> + +<p>for I saw only the edges of the flower faces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> turned to the sky, while +the stems were visible down to the ground, and formed a Lilliputian +forest in which it were easy to imagine tiny creatures spending days as +secluded and as happy as I enjoyed in my forest of beech and birch and +maple, which came down to the very back steps of the house.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FROM THE WINDOW.</i></div> + +<p>On the evening when my story begins, early in June, I was sitting, as I +said, at my window, listening to the good-night songs of the earlier +birds, enjoying the view of woods and mountains, and waiting till tea +should be over before taking my usual evening walk. I had fallen into a +reverie, when I was aroused by the sound of wheels, and in a moment a +horse appeared, trotting rapidly up the little hill. In his wake was a +face. There was of course a body also, and some sort of a vehicle, but +neither of them did I see; only a pair of eager, questioning eyes, and +an intelligent countenance framed in snow-white curls which streamed +back upon the wind,—a picture, a vision, I shall never forget.</p> + +<p>I recognized at once my Enthusiast, a dear friend and fellow bird-lover, +who I knew was coming to spend some weeks in the village. I rushed to +the door to greet her.</p> + +<p>"I'm delighted to see you!" she cried, as we clasped hands across the +wheels. "I arrived an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> hour or two ago, and now I want to go where I can +hear a hermit thrush. I've come all the way from Chicago to hear that +bird."</p> + +<p>She dismounted, declined the invitation to tea given by my hostess, who +stood speechless with amazement at the erratic taste that would forego +tea for the sake of a bird song, and we started at once up the road, +where I had seen the bird perched in a partially dead hemlock-tree, and +heard</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">"his ravishing carol ring</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the topmost twig he made his throne."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Everything was perfectly still. Not a bird peeped. Even the tireless +vireo, who peopled the woods as the English sparrow the city streets, +was hushed. I began to be anxious; could it be too cool for song? or too +late? We walked steadily on, up the beautiful winding road: on one side +dense forest, on the other lovely changing views of the hills across the +intervale, blue now with approaching night. Crows called as they hurried +over; the little sandpiper's "ah weet! weet! weet!" came up from the +river bank, but in the woods all was silent.</p> + +<p>Still we went on, climbing the steep hills, loitering through the +valleys, till suddenly a bird note broke the stillness, quite near us, a +low, yearning "wee-o!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE WONDERFUL SONG.</i></div> + +<p>"The veery!" I whispered.</p> + +<p>"Is that the veery?" she exclaimed. (She had come from the home of the +wood thrush, where hermit and veery were unknown.)</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said; "listen."</p> + +<p>Again it came, more plaintive than before; once more, in an almost +agonized tone; and so it continued, ever growing higher in pitch and +more mournful, till we could hardly endure to listen to it. Then arose +the matchless song, the very breath of the woods, the solemn, +mysterious, wonderful song of the bird, and two listeners, at least, +lingered in ecstasy to hear, till it dropped to silence again.</p> + +<p>Then, slowly and leisurely, we went on. The dead hemlock, the throne of +the hermit, was vacant. On a bank not far off we sat down to wait, +talking in hushed tones of the veery, of the oven-bird whose rattling +call was now just beginning, of the mysterious "see-here" bird whose +plaintive call was sounding from the upper twig of another dead-topped +tree, of the hermit himself, when, to our amazement, a small bird soared +out of the woods, a few feet above our heads, flew around in a circle of +perhaps fifteen feet in the air, and plunged again into the trees, +singing all the time a rapturous, thrilling song, bewitching both in +manner and in tone.</p> + +<p>"The oven-bird!" we exclaimed in a breath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> That made our walk +noteworthy. We should not regret, even if the hermit refused to bless +us.</p> + +<p>Silently on up the road we passed, till the deepening shadows reminded +us of the hour and the long drive before my friend, and we turned back. +By this time the sun had set, and the sky was filled with gorgeous rosy +clouds floating above the richest red-purple of the mountains. This +surely crowned our walk.</p> + +<p>We were sauntering homeward, lingering, waiting, we hardly knew for +what, since we had given up the hermit, when a single bird note arrested +me. Then, as his first rich clause fell upon the air, I turned to my +companion, who was a few steps behind me. She stood motionless, both +hands raised, but dumb.</p> + +<p>"Glorious!" she whispered when she recovered her voice. "Wonderful!" she +added, as he warmed into fuller song.</p> + +<p>Quietly drawing as near as we dared, we dropped upon the bank and +listened in spellbound silence to our unseen melodist. Slow, rapturous, +entrancing was his song; and when it ended we came reluctantly back to +earth, stole in the growing darkness down to the farm, and my friend +resumed her place in the carriage and drove away, saying with her +good-by, "I am already paid for my long journey."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 344px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f008.jpg" width="344" height="550" alt="SINGING HIS WAY DOWN TO US—THE HERMIT THRUSH" title="" /> +<span class="caption">SINGING HIS WAY DOWN TO US—THE HERMIT THRUSH</span> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>STUDY OF THE HERMIT'S SONG.</i></div> + +<p>Yet after the first surprise and wonder were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> over, she swung loyally +back to her first love, the wood thrush, of whose sublime voice she +says, "The first solemn opening note transports you instantly into a +holy cathedral."</p> + +<p>For myself, I have never been able to choose permanently between these +two glorious singers, and at that time I had been under the spell of the +hermit song for days. Morning after morning I had spent in the woods, +listening to the marvelous voice, and trying to discover its charm.</p> + +<p>The bird began to sing his way down to us about ten o'clock in the +morning. I heard him first afar off, then coming nearer and nearer, till +he reached some favorite perch in the woods behind, and very near the +farmhouse, before noon, where he usually sang at intervals till eight +o'clock in the evening. I studied his song carefully. It consisted of +but one clause, composed of a single emphasized note followed by two +triplets on a descending scale. But while retaining the relative +position of these few notes he varied the effect almost infinitely, by +changing both the key and the pitch constantly, with such skill that I +was astonished to discover the remarkable simplicity of the song. A +striking quality of it was an attempt which he frequently made to utter +his clause higher on the scale than he could reach, so that the triplets +became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> a sort of trill or tremolo, at the very extreme of his register. +Sometimes he gave the triplets alone, without the introductory note; but +never, in the weeks that I studied his song, did he sing other than this +one clause.</p> + +<p>It was only with an effort that I could force myself to analyze the +performance. Far easier were it, and far more delightful, to sit +enchanted, to be overwhelmed and intoxicated by his thrilling music. For +me, the hermit voices the sublimity of the deep woods, while the veery +expresses its mystery, its unfathomable remoteness. A wood warbler, on +the contrary, always brings before me the rush and hurry of the world of +people, and the wood pewee its under-current of eternal sadness. Into +the mood induced by the melancholy pewee song breaks how completely and +how happily the cheery optimism of the chickadee! Brooding thoughts are +dissipated, all is not a hollow mockery, and life is still worth living.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A PERFECT NOOK.</i></div> + +<p>Often, when listening to the hermit song, I wondered that at the first +note of the king of singers all other birds were not mute. But evidently +the birds have not enthroned this thrush. Possibly, even, they do not +share human admiration for his song. The redstart goes on jerking out +his monotonous ditty; chippy irreverently mounts a perch and trills out +his inane<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> apology for a song; the vireo in yonder tree spares us not +one of his never-ending platitudes. But the hermit thrush goes on with +sublime indifference to the voices of common folk down below. Sometimes +he is answered from afar by another of his kind, who arranges his notes +a little differently. The two seem to wait for each other, as if not to +mar their divine harmony by vulgar haste or confusion.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"We must find the 'see-here' bird," said my friend the next morning, +when she appeared at the door of the farmhouse, and I joined her for our +second tramp. This was a bird whose long, deliberate notes, sounding +like the above words, had tantalized me from the day of my arrival.</p> + +<p>We resolved this time to go into the woods we had skirted the night +before. A set of bars admitted us to a most enticing bit of forest, a +paradise to city-weary eyes and nature-loving hearts. From the bars rose +sharply a rough wood road, while a few steps to the right and a scramble +up a rocky path changed the whole world in a moment. We were in a +perfect nook, which I had discovered a few days before, with a carpet of +dead leaves, a sky of waving branches, the fierce sun shut out by +curtains of living green, the air cooled by a clear mountain stream, and +the "priceless gift of delicious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> silence"—silence that had haunted my +dreams for months—broken only by the voices of birds, whispers of +leaves, and ripple of brook. In this spot,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"where Nature dwells alone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of man unknowing, and to man unknown,"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>(as I tried to persuade myself) I had established my out-of-door study, +and here I had spent perfect days, watching the residents of the +vicinity, and saturating my whole being with the delights of sight and +sound and scent till it was thrilling happiness just to be alive. Would +that I could impart the freshness, the fragrance, the heavenly peace of +those days to this chronicle, to comfort and strengthen my readers not +so blessed as to share them!</p> + +<p>The dwellers in this delectable spot, where I persuaded my friend to +rest a moment, I had not found altogether what I should have chosen; +for, unfortunately, the place most desirable for the student is not +always the best for birds. They are quite apt to desert the cool, breezy +heights charming to wood-lovers, to build in some impenetrable tangle, +where the ground is wet and full of treacherous quagmires, where +mosquitoes abound, and flies do greatly flourish, where close-growing +branches and leaves keep out every breath of air, and there is no solid +rest for the legs of a camp-stool. Such a differ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>ence does it make, as +to a desirable situation, from which side you look at it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A SPORTSMAN IN FUR.</i></div> + +<p>The principal inhabitant presented himself before we were fairly seated, +a chipmunk, who came out of his snug door under the roots of a +maple-tree and sat up on his doorstep—one of the roots—to make his +morning toilet, dress his sleek fur, scent the sweet fresh air, and +enjoy himself generally. In due time he ran down to the little brook +before the door, and then started out, evidently after something to eat; +and he went nosing about on the ground with a thoroughness to make a +bird-lover shudder, for what ground bird's nest could escape him!</p> + +<p>I recognize the fact that, from his point of view, chipmunks must live, +and why should they not have eggs for breakfast? Doubtless, in squirrel +philosophy, it is a self-evident truth that birds were created to supply +the tables of their betters in fur, and the pursuit of eggs and +nestlings adds the true sportsman's zest to the enjoyment of them. So +long, therefore, as the law that "might makes right" prevails in higher +quarters, we are forced to acknowledge, however grudgingly, his "right" +to his game; but for all that I should like exceedingly to protect it +from him.</p> + +<p>I could not long keep a bird-lover studying a chipmunk. In a few minutes +we started again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> on our way up the mountain. Each side of our primitive +wood road was bordered with ferns in their first tender green, many of +them still wearing their droll little hoods. Forward marched the +Enthusiast; breathlessly I followed. Up one little hill, down another, +over a third we hastened.</p> + +<p>"See!" I said, hoping to arrest the tireless steps; "on that tree I saw +yesterday a scarlet tanager."</p> + +<p>"Oh, did you?" she said carelessly, pausing not an instant in her steady +tramp.</p> + +<p>Then rose the note we were listening for, far to the left of the road.</p> + +<p>"He's over there!" she cried eagerly, leaving the path, and pushing in +the direction of the sound. "But I'm afraid I shall tire you," she +added. "You sit down here, and I'll just go on a little."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed!" I answered hastily, for I knew well what "just go on a +little" meant,—I had tried it before: it meant pass out of sight in two +minutes, and out of hearing in one more, so absorbed in following an +elusive bird note that everything else would be forgotten. "No, indeed!" +I repeated. "I shall not be left in these woods; where you go I follow."</p> + +<p>"But I won't go out of sight," she urged, her conscience contending with +her eager desire to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> proceed, for well she knew that I did not take my +woods by storm in this way.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ECCENTRIC FOX.</i></div> + +<p>I said nothing in reply, but I had no intention of being left, for I did +not know what dwellers the forest might contain, and I had a vivid +remembrance of being greatly startled, only a day or two before, by +unearthly cries in these very woods; of seeing a herd of young cattle +rushing frantically away, turning apprehensive glances toward the +sounds, and huddling in a frightened heap down by the bars, while the +strange cries came nearer and nearer, till I should not have been +surprised to see any sort of a horror emerge; of calling out to the +farmer whom I met at the door, "Oh, there's something dreadful up in the +woods!" and his crushing reply, "Yes, I heard it. It's a fox barking; we +hear one now and then."</p> + +<p>I cast no doubts on the veracity of that farmer, though I could not but +remember the license men sometimes allow themselves when trying to quiet +fears they consider foolish; nor did his solution seem to account +satisfactorily for the evident terror of the cattle, which had lived in +those woods all their lives, and had no reason to fear the "bark" of a +fox. I preferred, therefore, not to encounter any such eccentric "fox" +alone; hence I refused to listen to my friend's entreaties, but simply +followed on, over fallen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> tree-trunks, under drooping branches, and +through unyielding brush; now sinking ankle-deep in a pile of dead +leaves, now catching my hair in a broken branch, and now nearly falling +over a concealed root; wading through swamps, sliding down banks, +cutting and tearing our shoes, and leaving bits of our garments +everywhere. On we went recklessly, intent upon one thing only,—seeing +the bird who, enthroned on his tree-top, calmly and serenely uttered his +musical "see-e he-e-re!" while we struggled and scrambled and fought our +way down below.</p> + +<p>We reached a steep bank, and paused a moment, breathless, disheveled, +<i>my</i> interest in the beguiler long ago cooled.</p> + +<p>"There's a brook down there," I said hastily; "we can't cross it."</p> + +<p>Could we not? But we did, at the expense of a little further rending, +and the addition of wet feet to our other discomforts. But at last! at +last! we came in sight of our bird, a mere black speck against the sky.</p> + +<p>"It's a flycatcher!" exclaimed my companion eagerly. "See his attitude! +I must get around the other side!" and on we went again. A fence loomed +before us, a fence of brush, impossible to get through, and almost as +impossible to get over. But what were any of man's devices to an eager +bird-hunter! Over that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> fence she went—like a bird, I was going to say, +but like a boy would perhaps be better. More leisurely and with +difficulty I followed, for once on the other side I should be content. I +knew the road could not be far off, and through the tangled way we had +come I was resolved I would not pass again.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>UPON THE TREE-TOP.</i></div> + +<p>Well, we ran him down. He was obliging enough to stay in one spot, +indifferent to our noisy presence on the earth below, while we studied +him on all sides, and decided him to be the olive-sided flycatcher +(<i>Contopus borealis</i>). We entered his name and his manners in our +notebooks, and we were happy, or at least relieved.</p> + +<p>The habit of this bird, as I learned by observation of him afterward, +was to sit on the highest twig of a tree dead at the top, where he could +command a view of the whole neighborhood, and sing or call by the hour, +in a loud, drawling, and rather plaintive tone, somewhat resembling the +wood pewee's, though more animated in delivery. I found that the two +notes which syllabled themselves to my ear as "see-e he-e-re!" were +prefaced by a low, staccato utterance like "quick!" and all were on the +same note of the musical scale. Occasionally, but not often, he made a +dash into the air, flycatcher fashion, and once I saw him attempt to +drive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> away a golden-winged woodpecker who took the liberty of alighting +on a neighboring dead tree-trunk. Down upon him like a small tornado +came the flycatcher instantly, expecting, apparently, to annihilate him. +But the big, clumsy woodpecker merely slid one side a little, to avoid +the onslaught, and calmly went on dressing his feathers as if no small +flycatcher existed. This indifference did not please the olive-sided, +but he alighted on a branch below and bided his time; it came soon, when +the goldenwing took flight, and he came down upon him like a kingbird on +a crow. I heard the snap of the woodpecker's beak as he passed into the +thick woods, but nobody was hurt, and the flycatcher returned to his +perch.</p> + +<p>When we had rested a little after our mad rush through the woods, we +found that the hours were slipping away, and we must go. Passing down +the road at the edge of the woods, we were about to cross a tiny brook, +when our eyes fell upon a distinguished personage at his bath. He was a +rose-breasted grosbeak, and we instantly stopped to see him. He did not +linger, but gave himself a thorough splashing, and flew at once to a +tree, where he began dressing his plumage in frantic haste, as if he +knew he was a "shining mark" for man and beast. He stayed half a minute +on one branch, jerked a few feathers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> through his beak, then flew to +another place and hurriedly dressed a few more; and so he kept on, +evidently excited and nervous at being temporarily disabled by wet +feathers, though I do not think he knew he had human observers, for we +were at some distance and perfectly motionless. He was a beauty, even +for his lovely family, and the rose color of his wing-linings was the +most gorgeous I ever saw.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>DRESSING IN A HURRY.</i></div> + +<p>Moreover, I knew this bird, later, to be as useful as he was beautiful. +He it was who took upon himself the care of the potato-patch in the +garden below, spending hours every day in clearing off the destructive +potato-beetle, singing as he went to and from his labors, and, when the +toils of the day were over, treating us to a delicious evening song from +the top of a tree close by.</p> + +<p>In that way the grosbeak's time was spent till babies appeared in the +hidden nest, when everything was changed, and he set to work like any +hod-carrier; appearing silently, near the house, on the lowest board of +the fence, looking earnestly for some special luxury for baby beaks. No +more singing on the tree-tops, no more hunting of the beetle in stripes; +food more delicate was needed now, and he found it among the brakes that +grew in clumps all about under my window. It was curious to see him +searching,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> hopping upon a stalk which bent very much with his weight, +peering eagerly inside; then on another, picking off something; then +creeping between the stems, going into the bunch out of sight, and +reappearing with his mouth full; then flying off to his home. This bird +was peculiarly marked, so that I knew him. The red of his breast was +continued in a narrow streak down through the white, as if the color had +been put on wet, and had dripped at the point.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The third tramp with my Enthusiast was after a warbler. To my fellow +bird-students that tells a story. Who among them has not been bewitched +by one of those woodland sprites, led a wild dance through bush and +brier, satisfied and happy if he could catch an occasional glimpse of +the flitting enchanter!</p> + +<p>This morning we drove a mile or two out of the village, hitched our +horse,—a piece of perfection, who feared nothing, never saw anything on +the road, and would stand forever if desired,—and started into the +pasture. The gate passed, we had first to pick our way through a bog +which had been cut by cows' hoofs into innumerable holes and pitfalls, +and then so overgrown by weeds and moss that we could not always tell +where it was safe to put a foot. We consoled ourselves for the +inconvenience by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> reflecting that a bog on the side of a mountain must +probably be a provision of Mother Nature's, an irrigating scheme for the +benefit of the hillside vegetation. If all the water ran off at once, we +argued, very little could grow there. So we who love to see our hills +covered with trees should not complain, but patiently seek the +stepping-stones sometimes to be found, or meekly resign ourselves to +going in over boot-tops without a word.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE HERMIT'S NEST.</i></div> + +<p>Our first destination was the nest of a hermit thrush, discovered by my +friend the day before; and we stumbled and slipped and picked our way a +long distance over the dismal swamp, floundering on till we reached a +clump of young hemlocks, on ground somewhat more solid, where we could +sit down to rest. There was the nest right before us, a nicely made, +compact bird home, exquisitely placed in one of the little trees, a foot +from the ground.</p> + +<p>While waiting for the owners to appear, I was struck with the beauty of +the young hemlocks, so different from most evergreen trees. From the +time a hemlock has two twigs above ground it is always picturesque in +its method of growth. Its twigs, especially the topmost one, bend over +gracefully like a plume. There is no rigid uniformity among the smaller +branches, no two appear to be of the same length, but there is an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +artistic variety that makes of the little tree a thing of beauty. When +it puts out new leaves in the early summer, and every twig is tipped +with light green, it is particularly lovely, as if in bloom.</p> + +<p>How different the mathematical precision of the spruce, which might +indeed have been laid out upon geometrical lines! When a baby spruce has +but three twigs, one will stand stiffly upright, as if it bore the +responsibility of upholding the spruce traditions of the ages, while the +other twigs will duly spread themselves at nearly right angles, leaving +their brother to represent the aspirations of the family, and thus even +in infancy reproduce in miniature the full-grown, formal tree.</p> + +<p>When, after waiting some time in vain for the birds to appear, we +examined the nest before us, we found that it held two thrush eggs and +one of the cowbird. The impertinence of this disreputable bird in +thrusting her plebeian offspring upon the divine songster, to rear at +the expense of her own lovely brood, was not to be tolerated. The dirty +speckled egg looked strangely out of place among the gems that belonged +to the nest, and I removed it, careful not to touch nest or eggs. So +pertinacious is this parasite upon bird society that my friend says that +in Illinois, where the wood thrush represents the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> charming family, +almost every wood thrush nest, in the early summer, contains a cowbird's +egg; and not until they have reared one of the intruders can the birds +hope to have a brood of their own. Fortunately they nest twice in the +season, and the cowbird does not disturb the second family.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A DISTURBER OF NESTS.</i></div> + +<p>While we sat watching the hermit's nest, we were attracted by another +resident of that cozy group of hemlocks and maples. He appeared upon a +low shrub within twenty feet of us, and began to sing. First came a +long, deliberate note of the clearest and sweetest tone, then two +similar notes, a third higher, followed by three triplets on the same +note. Though dressed in sparrow garb, his colors were bright, and he was +distinguished and made really beautiful by two broad lines of +buff-tinted white over his crown, and a snowy white throat. He was the +white-throated sparrow, one of the largest and most interesting of his +family. The charm of his song is its clearness of tone and +deliberateness of utterance. It is calm as the morning, finished, +complete, and almost the only bird song that can be perfectly imitated +by a human whistle. I never shared the enthusiasm of some of my fellow +bird-lovers for the sparrows till I knew the white-throat and learned to +love the dear little song sparrow. It is unfortunate that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> song of +the former has been translated into a word so unworthy as "peabody," and +that the name "peabody bird" has become fastened on him in New England. +Far more appropriate the words applied by Elizabeth Akers Allen to an +unknown singer,—possibly this very bird,—embodied in her beautiful +poem "The Sunset Thrush." For whatever bird it was intended, the +syllables and arrangement correspond to the white-throat's utterance, +and the words are, "Sweet! sweet! sweet! Sorrowful! sorrowful! +sorrowful!"</p> + +<p>A white-throat who haunted the neighborhood of my farmhouse did not +confine himself to the family song; which, by the way, varies less with +this species than with any other I know. At first, for some time, he +entirely omitted the triplets, making his song consist of four long +notes, the fourth being in place of the triplets. Then, later, he +dropped the last note a half tone below the others, still omitting the +triplets, which, in fact, in three or four weeks of listening and +watching, I never once heard him utter. In July of that year, in passing +over the Canadian Pacific Railway on my way West, I heard innumerable +songs by this bird. Every time the train stopped, white-throat voices +rang out on all sides, and with considerable variety. Many dropped half +a tone at the end, and some uttered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> the triplets on that note, while +others began the song on a higher note, and gave the rest a third below, +instead of above, as usual.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FINDING BIRDS'-NESTS.</i></div> + +<p>But to return to the singer before us on that memorable day. After +singing a long time, he suddenly began to utter the first two notes +alone, and then apparently to listen. We also listened, and soon heard a +reply of the same two notes on a different pitch. These responsive calls +were kept up for some time, and seemed to be signals between the bird +and his mate; for neither she nor her nest could be found, though the +pair had been startled out of that very bush on the preceding day. We +searched the clumps of shrubs carefully, but without success.</p> + +<p>I long ago came to the conclusion that the ability to find nests easily +is as truly a natural gift as the ability to become a musician, or the +power to see a statue in a block of marble. That gift is not mine. I +have an almost invincible repugnance to poking into bushes and thrusting +aside branches to discover who has hidden there. Moreover, if a bird +seems anxious or alarmed, I never can bear to disturb her. Nor indeed do +I care to find many nests. A long list of nests found in a season gives +me no pleasure; how many birds belong to a certain district does not +concern me in the least. But if I have really studied one or two nests, +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> made acquaintance with the tricks and manners of the small dwellers +therein, I am satisfied and happy.</p> + +<p>While we lingered in the little hemlock grove, enraptured with the +white-throat, and feeling that</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Here were the place to lie alone all day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On shadowed grass, beneath the blessed trees,"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>a distant note reached our ever-listening ears. It was the voice of a +warbler, and a most alluring song. Such indeed we found it, for on the +instant the Enthusiast sprang to her feet, alert to her finger-tips, +crying, "That's the bird we're after!" adding as usual, as she started +across the field, "You sit still! I won't go far," while as usual, also, +I snatched my things and followed.</p> + +<p>The song was in the tone of one of the most bewitching as well as the +most elusive of warblers, the black-throated green; a bird not so big as +one's thumb, with a provoking fondness for the tops of the tallest +trees, where foliage is thickest, and for keeping in constant motion, +flitting from twig to twig, and from tree to tree, throwing out as he +goes</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The sweetest sound that ever stirred</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A warbler's throat."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>This one was tireless, as are all of his tribe, and led us a weary dance +over big, steep-sided rocks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> through more and more bogs, over a fence, +and out of our open fields into deep woods.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"<i>YOU SIT STILL.</i>"</div> + +<p>Now, my companion in these tramps has a rooted opinion that she is +easily fatigued, and must rest frequently; and I have no doubt it is +true, when she has no strong interest to urge her on. So she used to +burden herself with a clumsy waterproof, to throw on the ground to sit +upon; and in compliance with this notion (which was most amusing to +those whom she tired out in her tramps), whenever she thought of +it—that is, when the bird voice was still for a moment—she would seek +a sloping bank, or a place beside a tree where she could lean, and then +throw herself down, determined to rest. But always in one minute or +less, the warbler would be sure to begin again, when away went good +resolutions and fatigue, and she sprang up like a Jack-in-the-box, +saying, of course, "You sit still; I'll just go on a little," and off we +went over brake and brier.</p> + +<p>While pursuing this vocal <i>ignis fatuus</i> I made a charming discovery. In +one of the temporary pauses in our wild career, I was startled by the +flight of a bird from the ground very near us, and, searching about, I +soon found a veery's nest with one egg. It was daintily placed in a +clump of brakes or big ferns, resting on a fallen stick, over and around +which the brakes had grown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>The bird was not so pleased with my discovery as I was. She perched on a +tree over our heads, and uttered the mournful veery cry; and though I +did not so much as lay a finger on that nest, I believe she deserted it +at that moment, for several days afterward it was found exactly as on +that day, with its one egg cold and abandoned.</p> + +<p>If I had not, through two summers' close study, made myself very +familiar with the various calls and cries of the veery, I think I should +be driven wild by them; for no bird that I know can impart such distance +to his notes, and few can get around so silently and unobserved as he. A +great charm in his song is that it rarely bursts upon your notice; it +appears to steal into your consciousness, and in a moment the air seems +full of his breezy, woodsy music, his "quivering, silvery song," as +Cheney calls it.</p> + +<p>Not long were we allowed to meditate upon the charms of the veery, for +again the luring song began, the other side of the belt of woods, and +off we started anew. This time we secured the bird, or his name, which +was all we desired. The sweet beguiler turned out to be the warbler +mentioned above, the black-throated green, but with a more than usually +exquisite arrangement of his notes. Indeed, my friend, who was what I +call warbler-mad,—a state of infatuation I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> have with care and +difficulty guarded myself against,—heard in the woods of the +neighborhood, during that summer's visit, no less than four different +songs from the same species of warbler.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE LAST TRAMP.</i></div> + +<p>While slowly and weariedly dragging myself back to where our patient +horse stood waiting, I fell into meditation on this way of making the +study of nature hard work instead of rest and refreshment, and the +comparative merits of chasing up one's birds and waiting for them to +come about one. Without doubt the choice of method is due largely to +temperament, but I think it will be found that most of our nature-seers +have followed the latter course.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>June was now drawing to an end, and the day of my friend's departure had +nearly arrived. One more tramp remained to us. It was a walk up a long, +lonely road to a solitary thorn-tree, where I was studying a shrike's +nest.</p> + +<p>Just as we left the village a robin burst into song, and this bird, +because of certain associations, was the Enthusiast's favorite singer. +We paused to listen. When bird music begins to wane, when thrushes have +taken their broods afar, and orioles and catbirds are heard no more, one +appreciates the hearty philosophy, the cheerful and pleasing song, of +the robin. It is truly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> delightful then to hear his noisy challenge, his +gleeful "laugh," his jolly song. We may indeed rhapsodize over our rare, +fine singers, but after all we could better spare one and all of them +than our two most common songsters, our faithful stand-bys, upon whom we +can always count to preach to us the gospel of contentment, +cheerfulness, and patience,—the dear common robin and the blessed +little song sparrow. No weather is so hot that they will not pour out +their evangel to us; no rain so wet, no wind so strong, that these two +will not let their sweet voices be heard. Blessed, I say, be the common +birds, living beside our dwellings, bringing up their young under our +very eyes, accepting our advances in a spirit of friendliness, coming +earliest, staying latest, and keeping up their song even through the +season of feeding, when many become silent. These two are indispensable +to us; these two should be dearest to us; these, above all others, +should our children be taught to respect and love.</p> + +<p>The robin ceased, and we passed on. One more voice saluted us from the +last house of the village: a wren, whose nest was placed in a bracket +under the roof, sang his gushing little ditty, and then in a moment we +were in a different bird world. From one side came the bobolink's +voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Preaching boldly to the sad the folly of despair,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And telling whom it may concern that all the world is fair;"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>from the other, the plaintive notes of the meadow lark.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE LARK'S "SPUTTER."</i></div> + +<p>Lovely indeed the lark looked among the buttercups in the pasture, +stretching himself up from the ground, tall and slim, and almost as +yellow as they; and very droll his sputtering cry, as he flew over the +road to the deep grass of the meadow, to attend to the wants of his +family, for the meadow was full of mysterious sounds under the grass, +and seemed to give both bobolink and lark much concern.</p> + +<p>The call I name the "sputter," because it sounds like nothing else on +earth, is a sort of "retching" note followed by several sputtering +utterances, hard to describe, but not unpleasant to hear, perhaps +because it suggests the meadow under the warm sun of June, with +bobolinks soaring and singing, and a populous colony beneath the long +grass. Now night was coming on, and the larks were passing from the +pasture, where they seemed to spend most of the day, some with song and +some with sputter, over the road, to drop into the grass and be seen no +more;</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"While through the blue of the sky the swallows, flitting and flinging,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sent their slender twitterings down from a thousand throats."</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sometimes, on that lonely road, which I passed over several times a day, +I was treated to a fairy-like sight. It was when a recent shower had +left little puddles in the clay road, and the eave swallows from a house +across the meadow came down to procure material for their adobe +structures. Most daintily they alighted on their tiny feet around the +edge, holding up their tails like wrens, lest they should soil a feather +of their plumage, and raising both wings over their backs like +butterflies, fluttering them all the time, as if to keep their balance +and partly hold them up from the ground,—a lovely sight which I enjoyed +several times.</p> + +<p>Under the eaves of the distant house, where the nests of these birds +were placed, and which I visited later, were evidences of tragedies. The +whole length of the cornice on the back side of the house showed marks +of many nests, and there were left at that time but four, two close +together at each end of the line. I cannot say positively that the nests +had fallen while in use, but in another place, a mile away, I know of a +long row having fallen, with young in, every one of whom was killed. +Where was the "instinct" of the birds whose hopes thus perished? And was +the trouble with their material or with their situation? I noticed this: +that the nests had absolutely nothing to rest on, not even a projecting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +board. They were plastered against a perfectly plain painted board.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE PHŒBE'S TALK.</i></div> + +<p>Another bird whom I caught in a new rōle, apparently giving a lesson in +food-hunting to a youngster, was a phœbe. Hearing a new and strange +cry, mingled with tones of a voice familiar to me, I looked up, and +discovered a young and an old phœbe. The elder kept up a running +series of remarks in the tone peculiar to the species, while the infant +answered, at every pause, by a querulous single note in a higher key. +Every moment or two the instructor would fly out and capture something, +talking all the while, as if to say, "See how easy it is!" but careful +not to give the food to the begging and complaining pupil. No sooner did +the parent alight than the youngster was after him, following him +everywhere he went. After a while the old bird flew away, when that +deceiving little rogue took upon himself the business of fly-catching. +He flew out, snapped his beak, and, returning to his perch, wiped it +carefully. Yet when the elder returned he at once resumed his begging +and crying, as if starved and unable to help himself.</p> + +<p>A friend and bird-student, whose home is in these mountains, assures me +that the phœbes in this vicinity do not confine themselves to the +traditional family cry, but have a really pleasing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> song, which she has +heard several times. That, then, is another of the supposed songless +birds added to the list of singers. I know both the kingbird and the +wood pewee sing, not, to be sure, in a way to be compared to the +thrushes, though far excelling the utterances of the warblers. But why +are they so shy of exhibiting their talent? Why do they make such a +secret of it? Can it be that they are just developing their musical +abilities?</p> + +<p>When we reached the thorn-tree, on that last evening, we seated +ourselves on the bank beside the road, to enjoy the music of the meadow, +and to see the shrike family. At the nest all was still, probably +settled for the night, but the "lord and master" of that snug homestead +stood on a tall maple-tree close by, in dignified silence, watching our +movements, no doubt. We waited some time, but he refused either to go or +to relax his vigilance in the least, till the hour grew late, and we +were obliged to turn back.</p> + +<p>The sun had set, and the sky was filled, as on that first evening, with +soft, rosy sunset clouds, and the distant mountains, with Jay Peak for a +crown, were clothed in gorgeous purple again. With all this beauty +before us, we slowly walked back to the village, and I felt it a fitting +close to my delightful if exhausting tramps with an Enthusiast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II.</h2> + +<h4>A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.</h4> + + +<p>My first sight of the little stranger was one morning when returning +from a long stroll in search of a nest of the red-headed woodpecker. It +was not through the woods I had been, as might be expected. I did not +search the dead limbs or lifeless trees; on the contrary, I followed the +dusty road and examined the telegraph poles, for the woodpecker of these +latter days has departed from the ways of his fathers, deserted the cool +and fragrant woods, and taken up his abode in degenerate places, a +fitting change of residence to follow his change of habit from digging +his prey out of the tree-trunks to catching it on the wing.</p> + +<p>On this special morning I found holes enough, and birds enough, but no +hole that seemed to belong to any particular bird; and as I walked along +home by the railroad, I came upon my little stranger. He was seated +comfortably, as it appeared, on a telegraph wire, so comfortably, +indeed, that he did not care to disturb himself for any stray mortal who +might chance to pass.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>I stopped to look, and hurriedly note his points, fearing every moment +that he would take wing; but not a feather stirred. A king on his throne +could not be more absolutely indifferent to a passer-by than this little +beauty. He was self-possessed as a thrush, and serene as a dove, but he +was not conveniently placed for study, being above my head in strong +sunlight, against a glaring sky. I could see only that his under parts +were beautiful fluffy white dusted with blue-gray, and that he had black +on the wings. He was somewhat smaller than a robin, and held his tail +with the grace of a catbird.</p> + +<p>On several subsequent days I passed that way frequently, sometimes +seeing the bird alone, again with a comrade, but always noting the same +reserved and composed manners, and always so placed that I could not see +his markings. It was not until a week or ten days later that I had a +more satisfactory view.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f036.jpg" width="550" height="523" alt="BABIES IN GRAY—THE SHRIKE" title="" /> +<span class="caption">BABIES IN GRAY—THE SHRIKE</span> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>BABIES IN GRAY.</i></div> + +<p>I was taking my usual afternoon walk, about five o'clock, when, as I +approached a little pond beside the road, up started the unknown from a +brush heap on the edge. He flew across the road to a tree near the +track, and I was about to follow him when my eye fell upon another on +the fence beyond, and on walking slowly toward him I discovered a +second, and then a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> third. Three of the beauties on a fence a little +way apart—there was then a family! I stood and gazed.</p> + +<p>The backs and heads of the birds, as I could then plainly see, were a +little darker shade of the delicate blue-gray, with the same soft, +fluffy look I had noticed on the breast. The wings were black and +somewhat elaborately marked with white. The beak, that tell-tale feature +which reveals the secret of a bird's life, was not long, but thick, and +black as jet, and the dark eye was set in a heavy, black band across the +side of the head. The combination of black and gray was very effective, +and closer acquaintance did not modify my first opinion of the little +stranger; he was a bonny bird with clear, open gaze, graceful in every +movement, and innocent and sweet in life I was sure, and am still, in +spite of—</p> + +<p>But let me tell my story: While I was noting these things I heard the +cries of a bird-baby behind me. The voice was strange to me, and of a +curiously human quality. I turned hastily, and there on the telegraph +pole was the baby in gray, receiving his supper from one of his parents, +and crying over it, as do many feathered little folk—one more of the +mysterious family.</p> + +<p>There were thus five in sight at once, and at least three of them were +infants lately out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> the nest, hardly taught to feed themselves; yet +the most sedate head of the household was no more dignified and grown-up +in manner than was the youngest of them, for when he had cried over his +repast and descended to the fence I could not tell him from Mamma +herself.</p> + +<p>I soon discovered that this was no junketing party; all were on business +bent. They might look at me and they did, although I was not near enough +to disturb them; but each and every one kept at least one eye on the +ground, where were growing beans or some plant about three inches high, +and I'm sure no small creature could stir in that part of the world that +one of those sharp eyes did not light upon it. They were ten or fifteen +feet apart, so that each had his own share of territory to overlook, and +every few moments one flew to the ground, seized something, and returned +at once to his place, ready for another. It was a wire fence, and they +always selected the wires instead of the posts to perch upon. Sitting +and never standing, their attitude expressed the most charming serenity.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>AN UNWELCOME SURPRISE.</i></div> + +<p>While I stood watching, two of the youngsters happened to pounce upon +the same object,—a worm it looked like,—and there was for a moment a +spirited tug of war. Each held on to his end, and resisted with cries +the attempts of his brother to deprive him of it. Doubtless the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> prey, +whatever it was, suffered in this affair, for in a moment they separated +amicably, and each returned to his station on the fence. These three +were babies; their actions betrayed them; for a little later, when one +of the elders flew from the field to a low peach-tree, instantly there +arose the baby-cry "ya-a-a-a!" and those three sedate looking personages +on the wire arose as one bird, and flew to the tree, alighting almost on +the mother, so eager were they to be fed. In a moment she flew to the +fence, where all three followed her. When she escaped from their +importunities she came much nearer to me, doubtless to see if I needed +watching, and I had a closer look than I had succeeded in getting +before, and satisfied myself on a point or two of marking.</p> + +<p>Up to this time my searching into the name and identity of my little +strangers in gray had been in vain. But a direful suspicion was growing +within me. That heavy black line from the eye! The strongly marked +wings! I turned with dread to a family I had not thought of trying—the +shrikes. There were the markings, too true! But that delicate blue-gray +was not "slate color." Still, people see colors differently, and in +every other way the description was perfect. They must be—my beautiful, +graceful, attractive strangers must be—butcher-birds!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dreadful discovery! I must at once know all about them; whether they +deserve the name and the reputation. I flew to my books.</p> + +<p>"The character of the butcher-bird," says Wilson, "is entitled to no +common degree of respect. His courage and intrepidity are beyond every +other bird of his size, and in affection for his young he is surpassed +by no other. He attacks the largest hawk or eagle in their defense with +a resolution truly astonishing, so that all of them respect him;" and, +further, "He is valued in Carolina and Georgia for the destruction of +mice. He sits on the fence and watches the stacks of rice, and darts +upon them, also destroying grasshoppers and crickets."</p> + +<p>So said Wilson, but subsequent writers have said terrible things about +him: that he catches small birds and impales them on thorns; that he +delights in killing more than he can eat. Could these things be true? +Where, then, was the larder of this family? Such a curious and wonderful +place I must see. I resolved to devote myself to discovering the secrets +of this innocent looking family in gray.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A THORNY MONSTER.</i></div> + +<p>The nest where they had first seen the light was in a low spruce-tree +beside a constantly used gate, not more than eight feet from the ground, +and across the road was a tree they much frequented. Next to that, and +overshad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>owed by it, was, as I now discovered, a thorny tree, "honey +locust" it is called. Ominous proximity! I resolved to investigate. +Perhaps I should find the birds' place of storage. I crossed the track +and went to the tree. What a structure it was! A mere framework for +thorns, and a finer array of them it would be hard to find, from the +tiny affair an inch in length, suitable to hold a small grasshopper, to +foot-long spikes, big enough to impale a crow. Not only was every branch +and every twig bristling with them, but so charged was the whole tree +with the "feeling" of thorns, that it actually sent out great clumps of +them from the bare trunk, where there was not a shadow of excuse for +being. They grew in a confused mass, so that at first I thought there +had been a hole which some person had stopped by crowding it full of +those vegetable needles, at all angles, and of all sizes up to the +largest. On one side alone of the trunk, not more than five feet high, +were eight of these eruptions of thorns. Could the most bloodthirsty +shrike desire a more commodious larder?</p> + +<p>I looked carefully, dreading to see evidence of their use in the +traditional way. Outside there, on the telegraph wire, sat one of the +birds, very much at home; it was the height of the season, and the +country was swarming with young birds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> Now, if ever, they should lay up +for the future, and prove their right to the name, or kill to amuse +themselves, if that were their object. But the closest scrutiny failed +to reveal one thorn that was, or, so far as I could see, ever had been, +used for any purpose whatever. There was not another spiny tree in the +vicinity, and I came away relieved.</p> + +<p>One more interview I was happy enough to have with my little gray +friends. Coming leisurely along on my way home from the glen one noon, I +saw two of them sitting on the wire of a fence beside the road. I had +never been so near them, and stopped instantly to have a close look, and +perhaps settle the question whether the black band on the side of the +head ended at the beak, or crossed over the forehead and met its fellow. +I found, at this short range, that the light part of the plumage was +covered with fine but decided wavy bars, which gave it an exquisite +look, and proved the bird to be the great northern, rather than the +loggerhead shrike (I couldn't bear to have my bright beauty called a +loggerhead).</p> + +<p>Very gradually I drew nearer, till I was not more than six feet from +them, and could see them clearly, while they remained perfectly +self-possessed for ten or fifteen minutes that I stood there. So near +was I that I could see the white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> eyelids, and the tiny feet, which +seemed hardly strong enough to hold them on their perch, and explained +their preference for wires to rest on.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FEATHERS OR FUR?</i></div> + +<p>One of the little fellows had his back to me, showing the beautiful +white markings on his wings as they lie closed and folded together. Near +the end of them were white lines making on the black feathers a figure +resembling what is known in needlework as a "crow's-foot," perhaps an +inch in width, and, a little above this, two dainty waved bars met like +a pair of eye-brows. The marking was elegant in the extreme.</p> + +<p>While I looked, the bird nearest me suddenly lost what little interest +he had in my doings, turned his eyes downward, and in a moment dropped +upon a big grasshopper, which he carried in his beak to a wire near the +ground to dispose of. Evidently, however, he was not quite ready to eat, +for he deliberately lifted one foot, took the grasshopper in his claw, +and instantly ejected upon the ground a dark-colored bolus, I should +judge half an inch in diameter, and more than twice as long. Then he +returned to his grasshopper and made short work of it.</p> + +<p>This seemed only to sharpen his appetite, for in a moment he dragged out +from the grass something which startled me. Was it feathers or fur or a +bit of old rag?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>I could soon tell, for he was not in the least ashamed or secretive +about it. He pulled it to where a fallen wire lay very near the ground, +threw it partly over the wire, plainly as a hold to pull against, and +then jerked off a mouthful, which he ate. Again and again did he fling +it over the wire, for it soon slipped off, and it was perfectly plain +that the object was to give him purchase to pull against. Then I could +see small legs on the fragment, and a tail like a mouse's. While I stood +watching this feast in progress, a call came from across the road. It +was not loud, and it was of a quality hard to express, not exactly +harsh, nor yet musical. It was instantly answered by the two on the +fence, and the one I was watching dropped his fresh meat and joined his +parent. Then I examined the remains of his meat, and found that it had +reddish brown fur, a tail not so long but resembling that of a mouse. It +was on the borders of a recently cut field of wheat, and it was +doubtless some species of ground mouse, a common field mouse, I have +reason to believe.</p> + +<p>And that was the last I saw of the pretty gray birds that year.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III.</h2> + +<h4>A THORN-TREE NEST.</h4> + + +<p>June was drawing to a close; hermit thrushes and veeries had turned +their energies to seeking food for hungry young mouths; rose-breasted +grosbeaks and golden orioles, as well as their more humbly clad +fellow-creatures, were passing their days near the ground, in the same +absorbing work; tree-tops were deserted, and singing was nearly over.</p> + +<p>It was well, then, that I should leave my beloved woods, and betake +myself to a barren country road, where, in a lonely thorn-tree, a bird +of another sort than these had set up late housekeeping, a shrike.</p> + +<p>The reputation of this bird of solitary tastes is not attractive. He is +quarrelsome and unfriendly with his kind, and aggressive and malicious +toward others, says the Oracle. His pleasure is to torture and destroy; +no sweet or tender sentiment may cling about his life; in fact, he is +altogether unlovely. So declare the books, and so, with additions and +exaggerations, says nearly every one who takes birds for his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> theme. He +is branded everywhere as the "butcher-bird," and it seems to be the aim +of each writer to discover in his conduct something a little more +sanguinary, a shade more depraved, than any predecessor has done.</p> + +<p>Now, if the truth is what we are seeking, is it not desirable to see for +ourselves, or, as Emerson puts it, "leave others' eyes, and bring your +own"? If one can give to the task patient observation, with a loving +spirit, a desire to interpret faithfully and to see the best instead of +the worst, may he not perchance find that the bird is not the monster he +is pictured? And though the story be not so sensational, is it not +better to clear up than to blacken the reputation of a fellow-creature, +even a very small one in feathers?</p> + +<p>This thing it had long been in my heart to do,—to see with my own eyes +what enormities the beautiful butcher-bird is guilty of. I left hermits +and veeries, I said adieu to sandpipers and grosbeaks, and went to the +village to abide with the shrike family. No more delightful mornings in +the blessed woods; no more long, dreamy twilights filled with the music +of thrushes and the singing brook; no more charming views of the near +Green Mountains, gray in the morning light, glorious rosy purple under +the setting sun; no more solitary com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>munion with helpful and healing +nature. My household gods must now be set up among people, with their +cares and troubles, where the immense tragedy of human life is +constantly forced into notice; and in no place in the wide world is +there more tragedy in every-day life than in peaceful and pious New +England.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE RŌLE OF REPORTER.</i></div> + +<p>Change of residence was not so simple an affair with me as it is with +the birds; would that it were! I had to spend half a day packing, and +another half undoing the work. I had to secure another temporary home, +where certain conveniences to which we human beings are slaves should +not be lacking, and with a family one could endure under the same roof. +All this must needs be settled before I could call on my new neighbors. +Time and patience accomplished everything, although the mercury was +soaring aloft among the nineties all the time; and at last came the +morning when I seated myself before the household I proposed to +interview for the benefit of the readers of our day, who demand (say the +newspaper authorities) facts and details of daily lives that were of old +considered private matters.</p> + +<p>On these lines, therefore, I proceeded to study my shrikes. What I +discovered by watching early and late, by peeping at them before +breakfast and spying upon them after supper,—what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> they eat and +drink, how they behave to one another and their neighbors, what they +have to say or to sing, in fact, their whole story so far as it was +revealed to me,—I shall set down, nothing extenuating. Other observers +may have seen very different things, but that only proves what I am +constantly asserting: that birds are individuals; that because one +shrike does a certain thing is no sign that another will do the same; it +is not safe to judge the species <i>en masse</i>. This, therefore, is the +true chronicle of what I saw of one pair of loggerhead shrikes (<i>Lanius +ludovicianus</i>), in the northern extremity of Vermont, about the first of +July, 1894.</p> + +<p>The discovery of the nest in the thorn-tree was not my own. A friend and +fellow bird-lover, driving one evening up this road, startled a bird +from the nest, and, checking her horse, looked on in amazement while, +one after another, six full-grown shrikes emerged from the tree and flew +away. Pondering this strange circumstance she drove on, and when +returning looked sharply out for the thorn-tree. This time one bird flew +from the nest, which seemed to settle the question of ownership. The +next day and the next this experience was repeated, and then the news +was brought to me in the woods.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A LONELY ROAD.</i></div> + +<p>It was a lonely road, leading to nothing except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> a pasture and a distant +farm or two, and the presence of a member of the human race was almost +as rare as it was in the forest itself. On one side stretched a pasture +with high rail fence; on the other, a meadow guarded by barbed wire. A +traveler over this uninviting way soon left the last house in the +village behind, and then the only human dwellings in sight were some +deserted farm buildings on a hill a mile or more away. Not a tree +offered grateful shade, and not a bush relieved the bare monotony of +this No Thoroughfare.</p> + +<p>But it had its full share of feathered residents. Just beyond the last +house, a wren, bubbling over with joy, always poured out his enchanting +little song as I passed. Under the deep grass of the meadow dwelt +bobolinks and meadow larks; from the pasture rose the silver threadlike +song of the savanna sparrow and the martial note of the kingbird. +Occasionally I had a call from a family of flickers, or golden-wings, +from the woods beyond the pasture; the four young ones naļve and +imperative in their manners, bowing vehemently, with emphatic "peauk" +that seemed to demand the reason of my presence in their world; while +the more experienced elders uttered their low "ka-ka-ka," whether of +warning to the young or of pride in their spirit one could only guess. A +hard-work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>ing oriole papa, with a peremptory youngster in tow, now and +then appeared in the pasture; and swallows, both barn and eave, came in +merry, chattering flocks from their homes at the edge of the village.</p> + +<p>About the middle of the long stretch of road was a solitary maple-tree, +and about thirty feet from it, and just within the pasture fence, the +thorn, and the nest of my hopes. Approaching quietly on that first +morning, I unfolded my camp-chair and sat down in the shade of the +maple. The thorn-tree before me was perhaps fifteen feet high. It +divided near the ground into two branches, which drew apart, bent over, +and became nearly horizontal at their extremities. On one of these main +stems, near the end, where it was not more than an inch and a half in +diameter, with neither cross-branch nor twig to make it secure, was +placed the nest. It was a large structure, at least twice the size of a +robin's nest, made apparently of coarse twigs and roots, with what +looked like bits of turf or moss showing through the sides, and why it +did not fall off in the first strong wind was a mystery. Parallel with +the limb on which it rested, and only a few inches above it, was another +branch, that must, one would think, be seriously in the way of the +coming and going, the feeding and care-taking, inseparable from life in +the nest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE NEST IN VIEW.</i></div> + +<p>From my post of observation, the thorn-tree was silhouetted against the +sky, for it stood on the edge of a slight descent. Every twig and leaf +was distinctly visible, while the openings in the foliage were so +numerous that not a wing could flit by without my seeing it. The nest +itself was partially veiled by a bunch of leaves. What the view might be +from the other side I did not investigate that morning; I preferred to +leave the birds the slight screen afforded by the foliage, for since +there could be no pretense of hiding myself from them, my desire was to +let them fancy themselves hidden from me, and so feel free from +constraint and be natural in their actions. I hoped, by approaching +quietly and unobtrusively, by being careful never to frighten or disturb +them in any way, to convince them that I was harmless, and to induce +them to forget, or at least ignore, my silent presence. And it seemed +possible that I might be gratified, for I had been seated but a few +minutes when a shrike flew up from the ground and entered the nest, and, +I was pleased to see, with no apparent concern about me.</p> + +<p>For the next three hours I took my eyes off the nest only to follow the +movements of the owners thereof; and I learned that sitting had begun, +and that the brooding bird was fed by her mate. He came, always from a +distance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> directly to the nest, alighted on the edge, leaned over and +gave one poke downward, while low yearning or pleading cries reached my +ears. Without lingering an instant he flew to a perch a foot above, +stood there half a minute, and then went to the ground. Not more than +thirty seconds elapsed before he returned to his mate, the cries greeted +him, the mouthful was administered, and he took his leave in exactly the +same way as before. He was a personage of methodical habits. This little +performance of seeking food on the ground and carrying it to his partner +on the nest was repeated five or six times in close succession, and then +he rose higher than his tree and took flight for a distant hill, +looking, as he flew, like a fluttering bit of black-and-white patchwork. +On further acquaintance, I found this to be the regular habit of the +bird: to come to his nest and feed his mate thoroughly, and then to take +himself away for about half an hour, though later he fell to lingering +and watching me.</p> + +<p>Left thus alone and well fed, madam was quiet for some time, perhaps ten +minutes, and then she went out for exercise or for lunch; flying +directly to the ground near the tree, and returning in a few minutes to +her place.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FEEDING HIS MATE.</i></div> + +<p>On one occasion I saw what sort of food the shrike collected. He had +alighted on the wire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> fence, apparently to inquire into my business, +when his eyes fell upon something desirable—from his point of view. +Instantly he dropped to the road, picked up a black object, worm or +beetle, an inch long, and took it at once to his mate. Sometimes he +carried his prey to a post, and beat it a while before presenting it to +her; and one evening, somewhat later than usual, he was found +industriously gleaning food from the hosts of the air, flying up in the +manner of a flycatcher, and to all appearance with perfect success.</p> + +<p>The loggerhead shrike is one of our most beautiful birds, clear +blue-gray above, and snowy white below. His black wings are elegantly +marked with white, and his black tail, when spread like a fan, as he +wheels to alight, showing broad tips and outer feathers of white, is one +of his most striking marks. He is a little smaller than a robin, and his +mate is of the same size, and as finely dressed as he. The resemblance +he is said to bear to the mockingbird I have never been able to see. His +form, his size, his coloring, and his movements are, to my sight, in +every way different from those of the southern bird.</p> + +<p>The manners of the shrike are as fine as one would expect from so +distinguished-looking a personage, dignified, reposeful, and unusually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +silent. I have seen him, once or twice, flirt his half-opened tail and +jerk his wings, but he rarely showed even so much impatience or +restlessness. He sat on the fence and regarded me, or he drove away an +intrusive neighbor, with the same calm and serious air with which he did +everything. I have heard of pranks and fantastic performances, of +strange, uncouth, and absurd cries, and of course it is impossible to +say what vagaries he might have indulged in if he had thought himself +unobserved, but in many hours and days of close study of this bird I saw +nothing of the kind. The only utterance I heard from him, excepting his +song, of which I shall speak presently, was a rattling cry with which he +pursued an intruder, and a soft, coaxing "yeap" when he came to the nest +and found his mate absent.</p> + +<p>One of the most prominent traits of this bird, as we find him depicted +in the books and the popular writings, is his quarrelsome and cruel +disposition; and "brigand," "assassin," "murderer," and "butcher" are +names commonly applied to him.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FRIENDLY RELATIONS.</i></div> + +<p>I watched the shrike several hours daily for weeks, and from the first I +was every moment on the alert for the slightest manifestation of these +characteristics; and what did I find out? First as to his quarrelsome +disposition, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> unfriendliness with his own species. I have already +spoken of the amicable association, in the very nesting-tree, of half a +dozen of the birds, as reported by a trustworthy and experienced +observer. On one occasion, somewhat later, I saw an exhibition of a +similar friendliness among four adult shrikes. They were frolicking +about another thorn-tree in the same pasture, in the most peaceful +manner; and while I looked, one of them picked up a tidbit from the +ground and flew to the nest I was watching, thus proving that the +nesting-bird was one of the group. At least twice afterward, when +silently approaching the nest, I found two other shrikes hopping about +with the one I was studying, on the ground, almost under the tree. On my +appearance the strangers flew, and the nest-owner went up to his mate +with an offering. We do not think of calling the robin or bluebird +particularly quarrelsome, yet fancy one of these birds allowing another +of his species to come to his home-tree! Every close observer of +bird-ways knows that it is apparently the first article in the avian +creed to keep every other bird away from the nest.</p> + +<p>And how did the terrible "brigand" treat his neighbors? The robin, +indeed, he drove away, but meadow larks sang and "sputtered" at their +pleasure, not only beside him on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> fence, but on his own small tree; +goldfinches flew over, singing and calling, and no notice was taken of +them; sparrows hopped about among the branches of the thorn at their +discretion; a chickadee one day made searching examination of nearly +every twig and leaf, going close to and over the nest, where the sitting +bird must have seen him, yet not a peep arose. Sometimes, when madam +left her nest for refreshment, she would sweep by a bird who happened to +be on the tree, thus making him fly, but she never followed or showed +any special interest in him. Whatever other shrikes may be or do, at +least this pair, and the three or four others who visited them, were +amiable with their neighbors, small as well as great.</p> + +<p>If bravery is a virtue,—and why is it not, in feathers as well as in +broadcloth?—the shrike should stand high in our estimation, for he does +not hesitate to attack and make his prey animals which few birds of his +size dare touch; not only mice, but creatures as well armed as gophers +and others.</p> + +<p>I was particularly desirous to hear the song of the shrike. He is not +classed with singing birds, and is not, I think, usually credited with +being musical. But Thoreau speaks of his song, and others mention it. +John Burroughs tells of a shrike singing in his vicinity in winter, "a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +crude broken warble,"—"saluting the sun as a robin might have done." +Winter, indeed, seems to be his chosen time for singing, and an +ornithologist in St. Albans says that in that season he sings by the +hour in the streets of the town.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE SHRIKE'S SONG.</i></div> + +<p>Therefore did I sit unobtrusively on the near side of the thorn-tree, +leaving the birds their screen, to encourage them to sing; and at last I +had my reward. One very hot day I did not reach my place under the maple +till after nine o'clock, and I found the shrike, as I frequently did, on +the fence, on guard. In a few moments, when I had become quiet, he went +to the nest, and sitting there on the edge, hidden from my distinct +view, he condescended to sing, a low, sweet song, truly musical, though +simple in construction, being merely a single clear note followed by a +trill several tones higher. After delivering this attractive little aria +a dozen or more times, he flew out of the tree and over my head, and +sang no more.</p> + +<p>My curiosity about his song being thus gratified, I decided to seek a +better post of observation; for I hoped every day to find that sitting +was over, and the young had appeared. I therefore walked farther up the +road, quite past the tree, and took my seat beside the fence, where I +could see the whole nest perfectly. The birds at once recognized that +all hope of concealment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> was over, and became much more wary. The singer +came less frequently, and was received in silence. Also he took me under +strict surveillance, perching on a dead branch of the maple-tree, and +sitting there half an hour at a time, motionless but wide awake; ready, +no doubt, to defend the nest if I made hostile demonstrations toward it.</p> + +<p>For a long time I had my lonely road to myself, almost the sole +passer-by being a boy who drove the village cows back and forth, and +whom I had taken pains to interest in the safety of the little family. +But such a state of things could not last. One morning, as I sat in my +usual place, I noticed a party of girls starting out with baskets and +pails after berries. They scattered over the meadow, and while I +trembled for meadow lark and bobolink babies, I hoped they would not see +me; but one of them came directly to the thorn-tree. As she approached, +I turned away, as if I had no particular interest in the tree, but, +unfortunately, just as she was passing, the bird flew off the nest. The +girl looked up, and instantly shouted to me, "Oh, here's a bird's-nest!" +"Yes," I replied, knowing that my best policy was to claim it, "that's +the nest I am watching." After a sharp look at the tree she went on; but +I was much disturbed, for I regard a nest discovered almost the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> as +a nest robbed. Would she tell? Should I some day find the nest broken up +or destroyed? Every morning, after that, I took my long, lonely walk +with misgivings, and did not feel easy till I had seen the birds.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>SEARCHING THE THORNS.</i></div> + +<p>One very notorious habit of the shrike I had been especially desirous of +investigating—that of impaling his prey. Judging from what has been +written about him, it must be a common performance, his daily business, +and I confidently expected to see his thorn-tree adorned, from roots to +topmost twig, with grasshoppers and beetles, not to mention small birds +and animals. Early in my visits to him, I looked the tree over +carefully, and, not content with my own eyes, called in the aid of a +friend. Moreover, we together made diligent search in the only other +thorn-tree in the vicinity, one spoken of above. Not a sign could we +discover in either tree of any such use of a thorn, though thorns were +there in abundance.</p> + +<p>Again, one day I saw the bird very busy about the barbed-wire fence, and +remembering to have seen the statement that shrikes in the West, where +thorn-trees are absent, impale their grasshoppers on the barbs, I +thought, "Now I have surely caught you at it!" I did not disturb him, +and he worked at that spot some time. But when he had gone I hastened +over to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> see what beetle or bird he had laid up, when behold, the barbs +were as empty as the thorns. In fact, I was never able to find the +smallest evidence that the bird ever does impale anything, and the St. +Albans ornithologist spoken of adds as his testimony that he has often +examined the haunts of this bird, but has never found anything impaled. +And a correspondent in Vermont writes me that he watched the shrike for +twenty years, on purpose to see this performance, and in all that time +saw but three instances, one being a field mouse, and the other two +English sparrows.</p> + +<p>All this, of course, does not prove that the shrike never impales his +prey, but it does prove that he does not spend all his time at the work; +and while I have no doubt he has the habit, I believe the accounts of it +are very much exaggerated.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the Fourth of July, a cool, and in that remote part of +the world a delightfully quiet day, I felt an unaccountable +disinclination to make my usual visit to the shrikes. Refusing, however, +to yield to that feeling, I forced myself to take the long walk, and +seat myself in my usual place. But I could not feel much surprise when, +after more than an hour's close watching, the birds failed to appear, +and I became convinced that they were gone. Whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> shot by man or boy, +robbed by beast or bird or human, it was plain I had seen the last of +the thorn-tree family; for I knew positively that in that hour no one +had gone to or come from the nest, and I was sure, from my knowledge of +her, that the sitting bird would not remain an hour without eating, even +if her mate had stayed away so long. Of course, I concluded, that girl +had told her discovery, and some boy had heard, and broken up the home. +I looked carefully on every side. The nest seemed undisturbed, but not a +sign of life appeared about it, and sadly enough I folded my chair and +went back to the village.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>"PAUPERIZING" A BIRD.</i></div> + +<p>Six days passed, in which I avoided going up the lonely road, the scene +of my disappointment, but I turned my attention to bird affairs in the +town. One case which interested me greatly was of "pauperizing" a bird. +It was a least flycatcher, and her undoing was her acceptance of nesting +material, which her human friend, the oft-mentioned local bird-lover, +supplied. To secure a unique nest for herself, when the flycatcher +babies should have abandoned it, this wily personage, who was the +accepted providence of half the birds in the vicinity, and on terms of +great familiarity with some of them, threw out narrow strips of cloth of +various colors, to tempt the small nest-builder. At first the wise +little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> madam refused to use the gayer pieces, but being beguiled by the +device of sewing a bright one between two of duller hue, her scruples +were overcome; and after that her fall into total dependence was easy +and complete. She accepted the most brilliant pieces that were offered, +and built her nest therewith.</p> + +<p>But alas, from the moment of yielding to her vanity or her love for +ease, troubles began in the flycatcher family. The robin nesting in an +adjoining tree reproved her by tugging at the gay strings that hung out; +the English sparrow across the way set herself up as a conservator of +morals, and, to teach Madam Chebek modesty becoming her size, tried to +pull the whole to pieces. Then when Chebek, who is no coward, had +succeeded in putting an end to neighborly interference, the nest began +to show a deplorable disinclination to "stay put." Whether the material +could not be properly fastened, or whether the bird was so demoralized +as to shirk ordinary precautions, the fact is, that every breeze shook +the little structure, and four completed nests of this unnatural sort +fell, one after another, in ruins to the ground. Then motherly instinct +came to the rescue: she refused further aid, removed herself to a +distance, built a new nest, after the accredited flycatcher fashion, and +it is supposed brought out her brood safely, if rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> late. So hard it +is in the bird-world, as in the human, to help, and not hurt.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>STRANGE CRIES UP THE ROAD.</i></div> + +<p>More interesting, even, than this flycatcher episode was an adventure +one evening when I walked far out on a road, one side of which was deep +woods, while the other was bordered by pasture and meadows. My object in +going was to hear a white-throated sparrow, who often sang in that +vicinity.</p> + +<p>I had been resting on my camp-stool very quietly for half an hour, and +was just thinking it time to return home, when a strange sort of +clacking cry startled me. At first I thought it was made by a frog with +a bad cold; but it grew louder, and changed in quality, till it became a +whining sound that might be made either by a baby or by some small +animal. I looked very carefully up the road whence the sound seemed to +come, but saw nothing excepting a robin, who, perched on the highest +post of a fence, was looking and listening with great apparent interest, +but without making a sound himself,—a very unusual proceeding on the +part of this bird, who always has a great deal to say about everything.</p> + +<p>The cries increased in volume and frequency, and I started slowly up the +road, uncertain whether I should come upon a young fox or other wild +beast, but determined to solve the mystery. As I drew near, I began to +be con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>scious of a knocking sound in the woods beside the road. It was +like a light tapping on hollow wood, and it regularly followed each cry. +I was at once reassured. It must be a woodpecker, I thought,—they make +some strange noises, and there was a large one, the pileated, said to +inhabit these woods, though I had never been able to see him. I went on +more confidently then, for I must see what woodpecker baby could utter +such cries. As I continued to advance, though I could still see nothing, +I noticed that the tapping grew louder every moment.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a movement at the edge of a thick clump of ferns, and +my eyes fell upon what I thought was, after all, a big toad or frog. It +hopped like one of these reptiles, and as it was growing dusky, feathers +and fur and bare skin looked much alike. But being anxious to know +positively, I went on, and when I reached it I saw that it was a young +bird, nearly as big as a robin just out of the nest. Then I dropped all +impedimenta, and gave myself unreservedly to the catching of that bird. +He fled under the ferns, which were like a thick mat, and I stooped and +parted them, he flying ever ahead till he reached the end and came out +in sight. Then I pounced upon him, and had him in my hands.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A VOCIFEROUS BABY.</i></div> + +<p>Such a shriek as he gave! while he struggled and bit, and proved himself +very savage indeed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> More startling, however, than his protest was a cry +of anguish that answered it from the woods, a heart-rending, terrible +cry, the wail of a mother about to be bereaved. I looked up, and lo! in +plain sight, in her agony forgetting her danger, and begging by every +art in her power, a cuckoo. Her distress went to my heart; I could not +resist her pleading. One instant I held that vociferous cuckoo baby, to +have a good look at him, speaking soothingly to the mother the while, +and then opened my hand, when he half flew, half scrambled, to the other +side of the road, and set up another cry, more like that of his mother. +Seeing her infant at liberty, she slipped back into the woods and +resumed the calls, which sounded so remarkably like tapping, while he +started up the road, answering; and thus I left them.</p> + +<p>Several times after that, I heard from the woods—for</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The cuckoo delights in the cool leafy shadows</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the nest and its treasures are rocked by the breeze"—</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>the same strange calling of a cuckoo mother, a weird, unearthly, +knocking sound, not in the least like the ordinary "kuk! kuk!" of the +bird. I should never have suspected that it was anything but the tap of +an unusually cautious woodpecker, if I had not caught her at it that +night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the sixth evening after I had thought myself bereaved of the shrikes, +I went out for a walk with my friend, and we turned our steps into the +lonely road. As we approached the thorn, what was my surprise to see the +shrike in his old place on the fence, and, after waiting a few minutes, +to see his mate go to the ground for her lunch, as if nothing had +happened!</p> + +<p>Then they had not deserted! But how and why all life about the nest had +been suspended for one hour on the Fourth of July is a puzzle to this +day. However it may have happened, I was delighted to find the birds +safe, and at once resumed my study; going out the next morning as usual, +staying some hours, and again toward night for another visit.</p> + +<p>Now I was sure it must be time for the young to be out, for I knew +positively that the bird had been sitting fourteen days, and twenty-one +days had passed since she was frightened off her nest twice in one day.</p> + +<p>I redoubled my vigilance, but I saw no change in the manners of the pair +till the morning of July 12th. All night there had been a heavy +downpour, and the morning broke dismally, with strong wind and a +drizzling rain. I knew the lonely road would be most unattractive, but +no vagaries of wind or weather could keep me away at this crisis. I +found it all that I had antici<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>pated—and more. The clay soil was cut up +from fence to fence by cows' feet, and whether it presented an unbroken +puddle or a succession of small ones made by the hoof-prints, it was +everywhere so slippery that retaining one's footing was no slight task, +and of course there was no pretense of a sidewalk. Add to this the +difficulty of holding an umbrella against the fierce gusts, and it may +be imagined that my pathway that morning was not "strewn with roses."</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>STUDY UNDER DIFFICULTIES.</i></div> + +<p>In some fashion, however, I did at last reach the thorn-tree, planted my +chair in the least wet spot I could find, and, tucking my garments up +from the ground, sat down. At first I discarded my unmanageable +umbrella, till the raindrops obscuring my opera-glass forced me to open +it again. And all these preliminaries had to be settled before I could +so much as look at the nest.</p> + +<p>Something had happened, as I saw at once; the manners of the birds were +very different from what they had been all these days I had been +studying them. Both of them were at the nest when I looked, but in a +moment one flew, and the other slipped into her old seat, though not so +entirely into it as usual. Heretofore she had been able to hide herself +so completely that it was impossible to tell whether she were there or +not. Even the tail, which in most birds is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> the unconcealable banner +that proclaims to the bird-student that the sitter is at home, even this +unruly member she had been able to hide in some way, but this morning it +remained visible.</p> + +<p>In a minute the shrike returned and fed somebody,—I suppose his mate, +since she did not move aside; and again in another minute he repeated +the operation. So he went on bringing food perhaps a dozen times in +close succession. Then he rested a few minutes, when she who through the +long days of sitting had been so calm and quiet seemed all at once as +restless as any warbler. She rose on the edge of the nest, and uttered +the low, yearning cry I had heard from him, then flew to the ground, +returned, perched on the edge, leaned over, and gave three pokes as if +feeding. Then she flew to another part of the tree, thence to a fence +post, then back again to the edge of the nest. In a moment the uneasy +bird slipped into her old place, but, apparently too restless to stay, +was out again in a few seconds, when she stood up in the nest and began +calling,—a loud but musical two-note call, the second tone a third +higher than the first, and different from anything I had heard from her +before. If it were a call to her mate, he did not at once appear, and +she relieved her feelings by flying to the maple and perching a few +minutes, though so great was the attraction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> at home that she could stay +away but a short time.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>LOVELY, INNOCENT YOUNGLINGS.</i></div> + +<p>Of course I concluded from all this that the young shrikes were out, and +I longed with all my heart to stay and watch the charming process of +changing from the ungainly creatures they were at that moment to the +full-grown and feathered beauties they would be when they appeared on +the tree; to see them getting their education, learning to follow their +parents about, and finally seeking their own food, still keeping +together in a family party, as I had seen them once before, +elsewhere,—lovely, innocent younglings whom surely no one could find it +in his heart to call "butchers" or "assassins." Then, too, I wanted to +see the head of the family, who in the character of spouse had shown +himself so devoted, so above reproach, in the new rōle of father and +teacher, in which I had no doubt he would be equally admirable.</p> + +<p>But dearly as I love birds, there are other ties still dearer, and just +then there came a call that made me leave the pair with their new joy, +pack my trunks, and speed, night and day, half way across the continent, +beyond the Great Divide, to a certain cozy valley in the heart of the +Rocky Mountains.</p> + +<p>Before I left, however, I committed the little family in the thorn-tree +to the care of my friend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> the bird-lover; and a few weeks later there +came over the mountains to me this conclusion to the story, written by +Mrs. Nelly Hart Woodworth, of St. Albans:—</p> + +<p>"I was at the shrikes' nest Thursday last. I sat down on the knoll +beyond the nest, and waited quietly for fifteen minutes. No signs of +life in nest or neighborhood, save the yearning cry of the lark, as it +alighted on the top of the thorn-tree. After I was convinced that, in +some unaccountable manner, the shrikes had been spirited away before +they were half big enough, I changed my place to the other side of the +tree, out of sight from the nest. When I had been there for a long time, +I heard distinctly a low whispering in the nest, and lo! the butcher +babies had become sentient beings, and were talking very softly and +sweetly among themselves. They had evidently miscalculated about my +departure. Then two or three little heads stuck out above the edge, and +the soft stirring of baby wings was apparent. They cuddled and nestled +and turned themselves, and one little butcher hoisted himself upon the +upper side of the nest, stood upright briefly and beat his wings, then +sank into the nest, which was full of life and movement. So much for +that day.</p> + +<p>"Friday one stood upon the edge of the nest, and others looked out, but +no feeding bird came.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>SHAKEN OUT OF THE NEST.</i></div> + +<p>"Saturday I was in fortune, as I met in the vicinity the boy who drives +the village cows. Two heads only were visible over the edge. But the +boy, with a boy's genius for investigation, brought a fence rail, put it +under the branch, and shook them up a little. They only huddled closer. +At my suggestion he gave a more vigorous shake, and a baby climbed from +the nest, a foot or two above, then flew as well as anybody clear lip +into the top of the tree. Such a pretty baby! breast white as snow, +lovely black crescent through the eyes, and the dearest little tail +imaginable, half an inch long, and flirted up and down continually.</p> + +<p>"The other bird—for there were but two—ran up the twigs for two feet, +but quickly returned to the nest, and would not leave it again, though +we could see its wondering eyes look out and peer at us. Both were gone +the next day (twelve days old). And thus endeth the butcher episode."</p> + +<p>Now also must end—for a time—my study of this interesting bird. But I +shall not forget it, and I shall seek occasion to study it again and +again, till I have proved, if I find it true, that the shrike deserves +better of us than the character we have given him; that he is not nearly +"so black as he is painted."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV.</h2> + +<h4>THE WITCHING WREN.</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"There is madness about thee, and joy divine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In that song of thine."</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>The song of the winter wren is something that must be heard to be +appreciated; words can no more describe it than they can paint the sky +at evening, or translate the babble of the mountain brook.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Canst thou copy in verse one chime</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the wood bird's peal and cry?"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>This witching carol, one of nature's most alluring bits of music, fell +upon my ear for the first time one memorable morning in June. It was a +true siren-strain. We forgot, my comrade and I, what we were seeking in +the woods. The junco family, in their snug cave among the roots, so +interesting to us but now, might all fly away; the oven-bird, in the +little hollow beside the path, might finish her lace-lined domicile, and +the shy tanager conclude to occupy the nest on the living arch from +which we had frightened her,—all without our being there to see. For +the moment we cared for but one thing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>—to follow that "wandering +voice," to see that singer.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE DOG BECOMES INTERESTED.</i></div> + +<p>Silently we arose, folded our camp-stools, and started. We wished to +move without sound; but the woods were dry, and every dead stick snapped +with a crack; every fallen leaf rustled with a startling sound; every +squirrel under whose tree we chanced to pass first shrieked, and then +subsided into a sobbing cry or a scolding bark, according as his fur was +gray or red. A procession of elephants could hardly make more noise, or +create more consternation among the residents of the forest, than we +three (counting the dog), when we wished to be silent as shadows. But +the wren sang on. Evidently, he was accustomed to squirrel vagaries, and +snapping twigs did not disturb him. Nearer and nearer sounded the song, +and more and more enraptured we became. We were settling ourselves to +listen and to look for our charmer, when the third member of our party +created a diversion. Wrens had no attraction for him, but he came upon +the scent of something he was interested in, and instantly fell to +pawing the ground and tearing up the obstructing roots with his teeth, +as though he had gone suddenly mad.</p> + +<p>The door through which had doubtless vanished some delectable mouse or +mole was, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> discovered, of a proper size for his small body, but in +less than a minute it was big enough to admit the enormous head of the +dog, who varied his eager tearing up of the soil with burying his head +and shoulders in the hole he had made; smelling and listening a few +seconds, then jerking it out with a great snort, and devoting himself +with fresh vigor to digging. It was a curious contrast to the +indifference with which he usually accompanied us, but it proved that he +had his enthusiasms, if he did not share ours. We could not but be +amused, notwithstanding the delicious trilling notes that drew us grew +fainter and fainter, and we despaired of seeing our songster till the +important affairs of that mouse should be settled. Arguments were of no +avail with the four-footed sportsman, a rival attraction failed to +attract, and commands were thrown away on him in his excited state. We +were forced to go home without the sight we desired.</p> + +<p>We were not the first to be fascinated by this marvelous melody. "Dull +indeed must be the ear that thrills not on hearing it," says Audubon, +and its effect upon him is worth telling. He was traveling through a +swamp, where he had reason to suspect the presence of venomous snakes +and other reptiles. While moving with great circumspection, looking out +for these un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>welcome neighbors, the captivating little aria burst upon +his ear. Instantly snakes were forgotten, his absorbing passion took +full possession, and he crashed recklessly through the briers and +laurels in pursuit. It is pleasant to know, further, that he found not +only the singer, but his nest, which was the first he had ever seen, and +gave him a delight known only to enthusiastic bird-lovers.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FOREST SOUNDS.</i></div> + +<p>The morning after the absurd incident of a mouse-hunt, by the dog who in +his character of protector was our daily companion, we started out +afresh, with ears for nothing but wren songs. Making a wide détour to +avoid the scene of yesterday's excitement, we were soon comfortably +seated near the spot the wren seemed to haunt, and silence fell between +us. That is to say, <i>we</i> were quiet, though nothing is farther from the +truth than our common expression "silent woods." The forest is never +silent. Hushed it may be of man's clamor, and empty as well of his +presence, but it is filled with sounds from its own abundant life; not +so loud, perhaps, and aggressive to the ear as the rumble of Broadway, +but fully as continuous; and if the human wanderer in its delightsome +shades will but bring his own noisy progress to a halt, he will enjoy a +new sensation. There is the breeze that sets all the leaves to +whispering, not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> speak of rougher winds that fill the dim aisles with +a roar like Niagara. There are the falling of dead twigs, the rustle of +leaves under the footsteps of some small shy creature in fur, the +dropping of nuts, and the tapping of woodpeckers. There are the voices +of the wood-dwellers,—not songs alone, but calls and utterances of many +kinds from birds; cries and scolding of squirrels, who have a +<i>répertoire</i> astonishing to those who do not know them; squawks and +squeals of little animals more often heard than seen; and, not least, +the battle-cries of the winged hosts "who come with songs to greet you" +wherever and whenever you may appear.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the moment one of the human race is quiet,—such is our +reputation for unrest,—the birds grow suspicious, and take pains to +announce to all whom it may concern that here is an interloper in +nature. Even if there be present no robin,—vociferous guardian of the +peace,—a meek and gentle flicker mounts the highest tree and cries +"pe-auk! pe-auk!" as loud as he can shout, a squirrel on one side +shrieks at the top of his voice, veeries call anxiously here and there, +while a vireo warbles continuously overhead, and a redstart "trills his +twittering horn."</p> + +<p>When the wren song began, quite near this time, everything else was +forgotten, and after a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> few moments' eager suspense we saw our bird. He +was little and inconspicuous in shades of brown, with tail stuck pertly +up, wren fashion, foraging among the dead leaves and on old logs, +entirely unconscious that he was one of the three distinguished singers +of the wood; none but the hermit thrush and the veery being comparable +to him. Whenever, in the serious business of getting his breakfast, he +reached a particularly inviting twig, or a more than usually nice rest +on a log, he threw up his little head and poured out the marvelous +strain that had taken us captive, then half hopped, half flew down, with +such energy that he "whirred" as he went. We watched his "tricks and +manners," and, what was more, we steeped our souls in his music as long +as we chose, that morning.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FASCINATED BY A WREN.</i></div> + +<p>The lovely long June days were never more fascinating. Every morning we +went into our beloved woods to watch its bird population; to find out +who was building, who had already set up housekeeping; to penetrate +their secrets, and discover their wonderfully hidden nests. Each day we +heard the witching song that never lost its charm for us. One +morning—it was the fifteenth of the month—we were sauntering up one of +the most inviting paths. The dog was ahead, carrying on his strong and +willing neck his mistress's stool, she following closely,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> steadying the +same with her hand, while I, as was my custom, brought up the rear. +Suddenly, as we approached a pile of dead limbs from a fallen tree, my +friend stopped motionless, and as usual the caravan came to instant +halt. Without taking her eyes from the brush heap, she silently pulled +the stool from the dog's neck and sat down upon it. I seated myself +beside her, and the dog stretched himself at our feet.</p> + +<p>"A wren," she whispered briefly, and in a moment I saw it. A mother, no +doubt, for her mouth was full of food, and she was fidgeting about on a +branch, undecided as yet what she should do, with that formidable array +in front of her very door, as it afterward turned out. A wren is a +quick-witted little creature, and she was not long in making up her +mind. She flitted around us, turned our right flank (so to speak), and +vanished behind us.</p> + +<p>We took the hint, changed our front, and, after the moment's confusion, +subsided again, gently waving our maple boughs to terrorize the foe that +was always with us, and keeping sharp watch while we held whispered +consultation as to whether that was the winter wren, and the mate of our +singer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if she has a nest!" said my comrade, to whose home belonged these +woods. "The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> winter wren is not known to nest here. We must find it."</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE EXCITEMENT OF DISCOVERY.</i></div> + +<p>Silence again, while a tanager called his agitated "chip-chur!" in the +tops of the tall beech-trees, a downy woodpecker knocked vigorously at +the door of some ill-fated grub in a maple trunk, and the wren burst +into his maddest melody afar off. We were not to be lured this morning. +We were enjoying the excitement of discoverers. Where a bird is carrying +food must be a nest with birdlings, and nothing could draw us from that.</p> + +<p>We waited. In a few minutes the bird appeared again with her mate. Was +he the singer? Breathless hush on our part, with eyes fixed on the two +restless parents, who were anxious to pass us. In a moment one of them +became aggressive. He—or she—flew to a twig eight or ten feet from us, +jerked himself up in a terrifying way, as though about to annihilate us, +and then bowed violently; not intending a polite salutation, as might be +supposed, but defiance, threat, or insult. We held our ground, refusing +to be frightened away, and at last parental love conquered fear; both of +them flew past us at the same instant, went to one spot under the +upturned roots of a fallen tree, and in a moment departed together.</p> + +<p>My fellow-student hurried eagerly to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> place, dropped upon her knees +on the wet ground, amid rank ferns and weeds, leaned far under the +overhanging roots with their load of black earth, thrust careful fingers +into something, and then rose, flushed and triumphant.</p> + +<p>"Come here," she commanded. "A nest full of babies! Oh, what luck!"</p> + +<p>There it was, sure enough, away back under the heavy roof of earth and +roots, a snug round structure of green moss, little bigger than a +croquet ball. The hole occupied by the roots when the tree stood erect +was now filled with water, and before it waved a small forest of ferns. +It was an ideal situation for a nest; pleasant to look at, and safe—if +anything could be safe—from the small fur-clad gentry who claimed the +wood and all it contained for their own.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The hermit has no finer eye</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For shadowy quietness"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>than had this pair of wise little wrens.</p> + +<p>From the blissful moment of our discovery, whatever interesting +excursion was planned, whatever choice nest to be sought, or charming +family of nestlings to be called upon, our steps first turned of +themselves up the wren path. Every day we saw the birds go in and out, +on household cares intent, and we soon began to look for the exit of the +younglings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>I WAS STARTLED.</i></div> + +<p>During this time of close watching, it happened that for a day or two I +was obliged to make my visit alone. Why is it that solitude in the +depths of the forest has so mysterious an effect on the imagination? One +dreads to make a noise, and though having nothing to fear, he +instinctively steals about as if every tree concealed a foe. The first +morning I sauntered along the lonely paths in silence, admiring for the +hundredth time the trunks of the trees, with their varied decorations of +lichen and their stately moss-grown insteps, and pausing a moment before +the butternut which had divided itself in early youth, and now supported +upon one root three tall and far-spreading trees. I had not heard the +wren; and indeed the birds seemed unusually silent, the squirrels +appeared to be asleep in their nests, and not a leaf was stirring. +Wordsworth's admonition came into my mind:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Move along these shades</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Suddenly something sprang out from under a tree, as I passed, jerked at +my gown, and ran after with noisy footsteps. I started, and quickly +turned to face my assailant, expecting to see a bear at least. I found +instead—a dead branch which had caught in my dress and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> dragging +behind me. I loosened the branch from its hold, and went on. But though +I laughed at the absurdity, I found my nerves a little shaken. Just as I +reached the wren corner a shriek arose, as if I had stepped on a whole +family of birdlings. Again I started, when a saucy squirrel ran out on +the branch of a tree, scolding me in good round terms.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to discourage or tire out a squirrel; his business is +never pressing, and if it were he considers it an important part of his +duties to see that no one interferes with the nests he depends on for +fresh eggs. He is sure to keep up a chatter which puts all the birds of +the neighborhood on their guard; and as I was particularly desirous not +to reveal to him the position of the wrens' nest, I stayed only long +enough to assure myself that the little birds had not flown, and the +parents were attending strictly to domestic affairs.</p> + +<p>The next day I succeeded in reaching the wren quarter without arousing +the ire of the squirrels, and I placed my seat very near the nest to see +if the bird had learned not to fear me. Fixing my eyes on the place she +must enter, I waited, motionless. Some time passed, and though I heard +many bird notes about me, and the wren song itself afar off, there was +no flit of wing nor faintest wren note near me. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> suddenly a shadowy +form passed in directly from the front, stayed an instant, and left in +the same way. It was perfectly silent, not the slightest rustle of a +feather, and it was so near the ground I could not tell whether it flew +or ran; it appeared to glide. Brave little creature! I was heartily +ashamed of annoying her. I moved my seat to a more respectful distance, +and she went in and out as usual.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A BRAVE LITTLE MOTHER.</i></div> + +<p>It was much more satisfactory watching the little mother about her daily +cares than trying to keep track of her mate. He was one of the most +baffling birds I ever tried to spy upon. Often I heard his delightful +song so near that I was sure in a moment I should see him. Then I peered +through the low bushes, without moving so much as an eyelash, expecting +every instant that my eyes would fall upon him, and certain that not a +leaf had rustled nor a twig sprung back, when all at once I heard him on +the other side. He had flitted through the underbrush, not flying much, +but hopping on or very near the ground, without a breath to betray him. +The wren mother could not hide herself so completely from me, there +being one spot on earth she could not desert,—the charming nook that +held her babies; and yet, be as motionless as I might, I could not +deceive her. She never could be convinced that I was a queer-shaped +bush, not even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> when I held a maple bough before my face, and my +garments harmonized perfectly with my surroundings. She always came near +and bowed to me, jerked herself up, and flirted her wings and tail, as +if to say, "I know you. You needn't try to hide." When I went too near, +as on the occasion spoken of, while she was much more wary she was not +afraid, and I had no compunctions about studying her quaint ways.</p> + +<p>We were exceedingly desirous of seeing that family start out in life, +and we did, in a way that startled us as much as it must have surprised +them. "I wonder if they're gone," was our anxious thought every morning +as we approached; and one day, not seeing either parent, we feared they +had made their début without our assistance, in the magical morning +hours when so many things take place in the bird-world.</p> + +<p>"I mean to see if they are still there," said my comrade, creeping up to +the mass of roots, leaning far under, and carefully thrusting one finger +into the nest.</p> + +<p>A dynamite bomb could not have been more effective, nor more shocking to +us, for lo! in sudden panic five baby wrens took flight in five +different directions. The cause of the disturbance rose, with a look of +discomfiture on her face, as if she had been caught robbing a nest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> She +seemed so dismayed that I laughed, while those wrenlings made the air +fairly hum about her head.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>"ASSISTED" OUT OF THE NEST.</i></div> + +<p>That they were ready to fly, and only waiting for "the Discourager of +Hesitancy" to start them, was plain, for every one used his little wings +manfully,—perhaps I should say wren-fully,—and flew from fifteen to +twenty feet before he came down. In less than a minute the air was +filled with wren-baby chirps, and we seated ourselves to await the +mother's return and witness the next act in the wren drama. The mother +took it philosophically, recognizing the chirps, and locating them with +an ease and precision that aroused envy in us bird-lovers, to whom +young-bird calls seem to come from every direction at once. She +immediately began to feed, and to collect them into a little flock. With +her help we also found them, and watched them a long time: their pretty +baby ways, their eager interest in the big world, their drawing together +as they heard one another's voices, and their cozy cuddling up together +on a log.</p> + +<p>Feeling that we had made disturbance enough for one day, we finally went +home; but the next day, and several days thereafter, we hunted up the +little family as it wandered here and there in the woods, noting the +putting on of pert wren ways, and the growth of confidence and +helpful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>ness. We identified them fully as the family of our beautiful +singer, for we saw him feed them, then mount a projecting root and sing +his perfect rhapsody, not fifteen feet from us.</p> + +<p>I must explain the name I have used, "the Discourager of Hesitancy." It +is the invention of Mr. Frank Stockton, as every one knows, but I +applied it to my fellow-student because of her conduct in the case of +the wrens; and a day or two later she proved her right to it by her +treatment of a chipping-sparrow family near the house. She took hold of +the tip end of a branch and drew it down to look at the nest full of +young chippies. "They're about ready to fly," she remarked calmly; and +at that instant the branch was released, sprang up, and four young birds +were suddenly tossed out upon the world. They sailed through the air, +too much surprised to use their wings, and dropped back into the tree, +which fortunately was a thick evergreen. The "Discourager's" face +displayed a mixture of horror and shame that was very droll. She <i>said</i> +the twig broke, but in the light of her behavior to the wrens, and her +avowed pleasure in stirring birds up to see what they would do, I must +say I have my suspicions, especially when I remember that that was the +second family whose minds she had made up for them that week.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 337px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f086.jpg" width="337" height="550" alt="CUDDLED UP TOGETHER ON A LOG—THE WINTER WREN" title="" /> +<span class="caption">CUDDLED UP TOGETHER ON A LOG—THE WINTER WREN</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE WOODS EMPTY.</i></div> + +<p>After about ten days of watching the wren family, we lost their lively +chirpings, the witching song ceased, the place seemed empty of wren +life, and our charming acquaintance with them a thing to be remembered +only. At least so we sadly thought, till nearly the end of July, when, +on sauntering through the old paths for almost the last time (for me), +we heard once more the familiar music, as full, as fresh, as bewitching, +as in the spring. We sought the singer, eager to see as well as hear. +After a tramp over underbrush and through a swamp, we saw him,—the same +delightful bird, so far as we could tell; certainly he had sung the +exact song that charmed us in early June. He had probably trained and +started out in life his five babies, and now had time as well as +inclination to sing again.</p> + +<p>During the three days that were left of my stay I heard the enchanting +voice every time I went into the woods,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Chaunting his low impassioned vesper-hymn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clear as the silver treble of a stream."</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V.</h2> + +<h4>WHIMSICAL WAYS IN BIRD-LAND.</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O irritant, iterant, maddening bird!"</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>One lovely evening in May, I was walking down a quiet road, looking, as +usual, for birds, when all at once there burst upon the sweet silence a +loud alarm. "Chack! chack! chack! too! too! t-t-t! quawk! quawk!" at the +top of somebody's loud resonant voice, as if the whole bird-world had +suddenly gone mad. I looked about, expecting to see a general rush to +the spot; but, to my surprise, no one seemed to notice it. A catbird on +the fence went on with his bewitching song, and a wood thrush in the +shrubbery dropped not a note of his heavenly melody.</p> + +<p>"They have heard it before; it must be a chat," I said; and lo! on the +top twig of a tall tree, brilliant in the setting sun, stood the singer. +Never before had I seen one of the family show himself freely; and while +I gazed he proceeded to exhibit another phase of chat manners, new to +me,—wing antics, of which I had read. He flew out toward another +tree-top, going very slowly, with his legs hanging awkwardly straight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +down. At every beat of the wings he threw them up over his back till +they seemed to meet, jerked his expressive tail downward, and uttered a +harsh "chack," almost pausing as he did so. "Not only a chat, but a +character," was my verdict, as I turned back from my stroll.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ECCENTRIC BIRD.</i></div> + +<p>For several years I had been trying to know the most eccentric bird in +North America,—the yellow-breasted chat. Two or three times I had been +able to study him a little, but never with satisfaction, and I was +charmed to discover one of his kind so near the pleasant old family +mansion in which I had established myself for the summer. This house, +which had been grand in its day, but, like the whole place, was now +tottering with age, was an ideal spot for a bird-lover, being +delightfully neglected and gone to seed. Berry patches run wild offered +fascinating sites for nests; moss-covered apple-trees supplied dead +branches for perching; great elms and chestnuts, pines and poplars, +scattered over the grounds, untrimmed and untrained, presented something +to suit all tastes; and above all, there existed no nice care-taker to +disturb the paradise into which Mother Nature had turned it for her +darlings.</p> + +<p>It was a month later than this before I discovered where the chat and +his mate, the image of himself, had taken up their abode for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +season, and then I was drawn by his calls to another old tangle of +blackberry bramble at the upper edge of the orchard. "Quoik!" he began, +very low, and then quickly added, "Whe-up! ch'k! ch'k! toot! toot! too! +t-t-t-t-t!" concluding with a very good imitation of a watchman's +rattle. I hastened toward the spot, and was again treated to that most +absurd wing performance, followed by an exhibition of himself in plain +sight, and then a circling around my head, till, tired of pranks or +satisfied with his survey, he dropped out of sight in the bushes.</p> + +<p>Here, I said to myself, is a chat of an unfamiliar sort; just as +eccentric as any of his race, and not at all averse to being seen; wary, +but not shy; and at once I was eager to know him, for the great and +undying charm of bird study lies in the individuality of these lovely +fellow-creatures, and the study of each one is the study of a unique +personality, with characteristics, habits, and a song belonging +exclusively to itself. Not even in externals are birds counter-parts of +one another. Close acquaintance with one differentiates him decidedly +from all his fellows; should his plumage resemble that of his +brethren,—which it rarely does,—his manners, expressions, attitudes, +and specific "ways" are peculiarly his own.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A BLACKBERRY TANGLE.</i></div> + +<p>The blackberry patch pointed out by the chat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> occupied the whole length +of a steep little slope between a meadow and the orchard, and at the +lower edge rested against a fence in the last stages of decrepitude. +During many years of neglect it had almost returned to a state of +wildness. Long, briery runners had bound the whole into an impenetrable +mass, forbidding alike to man and beast, and neighboring trees had +sprinkled it with a promising crop of seedlings; or, as Lowell pictures +it,—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The tangled blackberry, crossed and recrossed, weaves</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A prickly network of ensanguined leaves."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>As if planned for the use of birds, at one end stood a delectable +watch-tower in the shape of a great elm, and at the other a cluster of +smaller trees,—apple, ash, and maple. These advantages had not escaped +the keen eyes of our clever little brothers, and it was a centre of busy +life during the nesting season.</p> + +<p>The first time I attempted to find the chat's nest, the bird himself +accompanied me up and down the borders of this well-fortified blackberry +thicket, mocking at me, and uttering his characteristic call, a sort of +mew, different from that of the catbird or the cat, at the same time +carefully keeping his precious body entirely screened by the foliage. +Well he knew that no clumsy, garmented human creature however +inquisitive, could penetrate his thorny jun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>gle, and doubtless the +remarks so glibly poured out were sarcastic or exultant over my failure; +for though I walked the whole length, and at every step peered into the +bushes, no nest could I discover.</p> + +<p>Somewhat later I made the acquaintance of the domestic partner of the +chat family. She was less talkative than her spouse, as are most +feathered dames—a wise arrangement in the bird-world, for what would +become of the nest and nestlings, if the home-keepers had as much to say +as their mates? She sat calmly on the fence, as I passed, or dressed her +plumage on the branch of a tree, uttering no sound except, rarely, the +common mewing call. She was a wise little thing, too. When I caught her +carrying a locust, and at once concluded she had young to feed, as +quickly as if she had read my thoughts she let her prey drop, looking at +me, as who should say, "You see I am not carrying food." But though I +admired her quick wit and respected her motive, I did not believe the +little mother, and despite the attractiveness of the head of the +household I kept close watch upon her, hoping to track her home. I soon +observed that she always rose from the tangle at one spot near the elm; +but vainly did I creep through what once might have been a path between +the blackberries, though I did have the satisfaction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> of seeing the +singer uneasy, and of feeling sure that, as the children say, I was +"very warm."</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A CUNNING DAME.</i></div> + +<p>Day after day, in fair weather or foul, in cold or heat, I took my way +down the lane, and seated myself as comfortably as circumstances would +admit, to spy upon the brown-and-gold family; and day after day I was +watched in turn,—sometimes by the singer, restlessly flying from tree +to tree, peering down to study me from all sides, and amusing me with +all his varied eccentricities of movement and song, if one may thus name +his vocal performances. Occasionally madam condescended to entertain, +or, what is more probable, tried to perplex me by her tactics. She +scorned the transparent device of drawing me away from the dangerous +vicinity by pretending to be hurt, or by grotesque exhibitions. Her plan +was far more cunning than these: it was to point out to the eager seeker +after forbidden knowledge, convenient places where the nest might +be—but certainly was not,—and so to bewilder the spy, by many hints, +that she would not realize it when the real passage to the waiting +nestlings was made. The wise little matron would alight on the fence and +look anxiously down, seemingly about to drop into the nest; then, as if +she really could not make up her mind to do so while I looked on, fly to +a blackberry spray and do it all over again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> In a moment she would +repeat the performance from an elm sapling, and again turn anxious and +lingering glances in still another direction. Then, as if now she surely +must go home, she would slip in among the bushes, apparently trying to +keep out of sight. At last, having thoroughly mystified me, and confused +my ideas past clearing up, with a dozen or more hints, she would fly +over the small elm and disappear, in a different direction from any one +of the places she had with such pretended reluctance pointed out. Nor +was the nest to be found by following any of her hints.</p> + +<p>One day, when the beguiling little dame had exasperated me beyond +endurance, I suddenly resolved to track her to the nest, if it took the +whole day. So when she flung herself, in her usual way, over the small +elm, I instantly followed, in my humbler fashion. Under the fence I +crept, through the patched-up opening the cows had broken through, and +up the path they had attempted to make. Now I fully appreciated the +wisdom of the bird in the choice of a nesting-site. The very blackberry +bushes appeared to league themselves together for her protection, +stretching long, detaining arms, and clutching my garments in all sorts +of unexpected and impossible ways; and while I carefully disengaged one, +half a dozen others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> snatched at me in new quarters, till, in despair, I +jerked away, leaving a portion of my gown in their grasp. Thus fighting +my way, inch by inch, I progressed slowly, until the chat's becoming +silent encouraged me to fling prudence to the winds, and pull aside +every bush at the risk of tearing the flesh off my hands on the briers.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A NEST AT LAST!</i></div> + +<p>At last a nest! My heart beat high. I struggled nearer, cautiously, not +to alarm the owner; for though I must see the nest, I had no desire to +disturb it. I parted the vines and looked in. Empty, and plainly a year +old!</p> + +<p>Forgetting the brambles in my disappointment, I turned hastily away, +when the bush, as if in revenge for my discovery of its secret, seized +my garments in a dozen places; and suffering in gown and temper, I tore +myself away from the birds' too zealous guardians and wandered up the +lane.</p> + +<p>The lane was an enticing spot, with young blackberry runners stretching +out tender green bloom toward whom they might reach, and clematis +rioting over and binding together in flowery chains all the shrubs and +weeds and young trees. What happiness to dwell in the grounds of the +"shiftless" farmer! Since tidiness, with most cultivators, means the +destruction of all natural beauty, and especially the cutting down of +everything that interferes with the prosperity of cab<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>bages and +potatoes, blessed is untidiness to the lover of Nature. So long as I +study birds I shall carefully seek out the farmer who has lost his +energy, and allows Nature her own inimitable way in his fields and +lanes. The fascinations of that neglected corner cannot be put into +words. The whole railroad embankment which bordered it on one side, +stretching far above my head, was a mad and joyous tangle of wild-grape +vines. In the shade of a cluster of slender trees was a spot enriched by +springs, where flourished the greenest of ferns, sprinkled with +Jack-in-the-pulpits and forget-me-nots. This was the delight of my +heart, and my consolation for the trials connected with chat affairs.</p> + +<p>Alas that the usual fate of Nature's divine work should overtake it; +that into a "shiftless" head should come the thought that railroad ties +and fallen trees make good firewood, and without too much trouble can be +dragged out by horses! As a preliminary calamity, half-starved cows were +turned in to nibble the grass, and incidentally to trample and crush +flowers and ferns into one ghastly ruin. And at the same moment, as if +inspired by the same spirit of destruction, some idle railroad "hand," +with a scythe, laid low the whole bank of grapevines. Ruthless was the +ruin, and wrecked beyond repair the spot, after man's desolating hand +passed over it; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> scene of violence, of dead and dying scattered over +the trampled and torn-up sod; "murder most foul" in the eyes of a +Nature-lover. I could not bear to look upon it. I shunned it, lest I +should hate my fellow-man, who can, unnecessarily and in pure +wantonness, destroy in one hour what he cannot replace in a lifetime.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A TRAGEDY IN THE LANE.</i></div> + +<p>Nor was that the full measure of sufferings inflicted on the lane—and +me. That beautiful green passageway happened to be a short cut from the +meadow, and horse-rake and hay-wagon made the ravage complete. The one +crushed and dragged out every sweet-growing thing spared by the previous +devastators, and the other defiled with wisps of dead grass every branch +that reached over its grateful shade. It was pitiful, as much for the +exhibition thus made of a man's insensible and sordid existence, as for +the laceration of my feelings and the actual ruin wrought.</p> + +<p>A pleasanter theme is the love-making in which I chanced to catch the +beautiful but bewildering pair in the blackberry bushes. Madam, hopping +about an old apple-tree, was apparently not in the least interested in +her lover, who followed after, in comical fashion, with ludicrous and +truly chat-like antics, every feather raised, crouching, with head +turned this way and that, and neck stretched out, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> changing his +position at every hop with the most dramatic action. If modern theories +are true, and bird eccentricities of dress and behavior are assumed to +please and win the mate, what must we think of the taste of our demure +little sisters in feathers?</p> + +<p>Did I ever assert that the chat is shy? Then am I properly punished for +not appreciating his individuality, by having to admit that this pair +possessed not a trace of the quality. The singer seemed to be always on +exhibition; and as for his spouse, though she performed no evolutions, +she came boldly into sight, postured in the most approved Delsartian +style, uttered a harsh purr or jerked out a "mew," with a sidewise fling +of her head which showed the inside of her mouth to be black,—all for +my benefit, and without the slightest embarrassment. She made it obvious +to the dullest understanding, that while she did not like spies, nor +approve of human curiosity in neighborhood matters, she was not in the +least afraid.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 340px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f098.jpg" width="340" height="550" alt="LOVE-MAKING—THE YELLOW-BREASTED CHAT" title="" /> +<span class="caption">LOVE-MAKING—THE YELLOW-BREASTED CHAT</span> +</div> + +<p>As the days passed on, a change crept over the chat family; they became +more retiring. In my daily walk they were not so easily found; indeed, +sometimes they were not to be seen at all. When I did discover them, +they seemed very much engaged in private affairs, with no time for +displays of any sort. No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> more droll performances on the tree-top, no +more misleading antics in the blackberries; the days of frolic were +over, the sober duties of life claimed all their energies, and they went +about silently and stealthily. Of course I was sure something had +happened to induce this change,—no doubt nestlings,—and a great and +absorbing determination grew in my mind to find that nest, if I suffered +in body and estate from every bush in the patch.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>PERSEVERANCE REWARDED.</i></div> + +<p>Let the story of my encounter be veiled in oblivion. Suffice it to say +that perseverance under such difficulties deserved, and met, reward. In +due time I saw the bird flit away, and my eyes fell upon the nest. No +birds, but four pearls of promise within.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Think on the speed, and the strength, and the glory,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wings to be, and the joyous life,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shut in those exquisite secrets, she brooded."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>I looked, but did not touch; and I departed content. A few days later I +made another call. Again I flushed the mother from the nest, and this +time looked upon a brown mass of wriggling baby chats. Meanwhile, since +life had become so serious, the chat sobered down into the dignified +head of a family, and joined his mate in hard work from morning till +night.</p> + +<p>But summer days were passing. Dandelion ghosts lined the paths, wild +roses dropped their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> rosy pink and appeared in sombre green, and meadow +lilies peeped out from every fence corner. A few days after my grand +discovery, I went one evening to the blackberry tangle, and was greeted +by gleeful shouts and calls from the bird of late so silent. There he +was, his old self, his recent reserve all gone. My heart fell; I +suspected, and in a moment I knew the reason. The nest was empty. Where, +then, could be those youngsters, less than a week old, who four days +before were blind and bare of feathers? They could not have flown; they +must have been hurried out of the nest as soon as they could stand. +Could it be because I knew their secret? I felt myself a monster, and I +tried to make amends by hunting them up and replacing them. But the +canny parents, as usual, outwitted me. Not only had they removed their +infants, but they had hidden them so securely that I could not find +them, and I was sure, from their movements, that they were not bereaved.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE TOO CLEVER CHAT.</i></div> + +<p>I began my search by trying to follow the wily singer, who appeared to +understand, and regard it as a joke. First he led me up the lane, then I +had to follow down the lane; the next minute he shouted from the +blackberry patch, and I had to go around the wall to reach him. Alas, +the race between wings and feet is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> hopeless! I abandoned that plan, and +resolved to go to a grove not heretofore invaded, being absolutely +impenetrable from undergrowth. My way led across a cornfield, over stone +walls, through thickets and bushes everywhere. Many other birds I +startled, and at last came a chat's "mew" from a wild jungle of ailantus +and brambles, which nothing less effective than an axe could pass +through. But on I went around the edge, the chat's call accompanying me, +and at the point where it sounded loudest I dropped to a humble +position, hoping that eyes might enter further than feet. Nothing to be +seen or heard but a flit of wings. The singer tried to lead me away, but +I was serious and not to be coaxed, and all his manœuvres failed. I +seated myself on the ground, for now I heard low, soft baby calls, and +determined to stay there till the crack of doom, or till I had solved +the mystery of those calls.</p> + +<p>But I did not stay so long, and I did not see the babies. An hour or two +of watching weakened my determination, and slowly and sadly I wended my +way homeward; admiring, while I execrated, the too, too clever tactics +of the chat. But I did make one discovery,—that a sound which had +puzzled me, like the distant blow of an axe against a tree, must be +added to the <i>répertoire</i> of the chat mother. I saw her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> utter it, and +saw the strange movement of the throat in doing so. The sound seemed to +come up in bubbles, which distended her throat on the outside exactly as +if they had been beads as big as shoe buttons.</p> + +<p>I was not to be wholly disappointed. Fate had one crumb of consolation +for me, for I saw at last a chat baby. He was a quiet, well-behaved +little fellow, with streaks on throat and breast, and dull yellow +underparts. His manners were subdued, and gave no hint of the bumptious +acrobat he might live to be.</p> + +<p>While the vagaries of chat life had been drawing me down toward the +lane, the feathered world on the other side of the house had not been +idle; and glad now to avoid the ruined lane and the deserted berry +patch, I turned my attention to a bird drama nearer home, the story of +which must have a chapter to itself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI.</h2> + +<h4>THE "BIRD OF THE MUSICAL WING."</h4> + + +<p>Mr. Bradford Torrey has started an inquiry into the conduct of the +ruby-throated hummingbird, who is said, contrary to the habits of the +feathered world in general, to absent himself from his family during the +time that his mate is brooding and rearing the young. The question of +interest to settle is his motive in so doing. Does he consider his +brilliant ruby dangerous to the safety of the nest, and so deny himself +the pleasure as well as the pain of family life? Does he selfishly +desert outright, and return to bachelor ways, when his mate settles +herself to her domestic duties? Or does the pugnacious little creature +herself decline not only his advice and counsel, but even his presence?</p> + +<p>This problem in the life of the bird has lent new interest to its study, +and I was greatly pleased, last summer, when the bursting into bloom of +a trumpet creeper, which clad with beauty the branches of an old +locust-tree, attracted to the door of my temporary home this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Rare little bird of the bower,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bird of the musical wing."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>No sooner did the great red trumpets begin to open than their winged +admirers appeared, and the special object of my interest—whether by +right of discovery or by force of will I could not determine—asserted +her claim to the vine and its vicinity, and at once proceeded to evict +every pretender to any share of the treasure. Nor was it a difficult +task; for though the smallest of our birds, the ruby-throat is perhaps +the most spirited. No bird, not even the mighty eagle, standard-bearer +of the republic, is too big for this midget to attack, and none fails to +retire before his rapier-like beak. Madam of the vine lacked none of the +courage and self-assertion of her race, and a few lively skirmishes +convinced the neighbors, with one exception, that this particular crop +of blossoms was preėmpted and no trespassing allowed. That matter +happily arranged, she settled down in peace to enjoy her estate, and I +followed her example.</p> + +<p>July was nearly half gone when blossoms began to unclose on the vine and +my lady took possession. The world about the house and orchard was full +of melody, for goldfinches were just celebrating their nuptials, and +birds have to furnish their own wedding music. Though a march may +express the pomp and ceremony of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> human marriage, a rhapsody is more in +harmony with joyous bird unions, and the air rang with their raptures. +The marriage hymn of the hummingbird—if any there were—was not for +human ears; indeed, most of the life, certainly all of the wedded life +of this bird, is shrouded in mystery, perhaps never to be unraveled till +we understand bird language, and can subject him to an "interview."</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A TALKATIVE HUMMINGBIRD.</i></div> + +<p>The first thing that surprised me in my little neighbor was her +volubility, for I had never found her kin talkative. She made remarks to +herself, doubtless both witty and wise, but sounding to her dull-eared +hearers, it must be confessed, like squeaky twitters; and somewhat +later, when she recognized me as an admirer, as I fully believe she did, +she even addressed some conversation to me, going out of her way to fly +over my head as she did so.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more dainty than her way of exploring the flowers on +her vine. Poising herself on wing before a blossom, she first gazed +earnestly into its rosy depths, to judge of its quality,—or possibly of +its tenants; for it was not nectar alone that she sought. If it pleased +her, she dashed upon it, seized the lower rim with her tiny claws, and +folded her wings. Then drawing her head far back, she thrust her beak, +her head, and sometimes her whole body into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> the flower tube, her plump +little form completely filling it; and there she hung motionless for a +few seconds, while I struggled with the temptation to inclose blossom +and bird in my hand. If the flower chanced to be an old one, her +roughness sometimes detached it, when she hastily backed out, protesting +indignantly, and looking over to see it fall.</p> + +<p>Atom though the hummer was, hardly more than a pinch of feathers, she +was a decided character, with notions and ways of her own. One of her +fancies was to open the honey-pots for herself. When she found a bud +beginning to unclose, a lobe or two unfolded, she at once took it in +hand and vigorously proceeded to aid the process with her needle-like +beak, and the instant it was accomplished rushed in to secure her spoils +in their first freshness. She never appeared to have patience to wait +for anything, and sometimes even tried to hurry up dilatory buds. She +did succeed, as such vehemence must, in breaking in the back way, as it +were, through a hole in the corolla tube, and rifling the bud before it +had a chance to become a blossom. I could not decide positively whether +she pierced the tubes, or availed herself of the labors of an oriole I +had seen splitting them by inserting his beak and then opening it wide +to enlarge the hole.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A YOUTHFUL INTRUDER.</i></div> + +<p>One quality that my little friend most woefully lacked was repose. Not +only were her motions jerky and exasperating in the extreme, but during +my whole acquaintance with her I never saw her for a moment absolutely +still. On the rare occasions when her body was at rest, her head turned +from side to side as though moved by machinery, like the mandarin dolls +of the toy-shops, and I had doubts whether she ever slept. I was really +concerned about her. Nervous prostration seemed the only thing she could +look forward to; and later I found that Bradford Torrey had suffered +similar anxiety about one of her kind, as related in his charming story, +"A Widow and Twins."</p> + +<p>There was one exception, as I said, to the complete success of the +little lady in green, in establishing her claim to the vine. The +individual who refused to be convinced interested me greatly. He looked +a guileless and innocent youth; his tender age being indicated by a +purer white on the breast and a not fully grown tail. Moreover, he was +not so deft in movement as the experienced matron he defied; he was +almost clumsy, in fact, having some difficulty in manœuvring his +unwieldy beak and getting his head into the tube, and being much +disconcerted by the swaying of the blossoms in the breeze. Youth and +innocence were shown, too, in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> manner of the little stranger toward +my lady. He approached her in a confiding way, as if expecting a +welcome, and was plainly astonished at being attacked instead. Indeed, +he apparently could not believe his repulse was serious, for he soon +returned in the most friendly spirit, and utterly refused to be driven +away.</p> + +<p>After making myself well acquainted with the manners and ways of Madam +Ruby-throat, and noting that she always took her departure in exactly +the same direction and at quite regular intervals, I began to suspect +that she had important business somewhere; probably a nest, possibly a +pair of twin babies. Should I undertake the hopeless task of seeking +that tiny lichen-covered cradle, so nearly resembling a thousand knots +and other protuberances that one might as easily find the proverbial +needle in a hay-stack, or should I turn my attention to other inviting +quarters on the place? While I hesitated, balancing the attractions, +madam herself chanced to give me a hint. One morning, as I was watching +her steady flight across the lawn, I caught a decided upward swerve of +the gleaming line, and instantly resolved to take the hint, if such it +were. I went quietly to a pear-tree on her course, and waited for the +next point, if she chose to give it. She did; she was most +obliging,—may I venture to say friendly?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> Almost immediately she +passed me, and alighted on one of a row of tall trees that lined the +road. There she hovered for a moment, giving sharp digs at one spot, as +though detaching something, and then flew straight along the line to an +immense silver poplar.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>SHE SHOWED ME THE NEST.</i></div> + +<p>Here at last the bird settled, and a wild hope sprang up in my heart. +Stealing nearer to the tree without taking my eyes from the spot; +ignoring the danger of pitfalls in my path, of holes to fall into and +rocks to fall over, of briers to scratch and snakes to bite, I drew as +near as I dared, and then cautiously raised my glass to my eyes, and +behold! the nest with my lady upon it! The thrill of that moment none +but a fellow bird-lover can understand. What now was the most beguiling +of chats; what the danger of dislocating my neck; what the dread of +neighborhood wonder; what the annoyance of mosquitoes, or dogs, or small +boys, or loose cattle, or anything? There was the nest. (I am obliged to +admit, parenthetically, that nearly all these calamities befell me +during my devotion to that nest, but I never faltered in my attentions, +and I never regretted.)</p> + +<p>At the moment of discovery, however, I was too excited to watch. First +carefully locating the tiny object by means of a dead branch,—for I +knew I should have to seek it again if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> lost it then, and the luck of +finding it so easily could not fall to me twice,—I rushed to the house +to share my enthusiasm with a sympathizer.</p> + +<p>My lady ruby-throat was a canny bird; she had selected her position with +judgment. The silver poplar of her choice was covered with knobs so +exactly copied by the nest that no one would have suspected it of being +anything different. It was on a dead branch, so that foliage could not +trouble her, while leafy twigs grew near enough for protection. No large +limb afforded rest for a human foe, and it was at the neck-breaking +height of twenty feet from the ground. Neck-breaking indeed I found it, +after a trial of twenty minutes' duration, which, judging from my +sensations, might have been a century.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f110.jpg" width="342" height="550" alt="THE NEST WITH MY LADY UPON IT—RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE NEST WITH MY LADY UPON IT—RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD</span> +</div> + +<p>But whether my head ever recovered its natural pose or not, I was happy; +for I saw the hummingbird shaping her snug domicile to her tidy form, +turning around and around in it, pressing with breast and bend of the +wing, as I was certain, from the similarity of her attitude and motions +to those of a robin I had closely watched at the same work. During the +time I watched her she made ten trips between the poplar and the vine, +and at every visit worked at shaping the nest and adjusting the +outside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> material. She did not care for my distant and inoffensive +presence on the earth below, and she probably did not suspect the power +of my glass to spy upon her secrets, for she showed no discomfiture at +my frequent visits. Indeed, she took pains to let me know that she had +her eye upon me, for twice when she left the nest she swerved from her +course to swoop down over my head, squeaking most volubly as she passed.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A CHARMING SPOT.</i></div> + +<p>While sitting at my post of observation, my neck sometimes refused to +retain its unnatural position a moment longer, and then I refreshed +myself with other objects around; for after some search I had found a +charming place for study. It was beside a rocky ledge which ran through +the middle of a bit of meadow-land, and happily defied being cultivated, +although it supported a flourishing crop of wildings,—scattering elm, +oak, and pine trees, with sumac, goldenrod, and other sweet things to +fill up the tangle. Under a low-spreading tree I placed my seat: at my +back the screening rocks, in front a strip of meadow waiting for the +mower. Along the side where I entered ran a stone wall, but before me +was a stretch of delightfully dilapidated old board and pole fence. It +had been reinforced and made available for keeping out undesirables by +barbed wire, but at my distance that was inconspicuous and did not +disturb me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> The fence had never been painted, the wind and weather of +many years had toned it down to the hue of a tree-trunk, and it was so +thoroughly decorated with lichens that it had come to look almost like a +bit of nature's work,—if nature could have made anything so ugly. I +believe the birds regarded it as a special arrangement for their +benefit. Certainly they used it freely.</p> + +<p>But beyond the fence was a genuine bit of nature's handiwork in which +man had no part: an extended and luxuriant tangle, bordering the river, +of alder and other bushes, with here and there a young tree, elm, apple, +cedar, or wild cherry; and winding through it a bewitching path, made by +cows in their unconventional and meandering style and for their own +convenience, penetrating every charming nook in the shrubbery, and so +unnoticeable at its entrance that one might pass it and not suspect its +presence. In this path bushes met over their heads, often not high +enough for ours, wild roses perfumed the air, and meadow-sweet lingered +long after it was gone from haunts less cool and shaded. Every turn +offered a new and fascinating picture, and a stroll through the +irresistible way always began or ended my day's study.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FLOATED OFF THE NEST.</i></div> + +<p>For several days following my happy discovery I spent much time watching +domestic affairs in the poplar-tree. The little matron was not a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +steady sitter. From two to four minutes, at intervals of about the same +length, was as long as she could possibly remain in one place; and even +then she entertained herself by rearranging the materials composing her +nest, till I began to fear she would have it pulled to pieces before the +birdlings appeared. Beautiful beyond words was her manner of entering +and leaving her snug home. On departing, she simply spread her wings and +floated off, as if lifted by the rising tide of an invisible element; +and on returning, she sank from a height of ten or twelve inches, as if +by the subsidence of the same tide.</p> + +<p>This corner of my small world, however enchanting with its rocky ledge, +its cow-path, and its nest, did not absorb me entirely. Life about the +trumpet-vine was far more stirring and eventful. It was there that madam +spent half her time, for at that point, as well as at the nest, were +duties to be performed, her larder to be defended, intruders to be +banished, and crops to be gathered; there, too, in the intervals, her +toilet to be made. That a creature so tiny should make a toilet at all +was wonderful to think of, and to see her do it was charming. Each +minute feather on gossamer wing or widespread tail was passed carefully +through her beak; from all soft plumage, the satin white of the breast +and the burnished green of the back,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> every particle of dust was +removed and every disarrangement was set right. Her long white tongue, +looking like a bristle, was often thrust out far beyond the beak, and +the beak itself received an extra amount of care, being scraped and +polished its whole length by a tiny claw, which was used also for +combing the head feathers.</p> + +<p>At the vine, too, was war; for the youngster already mentioned persisted +in denying the matron's right to the whole, and many a sharp tussle they +had, when for an hour at a time there would not be a shadow of peace for +anybody. Occasionally madam would relax her opposition to the intruder +and let him remain on the vine; but with the proverbial ingratitude of +beneficiaries, he then assumed to own it himself, and flew at her when +she returned from a visit to her nest, as if she had no right there. His +advantage lay in having nothing else to do, and thus being able to spend +all his time on the ground.</p> + +<p>The energy of the little mother was wonderful. In spite of the unrest of +her life, of continual struggles, and work over the nest, she frequently +indulged in marvelous aerial evolutions, dashing into the air and +marking it off into zigzag lines and angles, as if either she did not +know her own mind for two seconds at a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> time, or was forced to take +this way to work off surplus vitality. During all this time I was hoping +to see her mate. But if he appeared at all, as several times a +ruby-throated individual did, she promptly sent him about his business.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE WORLD TRANSFORMED.</i></div> + +<p>It was the 19th of July when I decided that sitting had finally begun on +the poplar-tree nest, madam controlling her restlessness sometimes for +the great space of ten minutes, and working no more on the structure. +Now I redoubled my vigilance, going out from the breakfast-table, and +spending my day under the rocky ledge, leaving matters at the +trumpet-vine to take care of themselves. On the 28th I started out as +usual. There had been a heavy fog all night and not a breath of wind +stirring, and I found the whole world loaded with waterdrops. When I +reached the stone wall which bounded my delightsome field, and slipped +through my private gate, I stopped in amazement at the sight before me. +The fine meadow-grass was bowed down with its weight of treasure, as if +a strong wind had laid it low, and every stem strung its whole length +with minute crystals. Purple-flowering grasses turned the infinitesimal +gems that adorned every angle into richest amethysts, and looked like +jeweled sprays fit for the queen of fairies. Every spider's web was +glorified into a net of pearls of many sizes, all threatening, if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +touched, to mass themselves and run down the tunnel, at the bottom of +which, it is to be presumed, sat Madam Arachne waiting for far other +prey.</p> + +<p>I looked on all this magnificence with admiration and dismay. Should I +wade through that sea of gems, which at the touch of my garments would +resolve themselves, like the diamonds of the fairy tales, not into +harmless dead leaves, but into mere vulgar wet? The hummer flew by to +her nest, goldfinches called from the ledge. I hesitated—and went on. +Making a path before me with my stick, stepping with care, to disturb no +drop unnecessarily, and leaving to every spider her net full of pearls, +I reached my usual place, and seated myself in a sea of jewels such as +no empress ever wore. And behold, the old fence too was transfigured +with strange hieroglyphics, into which dampness had changed the lichens, +and one half-dead old tree, under the same subtle influence, had clad +its bare and battered branches in royal velvet, of varied tints of +green, white, and black.</p> + +<p>At last I turned lingeringly from all this beauty to the nest. Ah! +something had happened there too! Madam sat on the edge, leaned over, +and made some movements within. At my distance I could not be positive, +but I could guess—and I did, and subsequent events<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> confirmed me—that +birdlings were out. Like other bird mammas, she sat on those infants as +steadily as she had sat on the eggs, and it was a day or two later +before I saw her feed. This was the murderous-looking fashion in which +that dainty sprite administered nourishment to her babies: she clung to +the edge of the nest, and appeared to address herself to the task of +charging an old-fashioned muzzle-loading gun, using her beak for a +ramrod, and sending it well home, violently enough, one would suppose, +to disintegrate the nestling on whom she operated. If I had not read Mr. +Torrey's description of hummingbird feeding, I should have thought the +green-clad dame was destroying her offspring, instead of tenderly +ministering to their wants.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A MURDEROUS-LOOKING OPERATION.</i></div> + +<p>Bird babies grow apace. Appetites waxed stronger, and the trumpet-vine +had dropped its blossoms. The little mother had to seek new fields, and +she settled on a patch of jewel-weed for her supplies. Now, if ever, was +needed the help of her mate, but not once did he show himself. Was he +loitering—as the books hint—at a distance, and did she go to him now +and then, on her many journeys, to tell him how the young folk +progressed? I cannot tell; I was busy watching the business partner; I +had no time to hunt up absentees. But I have a "theory," which may or +may not explain his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> apparent indifference. It is that the small dame, +so intolerant of neighbors even on her feeding-ground, simply cannot +endure any one about her, and prefers to do all her building and +bringing-up herself, with no one to "bother." Have we not seen her +prototype in the human world?</p> + +<p>The young hummers had been out of their shells for two weeks before I +saw them, and then the sight was unsatisfactory,—only the flutter of a +tiny wing, and two sharp beaks thrust up above the edge. But after this +day beaks were nearly always to be seen, and sometimes a small round +head, or a glistening white tongue, or the point of a wing appeared to +encourage me. Baby days were now fast passing away; the mother fed +industriously, and the "pair of twins," waxed strong and pert, sat up +higher in the nest, and began the unceasing wag of the head from side to +side, like their mother. What a fairy-like world was this they were now +getting acquainted with! What to them was the presence of human beings, +with their interests, their anxieties, and their cares, passing far +below on the road, or what even the solitary bird-student, sitting hour +after hour by the rocks in silence, turning inquisitive eyes upon them? +The green tree was their world, and their mother was queen. Valiantly +did this indefatigable personage drive away every intruder,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> bravely +facing the chickadee who happened to alight in passing, even showing +fight to the wasps that buzzed about her castle in the air. I shall +always think she really knew me, and had a not unfriendly feeling toward +me, for when I met her about the place, even away from the nest, she +frequently greeted me with what one would not wish to be so +disrespectful as to call a squeaking twitter.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE BABY FLIES.</i></div> + +<p>As the end of the three weeks reported to be necessary to fit baby +hummers for life drew near, I rarely left the rocky ledge for an hour of +daylight, so anxious was I to see a nestling try his wings. The mother +herself seemed to be in a state of expectancy, and would often, after +feeding, linger about the little home, as if inviting or expecting a +youngster to come out to her. At the last I could not stay in my bed in +the morning, but rushed out before sunrise, remembering how momentous +are the early morning hours in the bird-world. But it was noon of the +twenty-first day of his life when the first baby flew. He had just been +fed, and he sat on the edge of the nest beating his wings, when all at +once away he went, floating off like a bit of thistledown, up and out of +sight. Though expecting it and looking for it, I was greatly startled +when the moment came.</p> + +<p>The last act in the little drama was a pretty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> scene in the bushes. I +was wandering about in the hope of one more interview, when suddenly my +lady and a young one alighted on a twig before me. She appeared to feed +the youth, hovered about him an instant, and with the tip of her beak +touched him gently on the forehead. Then, with a farewell twitter, both +flew away over my head, so closely they almost swept me with their +wings. And so the pretty story of the nest was ended.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII.</h2> + +<h4>MY LADY IN GREEN.</h4> + + +<p>Truly a fairy-like dwelling was that nest on the apple-tree; about the +size of a walnut, with one leaf for a shelter. It was placed—I had +almost said grew—in a slender crotch of a low-hanging bough. No coarse +grass stems or bark fibres bound it to its slight moorings; it seemed to +stand by its own fitness, to be a part of the branch itself. Soft, +creamy-hued vegetable cotton, pressed and felted into a certain firmness +of consistency, formed the structure, and a close covering of lichens +held it in shape and completed its beauty, while giving an apple-branch +tone that made it almost invisible. An inch in depth and the same in +breadth furnished ample quarters for the twin hummingbird babies whose +home it was.</p> + +<p>But the charm that had drawn me across four States to study it was its +situation. For when has one of those airy sprites, with the whole +expanse of the tallest trees at command, chosen to come down to the +level of mortals, to set up her domestic gods within reach of a human +hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> and within hearing of a human ear? What friendly spirit bade her +select a scantily leaved branch, backed by the heavy foliage of +luxuriant maples, that rendered her fairy-like home conspicuous whatever +the weather and wherever the sunlight fell? By what happy thought did +she settle upon a low bough with long swaying ends, by which to draw it +gently down, and thus let the enraptured bird-lover watch closely day by +day the growth and development of her darlings? and so near a house that +one could look into it from a window? Long railway trips in dusty +August, the hot days and hotter nights of that fiery month, and the +various minor discomforts of close summer—boarder quarters were all +forgotten in a great joy.</p> + +<p>Nothing was ever more bewitching to watch than that atom in feathers, +the hummingbird mother. She was so tiny that her life might be crushed +out between a thumb and finger, yet she was full of love and anxiety +about her birdlings. She was thoughtful in her care of them, and +industrious in supplying their wants. In a word, she was a pattern of +perfect and beautiful motherhood. Charming it was, beyond expression, to +see her come home to her beloved, embroidering angles in the +air,—hummingbird fashion,—pausing a dozen times on wing, looking at +them from as many points of view, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> at length dropping lightly as a +feather upon the edge, like a fairy godmother with her gifts of food; +and then in a few moments suddenly rise, up—up—up, with body erect as +if mounting an invisible ladder, till, at five or six feet above, she +shot away so swiftly no eye could follow her.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>BEAUTIFUL MOTHERHOOD.</i></div> + +<p>When startled, as she frequently was in her close proximity to our noisy +race, she darted off like a flash, forward or backward, upward or +downward, never turning, but dashing in any direction opposite to the +quarter from which the disturbance came. On the rare occasions when she +was not frightened, she seemed unable to tear herself away. She would +hover about her nest, five or six inches from it, this side and that, +over and around again, with eyes apparently fixed on her treasures, +sometimes daintily touching with the tip of her beak the nest, or one of +the nestlings, in a caressing manner.</p> + +<p>The small dame too, though wary and easily startled, had a great deal of +repose of manner. When settled over her infants, she sat still most of +the time, not moving her head from side to side in the restless way of +some of her family, but looking straight before her and as quiet as a +thrush.</p> + +<p>In another way the little mother ignored the traditions; she did not +always hum. Until the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> little ones were ten or twelve days old she came +to the nest in perfect silence; after that she began to hum, and by the +time they were two weeks old she came with her characteristic note every +time.</p> + +<p>It is interesting to see how all birds recognize and respect the right +of a mother to her own tree, or the part of a tree on which she has set +up her home. Big birds like robins and thrashers, even belligerent ones, +who will not generally allow themselves to be driven, usually depart +speedily before the beak of the least of mothers asserting her ownership +of a tree or bush; not because they are afraid of her, but because they +appreciate the justice of her title, and demand the same for themselves.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>BABIES THE SIZE OF A BEE.</i></div> + +<p>Small as was the apple-tree dweller, she had managed, before I knew her, +to establish her claim to her own vicinity. Goldfinches and yellow +warblers, vireos and robins, were about; I heard them on all sides, but +not one intruded upon her tree or the neighboring sides of the maples. +As the young progressed and waxed bumptious, she became more and more +cautious. She made many more angles and observations in the air before +alighting, looking at them from every possible side, as if wishing to +assure herself that nothing had happened in her absence. She even +resented the presence under her tree of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> hen and chickens, and flew +at them with savage cries. But the barnyard matron was too much absorbed +in her own maternal anxieties to pay any heed to the midget buzzing and +squeaking around her head; and madam herself seemed to appreciate the +absurdity of her proceeding, for in a moment she returned to her duties, +and remonstrated no more.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>How shall I picture the growth and development of the twins in that +cherished home! Where shall I find words delicate and subtle enough to +describe the change as I saw it from day to day, from puny atoms the +size of a honey-bee to fledged and full-grown hummingbirds! Every +morning, watching and waiting till the whole of our little world was at +breakfast, I drew down the fateful branch and indulged in a long, close +look at them, and no language at my command is adequate to describe the +process of unfolding.</p> + +<p>At first sight of the two I was lost in amazement. Could those minute, +caterpillar-like objects, covered with scanty and scattering hairs, +lying side by side in the bottom of their miniature cradle, be the +offspring of the winged sprites of the bird-world? Would those short, +wide, duck-like beaks ever become the needle-shaped probers of flowers? +Would wings ever grow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> on those grub-like bodies? They were at this +time four and five days old; for though they appeared like twins, I +learned from previous watchers that there was a day's difference between +them.</p> + +<p>After I had looked and wondered, and returned to my seat behind the +window-blinds to watch, the mother came to feed. It would be pleasant to +imagine that the food brought by that dainty dame, and administered to +her beloved brood, consisted of the nectar of flowers, drawn from the +sweet peas that filled the garden with beauty and perfume, the gay +flaunting scarlet beans over the way, or the golden drops of the +jewel-weed modestly hiding under their broad leaves, in the hollow down +by the bridge. But Science, in her relentless substitution of fact for +fancy, does not allow us this agreeable delusion. Something far more +substantial, not to say gross, we are informed, is required to build up +the muscle and bone of the atoms in the nest. Meat is what they must +have, and meat it was, in the shape of tiny spiders and perhaps other +minute creatures, that mamma was seeking when she hovered under the +maple boughs, now and then touching a twig or the underside of a leaf. +Indeed, one might occasionally see her pick off her spider as deftly as +one would pick a peach.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A FEARFUL SIGHT.</i></div> + +<p>Hummingbird feeding has been graphically<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> described more than once; but +when the food-bearer arrived I seized my glass, eager to see it again. +This is the way my fairy-like mother administered the staff of life to +her tender birdlings. Alighting on the edge of the nest, she leaned +over, and with her beak jerked a little head into sight above the edge; +then down the baby's throat she thrust her long beak its whole length; +and it looked actually longer than the youngster itself. Then she +prodded and shook the unfortunate nestling, who seemed to hold on, till +I wondered his head did not come off. It was truly fearful to witness. +In a moment, shaking off, apparently with difficulty, that one, who +dropped out of sight, she jerked up the other, and treated it in the +same rough way, shaking her own body from head to tail by her exertion. +Thus alternately she fed them, three or four times, before she finished; +and then she calmly slipped on to the nest, wriggling and twisting about +as if she were pawing them over with her feet. There she sat for five or +six minutes before darting away for fresh supplies, while I wondered if +the two victims of this Spartan method were lying dead, stabbed to +death, or smothered, by their own mother. But I did her tenderness and +her motherhood injustice. Regularly every half hour she came and +repeated this murderous-looking process, unless, as often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> happened, +she was frightened away by the people about.</p> + +<p>Till her little ones were two weeks old, the devoted if apparently +ungentle parent continued to feed them at intervals of thirty minutes, +the neck-dislocating performance being always as violent as I have +described. After that date she came more frequently, every fifteen or +twenty minutes, and their development went on more rapidly. At the early +age of five and six days, even before their eyes were open, the young +birds began to show that they had minds of their own, and knew when they +had enough (which some folk bigger than birds never know). When one was +sufficiently filled, or sufficiently racked, it would shut its mouth and +refuse to open, though mamma touched it gently with her beak.</p> + +<p>"The world slipped away and I was in fairyland," wrote my old friend the +Enthusiast, while watching, in another part of the country that same +summer, the nest-building of a hummingbird. To me, also, the study of +the life and affairs of this nest, to which I gave nearly every hour of +daylight for weeks, seemed like a glimpse into that land of childhood's +dreams, excepting when the outer world obtruded too rudely. For the life +that went on under and around that charmed spot was far from fairy-like. +The "hard facts" of human existence were ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> uppermost, and there +were a thousand disturbances between breakfast and bedtime. Indeed, the +nest was the neighborhood show; everybody longed to pull down the branch +and look at it. Men, women, and boys; master, mistress, and maids; +horses, cattle, and birds, conspired to keep up an excitement around the +apple-tree. It seemed a magnet to draw to itself all the noise and +confusion of that peaceful village.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE NEIGHBORHOOD SHOW.</i></div> + +<p>There was the man who assumed the office of showman, brought a chair out +under the tree, pulled down the branch, and invited every passer-by to +step up and look, with the comment, "Big business raising such a family +as that!" while I sat in terror, dreading lest the branch slip from his +careless fingers and fling the little ones out into the universe, an +accident I saw befall a chipping sparrow's brood, as already related.</p> + +<p>There, too, was the horse who halted under the tree and regaled himself +with apples which he gathered for himself, jerking his branch violently; +happily not <i>the</i> branch, or there would have been a sudden end to +dreams of fairyland.</p> + +<p>Above all, there were the summer boarders, to whom in that quiet rural +life any object of interest was a godsend and greedily welcomed. Every +day, and many times a day, a procession passed on the way to the +"Springs" of odorous—not to say odious—memory, equipped with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> tumblers +and cups, pitchers and pails, and every one paused at the little show in +front of the house, where, alas! there was no fence. Well dressed city +women stopped, and stared, and pointed with parasols, often asking for a +look into the nest.</p> + +<p>All this hindered the poor little mother in her domestic duties. She +would come near, alight on a twig far above, and wait, hoping to reach +her darlings, till some laugh or movement startled her away; and usually +just before dark, while the village was at supper, she had to feed very +often to make up for short commons all day.</p> + +<p>There were other dangers too, which I hoped did not worry the "wee +birdie" as they did me. Two or three times a strong wind—a November +gale out of date, rocked and tossed that tiny cradle all day, while I +frequently held my breath, in fear of seeing the twins flung out. But +the canny little creatures cuddled down in the nest, which by that time +seemed too small to hold them, showing only beaks and, later, immature +tails above the edge.</p> + +<p>Once, very early in their lives, came a steady rain. All night long the +devoted mother received the downpour on her back, and all the next day, +with short intervals of food-seeking, she remained at her post, while +the water ran off her tail in streams. She kept her younglings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> warm and +dry, but the nest was sadly damaged, the lichen covering was softened +and brightened in color, and the whole structure spread and settled, so +that I feared it would not hold together till the little ones were +grown.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A MALICIOUS-LOOKING APPLE.</i></div> + +<p>There, too, was the ever-present menace of falling apples, which were +constantly dropping from the tree. A well-loaded branch hung over the +nest, and one particularly malicious-looking specimen of an angry +reddish hue, suspended as it appeared exactly above, had a deep dimple +in one side which gave it a sinister expression, and one could not help +the suspicion that it might delight in letting go its hold and dashing +that frivolous nursery to the ground.</p> + +<p>The very leaves themselves appeared to show character. I was never so +impressed by their behavior, though I had previously seen some curious +performances that looked very much as if leaves have minds of their own. +Three inches from the little homestead grew a twig bearing a clump of +leaves, perhaps five or six. When I began watching, the largest one hung +closely over the nest, on the side toward my window, so that part of the +time the whole affair was hidden from sight. In the interest of Science +(in whose name, as well as in the name of Liberty, many crimes are +committed), I thought it necessary quietly to remove that leaf. Then, +although<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> the remainder of the bunch still hung over the nest, two or +three inches above, my view was perfect, for I could look under them. +Strange to say, however, in a day or two I noticed that another leaf had +begun to droop over the tiny homestead. In the morning and again in the +afternoon, it held itself well up out of my way, but when the sun was +hot in the middle of the day, it fell lower and lower, till it was +almost as good a screen as its elder brother had been. Nor was that the +end of its vagaries. When a strong wind came up from the south, that +leaf drew closer, and actually hugged the nest, so that I could not see +it at all. I longed to remove it, but I had not the heart to deprive the +nestlings of their shelter. Strangest of all leaf eccentricities, +however, was the conduct of another one of the same clump, which during +a northwest gale came down at the back, and somehow wedged itself +between the nest and branch, so that it formed a perfect shield on that +side, so snug indeed that the mother could hardly get under it to feed +her little ones. And so it remained all day, during a wind that +threatened to blow the whole tree down. I am aware that this will be +hard to credit. But I examined it carefully; I know the mother did not +arrange it, and I do not exaggerate in the slightest degree.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>GROWING UP.</i></div> + +<p>Let me picture the apple-tree babies at one week old, or seven and eight +days respectively—to be exact. On taking my regular morning observation +I noticed white spine-like processes, the beginning of feathers, among +the hairs on their bodies. The heads looked as if covered with, in the +language of commerce, a "fine mix," minutest possible white specks on a +black ground, which, as days went by, increased in size and length till +they developed into feathers. Beaks, too, were changing. The broad, flat +surface showed inclination to draw into a point at the tip, which would +go on stretching up day by day, till by the time the birdlings could fly +they would be nearly as well equipped for hummingbird life as the mother +herself. On that seventh day, also, I discovered the first voluntary +movement; one of the pair lifted his head above the edge of the nest, +and changed his position on the bed of cotton.</p> + +<p>Now began the restlessness characteristic of our smallest bird. From the +age of one week they were rarely for a moment still, excepting when +asleep. One moment they would lie side by side, two tiny beaks sticking +up close together, and the next, one would struggle and twist about till +his beak showed on the opposite side. Occasionally one made himself +comfortable by lying across his fellow, but very soon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> lower one +squirmed out from under. At nine days they filled the nest so full that +their bodies showed above the edge, and gave it the appearance from my +window of being filled with hairy and very restless caterpillars.</p> + +<p>The eighth and the ninth day of their little lives opened their eyes on +the beautiful green world about them, and backs began to look ragged, as +if feathers were at hand. Character was developing also. When mamma +touched a closed beak in invitation to lunch, it would sometimes respond +with a quick little jerk, as who should say, "Let me alone!" or "Don't +bother me!" and on this day began also the attempt to dress the feathers +yet to appear, and the running out of the bristle-like tongue.</p> + +<p>A great surprise awaited me on the fifth day of my enchanting study, the +tenth of their life. When I paid my morning visit to the bewitching +pair, lying, as always now, close up to the edge of their frail cup, +they looked at me with clear, calm black eyes, and saluted me in low, +plaintive voices. I should hardly have been more startled if they had +spoken to me.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>LIKE BUNDLES OF RAGS.</i></div> + +<p>They assumed a new attitude also toward mamma, refusing to allow her to +crush them down into the nest and sit upon them, as if they were babies +still. They would keep their heads up, and sometimes she really had a +struggle in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> taking her old place on the nest. Apparently it is with +humming as with some human mothers, hard to realize that their offspring +are no longer infants. On one occasion it looked as if the two united in +their rebellion and pushed her away, for she actually lost her balance +and plunged forward off the nest. She recovered herself almost +instantly, but it was a real tumble for the moment. At eleven days began +the flutter of wings that should hardly rest in life. Shadowy little +things they were, lifted above the nest and waved rapidly a few seconds +at a time.</p> + +<p>As the interesting nestlings approached the end of their second week, I +began to be concerned about the frail walls of their cradle. They had +become so lively in movements that it rocked and swayed in its place, +and on one side the cotton protruded through its lichen cover. I dreaded +to see a little foot thrust out at this point, and wondered if my clumsy +fingers could perform the delicate task of replacing it.</p> + +<p>On the morning they were two weeks old a strong wind set in from the +northwest, and I drew down the branch with dread of finding it empty. +The younglings were wide awake, though settled down into the nest. They +looked at me and uttered their soft cries. They now resembled bundles of +rags, for feathers were breaking out all over them in the well-defined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +pattern or design I had observed for several days. Tiny tail feathers +with white tips showed distinctly, and it was evident that they were +fast growing up. The mother plainly accepted the fact, for she made no +further effort to sit upon them.</p> + +<p>As the day wore on the wind increased to a gale, and my anxiety kept +pace with its violence. Surely no August babies could be prepared for +such November weather. Would a fall kill the delicate birdlings? Should +I have to rescue them? Hardly five minutes at a time did I take my eyes +off the nest, tossed on its long swaying branch like a ship in the +maddest sea. Even the mother was blown off the edge, and I rejoiced that +she had chosen the south side of the tree, for the north side branches +were thrown upward and over with a violence that would have shaken off +the nest itself.</p> + +<p>But the two sturdy youngsters sat all day with heads up, and tails just +showing above the edge, looking out on the raging sea of leaves and +riding the storm like veterans. Only once did I see one try to change +his position, and then for a second I thought he was lost; but he +recovered himself and made no more rash attempts.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>SHE ALIGHTED ON THEIR BACKS.</i></div> + +<p>From this day the twins no longer stayed in the nest, but took their +position across the top,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> resting on the edges. By the sixteenth day +tails had attained respectable dimensions, and they were clad in the +complete dress of feathers, though, having not as yet learned to manage +their garments, individual feathers stood out all over and were blown by +every breeze into tiny green ripples. In their new position across the +top they of course entirely covered the edge, so that the mother was +puzzled to find a place for her feet when she came to feed, until she +took to alighting on the backs of her monopolizing offspring.</p> + +<p>All through these delightful days I had kept a sharp lookout for the +father of this charming family, for, as is well known, there is a charge +against the ruby-throat, that he takes no part in the home life, that he +never visits the nest. Whether it be that he is too gay a rover to +attend to his duties, whether—as is said of the turkey and some other +birds—he is possessed of a rage for destroying his own young, whether +he keeps out of sight as a measure of prudence for the safety of the +nest, or whether that fearless and industrious little mate of his feels +capable of managing her own affairs and so drives him away, no one has +as yet been rash enough to say. That remains for future observers to +find out. The points most interesting to discover at present are, if it +is a fact that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> never shows himself; if he remains in the +neighborhood, and joins his family later, as has been asserted; or if he +resumes his care-free bachelor life, and sees them no more.</p> + +<p>Only three times was my close watch for visiting hummingbirds rewarded, +and those were not at all conclusive. One morning, attracted by the +shimmering floor of jewel which Lake Champlain presented under the +morning sun, I sat looking out over my neighbor's cornfield, where +goldfinch babies were filling the air with their quaint little two-note +cries, absorbed in the lovely view, when suddenly I heard a whir of +wings and looked up to see a hummer flying about near the nest where +madam was sitting. It made two or three jerks, approaching within six +inches, and then darted away. Instantly she followed, but not as if in +pursuit. There were no cries. It seemed to me a friendly move, an +invitation and a response. Alert as she was, she must have seen the +stranger, as he—or she—hovered about, yet she did not resent it. In a +few minutes she returned and settled herself on her nest.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>GREETING ME WITH CRIES.</i></div> + +<p>Soon I heard the familiar sound again, and a bird dashed past the +window, not going near the nest. My little dame in the apple-tree paid +no attention. An hour later a hummingbird appeared, perhaps the same +one, without flying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> near the apple-tree. Madam left her nest and they +had a chase, both passing out of sight. In neither case was there any +show of anger, cries, loud hum, or savage rushes, as I have seen when +hummingbirds are on the war-path. In neither case, also, could I see the +visiting bird plainly enough to determine the sex. It may have been the +missing spouse, but then, also, it may not have been.</p> + +<p>Nor did it trouble me that I could not solve the mystery. Very early in +my study of birds I learned to be content to let many things remain +unknown, hoping that some future day would reveal them, and to enjoy +what Nature offers me to-day without mourning over things she <i>this +time</i> withholds.</p> + +<p>August was drawing to an end, and claims from the outer world grew +clamorous. It wrung my heart to abandon those babies before they could +fly, but relentlessly the days went by. The last one arrived, and I went +out for a farewell look at the little ones, now eighteen and nineteen +days old. They sat as usual side by side across the nest, and greeted me +with their sweet little cries. They were completely feathered, though +here and there one of the infantile hairs still stuck up between the +plumage, the backs a golden green, and the throat and breast snowy +white. They returned my gaze<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> with wide, calm eyes, and did not shrink +from the finger which gently stroked their backs. The home which had +held them was almost a complete wreck, hardly more than a flattened +platform, but they clung to it still, and I knew that I should miss the +sight I longed for, the first flight. I stayed all day, putting off the +parting till the last possible moment, watching and hoping; but when I +started for the night train, I left the pair still sitting on the ruins +of their nest. And thus ended the only glimpse into fairyland I shall +ever enjoy.</p> + +<p>A few days later came to me, several hundred miles away, the word that +the elder bird (who was a Sunday baby) had taken flight the day he was +three weeks old, and had stayed about his native apple-tree all day, +while the younger clung to the wreck for two days more, and no one +chanced to see him fly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII.</h2> + +<h4>YOUNG AMERICA IN FEATHERS.</h4> + + +<p>"How like are birds and men!" said Emerson, and if he had known nature's +loveliest creatures as well as he did his own race, he might have +affirmed it more emphatically; for to know birds well is to be +astonished at the "human nature" they display.</p> + +<p>In our latitude July is distinctly the babies' month. When wild roses +give place to sun-kissed meadow lilies, when daisies drop their petals +and meadow-sweet whitens the pastures, when blueberries peep out from +their glossy coverts and raspberries begin to redden on the hill, then +from every side come the baby cries of younglings just out of the nest, +and everywhere are anxious parents hurrying about, seeking food to stuff +hungry little mouths, or trying to keep too venturesome young folk out +of danger. For Young Americans in feathers are wonderfully like Young +Americans in lawn in self-confidence and recklessness.</p> + +<p>One evening in a certain July, up on the coast of Maine, I watched the +frantic efforts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> a pair of Maryland yellow-throats—tiny creatures in +brown and gold—to coax their self-willed offspring to a more retired +position than he chose to occupy. With genuine "Young America" spirit he +scorned the conservatism of his elders. Though both parents hovered +about him, coaxing, warning, perhaps threatening, not a feather stirred; +stolid and wide-eyed he stood, while the father flitted about the bush +in great excitement, jerking his body this way and that, flirting his +wings, now perking his tail up like that of a wren, again opening and +closing it like a fan in the hands of an embarrassed girl, and the +mother added her entreaties to his, darting hither and thither, calling +most anxiously,—both, in their distress, rashly exposing themselves to +what might, for all they knew, be one of the death-dealing machines we +so often turn against them.</p> + +<p>Nothing had the slightest effect upon the yellow-throated youngster +until his own sensations interested him, and his parents suddenly +acquired new importance in his horizon. When hunger assailed him, and, +looking about for supplies, he spied his provider on the next bush with +a beak full of tempting (and wriggling) dainties, and when he found his +wily parent deaf to his cries, and understood that not until he flew +behind the leafy screen could he receive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> the food he craved, then he +yielded, and joined his relieved relatives out of my sight.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>VAGARIES OF A BABY.</i></div> + +<p>Many times after that morning did the vagaries of that young +yellow-throat give me opportunity to study the ways of his family. +Having newly escaped from the nursery, in a thorny bush behind +thick-growing alders, his strongest desire apparently was to see the +world, and those outlying dead twigs, convenient for the grasp of baby +feet, were particularly attractive to him. Every day for nearly a week, +as I passed into the quiet old pasture, I stopped to interview the +youngster, and always found him inquisitive, and evidently, in his own +estimation, far wiser than his elders, who were nearly wild over his +conduct.</p> + +<p>This pasture of about forty acres, lying behind my temporary home, was +the joy of my heart, being delightfully neglected and fast relapsing +into the enchanting wildness of nature. In a deep bed fringed with a +charming confusion of trees and bushes ran a tiny stream, which in the +spring justified its right to the title of river. Scattering clumps of +alders and young trees of many kinds made it a birds' paradise, while +wild cherries and berries of all sorts, with abundant insect life, +offered a spread table the whole summer long.</p> + +<p>Of flowers it was the chosen home. From<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> the first anemone to the last +goldenrod standing above the snow, there was a bewildering confusion; +fragrant with roses in June, gorgeous with meadow lilies in July, and +rank upon rank of budded goldenrod promising glory enough for August, +with all the floral hosts that accompany them. Great patches of sweet +bayberry, yielding perfume if only one's garments swept it, and rich +"cushions of juniper" frosted over with new tips, were everywhere, and +acres were carpeted with lovely, soft, gray-colored moss, into which +one's foot sank as into the richest product of the loom. Here and there +was a close grove of young pines, whose cool, dim depths were most +alluring on hot days; and indeed in every spot in Maine not fully +occupied nature is sure to set a pine-tree.</p> + +<p>Every morning, on entering this garden of delights, I hastened across an +open space by the gate, and plunged into a thicket of alders sprinkled +with young trees,—birch, elm, and wild cherry. Through this ran a path, +and in a sheltered nook under a low pine I found a seat, where for many +days I spent the forenoon, making acquaintance with the pretty little +yellow-throats.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>BEWITCHING WAYS.</i></div> + +<p>From the first the head of the family adopted me as his particular +charge, and I am positive he never lost sight of me for one minute. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +was a charming surveillance. He did not, like the robin on similar duty, +stand on some conspicuous perch like a statue of horror or dismay, +uttering his loudest "peep! peep!" in warning to the whole feathered +world; nor did he, after the fashion of the song sparrow, fill the air +with distressed "pips" that seemed to hint of mischief dire; neither did +he, as does the red squirrel, resent an intrusion into preserves that he +considered his own, with a maddening series of choking cries, coughs, +and "snickers," till one was almost ready to turn a gun upon him; still +less did he, in veery style, utter wails so despairing that one felt +herself a monster for remaining. The yellow-throat's guardianship was a +pleasure. He remained in sight, not fifteen feet away from me, and did +not flinch from the terrible field-glass. Sometimes he stood quite +still, uttering his soft and inoffensive "chic;" again he scrambled +about in the bushes, collected a mouthful, and disappeared for a +moment,—a constant baby call from the bushes reminding him of his duty +as provider. Evidently he had succeeded in impressing upon that +obstinate offspring of his that he must keep out of sight. I wonder what +sort of a bugaboo he made me out to be?</p> + +<p>Much of the time the tiny custodian passed away in calling and singing, +throwing his head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> up or holding it still according as he sang loud or +low. To all varieties of his pretty little melody he treated me. Never +once did he utter the notes given in the books as the family song. From +his beak I never heard either "wichita," "witches here," "o-wee-chee," +or "I beseech you," all of which, excepting the last, I have heard at +different times from other members of the family; which, by the way, +confirms my oft-repeated assertion that no two birds of a species sing +alike. His ordinary notes resembled "pe-o-we," delivered in lively +manner, with strong accent on the first syllable. Sometimes he gave them +the regulation three times; again, he added a fourth repetition, and +changed this by ending on the first syllable of the fifth utterance. On +one occasion he surprised and delighted me by turning from the third +"pe-o-we" into a continuous little carol, varied and bewitching. Later +in the season, after I had finished my studies in the alder bushes, I +heard several times from a yellow-throat in the pasture a similar +continuous song, usually delivered on the wing.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A QUEER SUN-BATH.</i></div> + +<p>After some days my little watcher became so accustomed to my silent +presence under the pine that he did not mind me in the least, though he +never forgot me, and if I stirred he was on the alert in an instant. So +long as I was motionless he ignored me entirely, and conducted him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>self +as if he were alone; often taking a sunning by crouching on the top twig +of a bush, spreading wings and tail and fluffing out his plumage till he +looked like a ragged bunch of feathers. It was very droll to see him, +while in this attitude, suddenly pull himself together, stand upright, +utter his song, and instantly relapse into the spread-eagle position to +go on with his sunbath. To my surprise, I found that this warbler, +whose song and movements always seem to indicate a constant flitting and +scrambling about in warbler fashion, is capable of repose. He frequently +stood perfectly still, the black patch which covers his eyes like an +old-fashioned face-mask turned toward me, singing his little aria with +as much composure as ever thrush sang his.</p> + +<p>My pleasing acquaintance with the yellow-throat ended as soon as the +young became expert on the wing and could leave their native alder +patch. After that the nook was deserted, and unless I heard the song I +could not distinguish my little friend among the dozens of his species +who lived in the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Toward the north end of my delectable hunting-ground was a second +favorite spot, especially attractive on warm, sunny mornings. When I +turned my steps that way, I came first upon the feeding-ground of +another party of Young Americans,—thrashers. They were a family group,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +a pair with their two full-grown but still babyish young. Approaching +cautiously, I usually found the parents on the ground busily hunting +insects, and the youngsters following closely, ready to receive every +morsel discovered. They were, however, very well bred, with none of the +vulgar manners of those who scream and shout and demand their rations. +Later in the day I often found the thrasher singing, a little beyond the +alders, on the breezy heights of Raspberry Hill. His chosen place was an +almost leafless birch-tree, a favorite perch with all the birds of the +pasture, and there he sang for hours.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'Twas a song that rippled and reveled and ran</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever back to the note whence it began,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rising and falling, and never did stay,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a fountain that feeds on itself all day."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Sometimes the singing was interrupted, for those canny Young Americans +knew their father's song, and though he had doubtless stolen away and +left them foraging on the grass by the path, they heard his voice and +came after. While he was pouring out his soul in ecstasy, and I was +listening with equal joy, those youngsters came by easy stages nearer +and nearer, till one after the other alighted on the lower part of the +birch, and, hopping upward from branch to branch, suddenly presented +themselves before him, begging in pretty baby fashion for some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>thing to +eat. The singer, embarrassed by their demands, would sometimes dive into +the nearest bushes, followed instantly by the persistent beggars, and in +a moment fly off, the infants still in his wake. But he always managed +in some way to elude them. Perhaps he fed them or conducted them back to +their mother, for in a few minutes he appeared again on the birch and +resumed his music.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>OUT ALONE.</i></div> + +<p>On one occasion I met one of these spruce young thrushes, evidently out +on his travels alone for the first time. He was in a state of great +excitement,—jerked himself about, "huffed" at me, then flew with some +difficulty into a tree, where he stood and watched me in a charmingly +naļve and childlike manner, utterly forgetting that part of his +education which bade him beware of a human being.</p> + +<p>After passing the home of the thrashers, on my usual morning walk toward +the north, my next temptation to linger came from a fern-lined path to +the spring, abode of other Young Americans. The path itself was +extremely seductive, narrow, zigzagging through a small forest of the +greenest and freshest of ferns, so luxuriant that they were brushed +aside in passing, and closed behind as if to conceal one's footsteps. +Shrubs and trees met overhead; here and there a blooming dogbane or an +elder, "foamed o'er with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> blossoms white as snow," and tall wild roses +wherever they could find space to grow.</p> + +<p>Nearly down to the spring, I seated myself under the bushes and waited. +At first, until the bustle of my coming was hushed, all was silent; but +soon bird notes began,—soft little "pips" and "chur-r-r's," and other +sounds I could not trace to their authors, but plainly expressing +disapproval of a spy among them. Catbirds complained with a soft liquid +"chuck" or their more decided "mew;" kingbirds peeped out to see what +was the excitement, and then settled in the bushes in plain sight, at +leisure now since their decorous little folk were educated and taking +care of themselves; and other birds came whispering about behind my +back, while I dared not turn to see, lest I send everybody off in a +panic. An oriole,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Like an orange tulip flaked with black,"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>dropped in as he passed, but left in haste, as if averse to company, +with his customary shyness while training the young; for this brilliant +bird, during nesting so fearless everywhere, manages to disappear +completely after the young leave the nest. Now and then he may be seen +going about near the ground, silent, and absorbed in his arduous task of +teaching those clamorous urchins to get their own living; or in the +early morning, engaged in picking open the hideous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> nests of the +tent-caterpillars and quietly taking his breakfast therefrom. Later, +when bantlings are off his mind, he reappears in his favorite haunts, +and sings a little before bidding us adieu for the season; although +occasionally this supplementary song is a dismal failure, and the oriole +discovers, as have other singers before him, that one cannot neglect his +music, even for the best of reasons, and take it up again where he left +off.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 340px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f150.jpg" width="340" height="550" alt="FEEDING THE BABY—THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE" title="" /> +<span class="caption">FEEDING THE BABY—THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE</span> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>EXCITEMENT AMONG THE ORIOLES.</i></div> + +<p>As I passed under an apple-tree, one morning, on my way to the ferny +path, I heard the domestic cry of the oriole, uttered, I think, only +when rearing the young, a tender "yeap." I paused instantly, and soon +heard a very low baby cry, a soft "chur-r-r" exactly like the first note +of the young oriole when he comes up to the edge of the nest, only +subdued almost to a whisper, showing that education had progressed, and +this little one had learned to control his infantile eagerness. All at +once there arose a great commotion over my head; an oriole fled +precipitately to another tree and stood there watching me, scolding his +harshest, flirting his wings and jerking his body in great excitement. +In a moment his mate joined him, and both began to call, though she held +a worm in her beak. This not seeming to effect their purpose, the singer +suddenly uttered a loud, clear whistle of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> two notes, startlingly like a +man's whistle to a dog, when instantly a young oriole flew out of the +apple-tree and joined his parents. Then the low note began again, and +the family departed.</p> + +<p>The infant who receives such devoted care is a pretty little creature in +dull yellow, and the most persistent cry-baby I know in the bird-world, +though several are not far behind him in this accomplishment. His plaint +begins when he mounts the edge of the nest preparatory to his début, and +ceases hardly a minute for days, a long-drawn shuddering wail, that +suggests nothing less than great suffering, starvation, or some other +affliction hard to be borne. What makes the case still worse, the +nursery is high, and each nestling chooses for himself the direction in +which he will depart. East and west, north and south, they scatter; and +where one lands, there he will stay for hours, if not days, drawn down +into a little heap, looking lonely and miserable, and apparently +impressed with the sole idea that he must keep himself before the world +by his voice, or he will be lost and forgotten. It is no wonder that, +between the labor of collecting food and following up the family to +administer it, the mother becomes faded and draggled, and the father +abandons his music, and goes about near the ground, grubbing like any +ditch-digger.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>HE CLIMBED THE TREE.</i></div> + +<p>The young oriole, however, does not lack intelligence. A correspondent +tells me of one who, starting out too ambitiously in his first flight, +landed on the ground instead of on the tree he had selected, and, +looking about for a place of safety, saw a single leaf growing a few +feet up on the trunk of a tree. That so inexperienced an infant should +notice it was surprising, but that he should at once start for it showed +remarkable "mother wit." To reach this haven of refuge, he ascended the +tree-trunk a few inches, half flying and half climbing, clinging with +his claws to the bark to rest, then scrambling upward a few inches +farther, and so on till he reached the leaf, when he perched on its tiny +stem, and remained there as long as he was watched.</p> + +<p>But to return to my place among the ferns. When I had been there some +time, silent and motionless, a catbird at my back, too happy to be long +still, would take courage and charm me with his wonderful whisper song, +an ecstatic performance which should disarm the most prejudiced of his +detractors. Occasionally, his mate, as I supposed, uttered warning +cries, and in deference to her feelings, as it appeared, his notes +dropped lower and lower, till I could scarcely hear them, though he was +not ten feet away. The song of the catbird is rarely appre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>ciated; +probably because he seldom gives a "stage performance," but sings as he +goes about his work. In any momentary pause a few liquid notes bubble +out; on his way for food, a convenient fence post is a temptation to +stop a moment and utter a snatch of song. His manner is of itself a +charm, but there is really a wonderful variety in his strains. He has +not perhaps so fine an organ as his more celebrated relative, the +thrasher; he cannot, or at least he does not, usually produce so clear +and ringing a tone. Nor is his method the same; he does not so often +repeat himself, but varies as he sings, so that his aria is full of +surprises and unexpected turns. Doubtless, persons expert at finding +imitations of other birds' notes would discover some in his. But I am a +little skeptical on the subject of conscious "mocking." When the catbird +sings I hear only the catbird, and in the same way I take pleasure in +the song of thrasher or mockingbird, nor care whether any other may have +hit upon his exact combinations.</p> + +<p>After the catbird, silence, broken only by the soft, indescribable +utterances that are at the same time the delight and the despair of the +bird-student. Some birds, upon entering this solitary retreat, announced +themselves by a single note, or call, as effectually as if they had sent +in a card, while others stole in, took quick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> and close observation, and +departed as quietly as they had come, unseen and unheard by clumsy human +senses. Often, indeed, have I wished for eyes to look behind me, where +it sometimes seems that everything most interesting takes place.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>ANXIOUS DAYS IN CROWLAND.</i></div> + +<p>This secluded corner of the pasture proved to be a very popular nursery +with the feathered world. Catbirds came about bearing food, and all +sorts of catbird talk went on within hearing: the soft liquid "chuck" +and "mew" (so called, though it is more like "ma-a") in all tones and +inflections, complaining, admonishing, warning, and caressing. There was +evidently a whole family among the bushes. A vireo baby, plainly just +out of the cradle, stared at me, and addressed me with a sort of husky +squawk, an indescribable sound, which, until I became familiar with it, +brought me out in hot haste to see what terrible tragedy was going on. +For it is really a distressful cry, although it often proclaims nothing +more serious than that the young vireo wants his dinner; as some infants +of the human family scream at the top of their voices under similar +circumstances.</p> + +<p>Beyond the close-growing bushes I heard the crow baby's quavering cry; +and these seemed indeed anxious days in crowland. All the little folk +were crying at once, in their loudest and most urgent tones, enough to +distract the hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>-working parents who hurried back and forth overhead, +at their best speed, trying to stop the mouths of their ill-bred brood. +On one occasion I saw an old crow flying over, calling in a decided, +"stern parent" style, followed by a youngster not yet expert on the +wing, who answered with his droll baby "ma-a-a" in a much higher key. +She was conducting him over the pasture to the salt marsh, where much +crow-baby food came from in those days, and he was doing his best to +keep up with her stronger flight. Sometimes another sound from the +nursery came to my ears,—the caw of an adult, drawn out into a long, +earnest "aw-w-w," like admonishing or instructing the now silent olive +branches. It was many times repeated, and occasionally interrupted by a +baby voice, showing that the little ones were not asleep. I suspect, +from what I have seen of crow ways, that the sable mamma is a strict +disciplinarian who will tolerate no liberties and no delinquencies on +the part of her dusky brood, and although this particular Young American +may complain, he dare not rebel. Poor crowling! he needs perhaps a +Spartan training to fit him for his hard life in the world. With every +man's hand against him, and danger lurking on all sides, he must be wary +and sharp and have all his wits about him to live.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE HEAVENLY SONG.</i></div> + +<p>When I could tear myself away from this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> domestic corner of the pasture, +I passed on to the riverside nook I have mentioned. Here my seat was on +the edge of the bank, high above the stream, shaded by a group of black +and battered old spruces that looked as if they had faced the storms of +a hundred stern Maine winters, as probably they had. Pine-trees at my +back filled the air with odors; a thicket beloved of small birds +stretched away at one side. Across the river spread a sunny knoll, on +which stood a huge old apple-tree, contemporary perhaps with the +spruces, having one attractive dead branch, and surrounded at a little +distance with a semi-circle of shrubs and low trees. It was a tempting +theatre for bird dramas, which the solitary student, half hidden on the +bank above, could overlook and bring to clear vision with a glass, while +not herself conspicuous enough to startle the actors. In this lovely +spot many mornings of that happy July passed delightfully away.</p> + +<p>In the leafy background to the apple-tree dwelt the veery. From its +apparently impenetrable depths came his warning calls, and on rare and +blessed occasions his heavenly song; for it was July, and it is only in +June that</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"New England woods at close of day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With that clear chant are ringing."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>For, with all the rhapsody in his soul, this thrush is a devoted parent, +and notwithstanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> the fact that he is one of the kings of song, he +comes down like the humblest sparrow of the fields, to help feed and +train his lovely tawny brood. Without exception that I know, he is the +most utterly heartbroken of birds when the nest is discovered. So +pathetic are the wails of both parents that I never could bear to study +a nest, and I had to harden my heart against the bleating, despairing +cries of the mother before I could secure even a look at a youngster +just out of the nest. This scion of the charming thrush family is a +patient little soul, with all the dignity and reserve as well as the +gentleness of his race; no human child could be more winning.</p> + +<p>A beautiful instance might be seen in that spot of Nature's provident +way of looking out for the future. Those battered old spruces had a +flourishing colony of young trees growing up all around and under the +shade of their wings, and some day when a great wind breaks off the +decayed old ones, there will be several vigorous half-grown young, to +take their place, so the place will not be left desolate a day. If man +would only take this hint in his own treatment of trees, leave the young +ones to take the place of those he removes, we should not have to dread +the wasteful destruction of our forests.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A CATBIRD BLUEBERRYING.</i></div> + +<p>In this corner, one morning, I saw a catbird gathering blueberries for +dinner. She came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> down on a fence post as light as a feather, looked +over to where I sat motionless under my tree, hesitated, flirted her +tail expressively as who should say, "Can I trust her?" then glanced +down to the berry-loaded bushes on the ground, and turned again her soft +dark eyes on me. I hardly breathed, and she flew lightly to the first +wire of the fence, paused, then to the second, still keeping an eye my +way. At that point she bent an earnest gaze on the blueberry patch, +turning this way and that, and I believe selecting the very berry she +desired; for she suddenly dropped like a shot, seized the berry, and was +back on the post, as if the ground were hot. There she rested long +enough for me to see what she held in her beak, and then disappeared in +the silent way she had come. In a moment she returned; for it was not +for herself she was berrying, but for some speckled-breasted beauty +shyly hiding in the alder thicket below.</p> + +<p>As the babies' month drew near its close, and August stood threateningly +on the threshold, sometimes I heard young folk at their lessons. Most +charming was a scion of the chewink family learning to ring his silver +bell. I could not see him,—he was hidden behind the leafy screen across +the river; but happily sounds are not so easily concealed as sights, and +the little performance explained itself as clearly as if I had had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> the +added testimony of my eyes (though I longed to see it, too). The +instructor was a superior singer, such as I have heard but few times, +and the song at its best is one of our most choice, consisting of two +short notes followed by a tremolo perhaps an octave higher, in a loud +clear ring like a silver-toned bell.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Was never voice of ours could say</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our inmost in the sweetest way</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like yonder voice."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>For several minutes this rich and inspiring song rang out from the +bushes, to my great delight, when suddenly it ceased, and a weak voice +piped up. It was neither so loud nor so clear; the introductory notes +were given with uncertainty and hesitation, and the tremolo was a slow +and very poor imitation. Still, it was plain that the towhee baby was +practicing for his entrance into the ranks of our most bewitching +singers. The next day, a chewink, I think the same whose music and whose +teaching I had admired, honored me with a song and a sight together. He +was as spruce as if he had just donned a new suit, his black hood like +velvet, his chestnut of the richest, and his white of the whitest, and +he sang from the top of a small pine-tree; sometimes, in the restless +way of his family, scrambling over the branches, and again shifting his +position to a small birch-tree.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>INDIVIDUALITY OF FLOWERS.</i></div> + +<p>Many other songs and singers I enjoyed in those pleasant mornings beside +the river, till the hour for what Thoreau designates as "that whirlpool +called a dinner" drew near, and then, unmindful of the philosopher's +advice, I started slowly homeward, collecting as I went, materials to +fill the vases in my room.</p> + +<p>In gathering flowers, one needs to select with discretion, for they, no +less than their winged neighbors in the pasture, have an individuality +of their own. The wild rose, for example, is most amiable in lending +itself to our enjoyment. Not only does it submit to being torn from the +parental stem, but it will flourish perfectly, and go on opening bud +after bud, so long as it has one to open, as lovely and as fragrant as +its sisters on the bush. One needs only to snip off the heads whose +petals have dropped, to have a fresh and beautiful bowl of roses every +morning. The daisy too adorns our tables and our vases cheerfully, and +as long as if it still stood among the grasses, its feet planted in +mother earth; and even when it has lived out its allotted time, it +neither withers nor droops, but begins to look wild, its petals losing +their trim regularity and standing every way.</p> + +<p>Different indeed is the disposition of the goldenrod, which, though +remaining fresh and bright, when called upon to decorate our homes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +obstinately refuses to open a petal after it is gathered; and the +fairy-like elder, which sullenly resents being touched, gives up the +struggle for existence and droops at once; and the cactus, which +promptly draws its satin petals together, and stubbornly declines to +open again. The loveliest bouquet of late July on the coast of Maine is +this, which I give for the pleasure of other flower-lovers, if haply +there be any who have not discovered it. Put in a vase a few stalks of +completely opened goldenrod, of the variety that divides into long, +finger-like stems. Let there be just enough so that when each blossom is +spread out full they shall barely cover the space. Have the stems of +equal length, so that the effect shall be flat, and not conical. Into +this, between the blossoms, carefully stick the stems of a few fully +spread lace flowers (or wild carrot), with stems two or three inches +longer than you have allowed the goldenrod stems. Each must have full +space to display every tiny floweret, and not to hide the golden glory +beneath. When prepared, set the vase or bowl on the floor, before a +grate or to light up some gloomy corner. Properly done the effect is a +marvel and a joy forever, like lace over sunshine, like some fairy +creation too dainty for words to picture.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX.</h2> + +<h4>DOWN THE MEADOW.</h4> + + +<p>The bird-baby world was not bounded by any pasture, however enchanting, +and I have not told all the charms of this one. The house where I found +bed and board, in the intervals of bird study,—once a farmhouse, now an +"inn of rest" for a country-loving-family,—was happily possessed of two +attractions: the pasture toward which I turned with the morning sun, and +a meadow which drew me when shadows grew long in the afternoon. This +meadow began at the road passing in front of the house, and extended to +the salt marsh which separated us from the sea. The marsh was always a +beautiful picture,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Stretching off in a pleasant plain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the terminal blue of the main."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>It was never twice the same, for it changed with every passing cloud, +with every phase of the weather, with every tide; one never tired of it. +And it was full of winged life: not only the beautiful gulls,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Whose twinkling wings half lost amid the blue,"</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>in a white cloud over the far-off beach, but small birds of several +kinds, who never came near enough to dry land to be identified. +Sharp-tailed sparrows appeared on the meadow after grass was cut, and +their exquisite ringing trill could always be heard from the bank; crows +fed upon it every day; blackbirds' wings were always over it; and above +all, sandpipers were there,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Calling dear and sweet from cove to cove."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>One afternoon, starting down the meadow on my usual visit to the +sandpiper little folk, I heard a low cry of "flick-er! flick-er!" and +there on the grass before me were two of the birds face to face. One was +an adult, but the other was a nearly grown young one, and I saw in an +instant that I had unwittingly intruded upon the breakfast he was about +to receive. In the goldenwing family—as perhaps not every one knows—a +repast is not over with one poke into an open bill; it is a far more +serious affair indeed. The young bird opens his mouth a little, the +parent thrusts his—or her—beak down the waiting throat, until one +would think the infant must be choked, and then the elder delivers +little pokes, as he crams down the mouthfuls, six, eight, even ten I +have counted before he stops. Then the heads draw apart, and the +grown-up—who has plainly come well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> provided—makes a sort of +spasmodic movement in his own throat, probably raising from some +internal reservoir another portion of food, the infant opens his beak +again, and the operation is repeated.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 341px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f164.jpg" width="341" height="550" alt="TAKING BREAKFAST—THE GOLDEN-WINGED WOODPECKER" title="" /> +<span class="caption">TAKING BREAKFAST—THE GOLDEN-WINGED WOODPECKER</span> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>TAKING HIMSELF TOO SERIOUSLY.</i></div> + +<p>Of course my presence interfered with this elaborate, several-course +breakfast, and the elder of the two fell to reproaching me by loud calls +and vehement bows in my direction. Seeing that I was not sufficiently +impressed, and did not depart, he resorted to stronger measures; he +swayed his head from side to side, stretching out his neck like an +enraged goose, and presenting a most droll appearance.</p> + +<p>At first the youngster seemed to be paralyzed, but suddenly—perhaps +realizing what harm my inopportune appearance had done—he also began to +bow and sway, exactly as papa was doing. Anything more ludicrous than +those two birds standing face to face and performing such antics it is +hard to imagine; no one but a flicker could be at the same time so +serious and so absurd.</p> + +<p>At the edge of the meadow, where it sloped sharply down to the marsh, +lived one whose days were full of trouble, which he took care to make +known to the world,—a</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Fire-winged blackbird, wearing on his shoulders</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red, gold-edged epaulets."</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>His little family, not yet out of the nest, was settled safely enough +behind a clump of bushes that fringed the marsh. But he, in his rōle of +protector, had taken possession of two trees on the high land, where he +could overlook the whole neighborhood, and see all the dangers, real and +fancied, that might, could, would, or should threaten them, and "borrow +trouble" to his heart's content. The trees, this bird's headquarters, +were an aged and half-dead cherry and a scraggy and wind-battered elm, +standing perhaps a hundred feet apart. On the top twig of one of these, +or flying across between them, he was most of the time to be seen, and +his various cries of distress, as well as his wild, woodsy song, came +plainly up to me in my window.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE REDWING WAS FRANTIC.</i></div> + +<p>The troubles of this Martha-like character began when mowers brought +their clattering machine, and with rasping noise and confusion dire laid +low the grass which had isolated him from the rest of the world, and +that impertinent world poured in. First came crows, from their homes in +the woods beyond the pasture, to feast on the numerous hoppers and +crawlers left roofless by the mowers, and to procure food for their +hungry young, and alighted in the stubble, two or three or half a dozen +at a time. By this the soul of the redwing was fired, and with savage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +war-cries he descended upon them. His manner was to fly laboriously to a +great height, and then swoop down at a crow as if to annihilate him. The +bird on the ground turned from his insect hunt long enough to snap at +his threatening enemy, and then returned to his serious business. So +long as the crows stayed the redwing was frantic, his cries filled the +air; and as they were almost constantly there, he was kept on the +borders of frenzy most of the time.</p> + +<p>After the crows came the bird-students, with opera-glasses and spying +ways. These also the irascible redwing decided to be foes, flying about +their heads threateningly, and never ceasing his doleful cries so long +as they were in sight. I hoped his brown-streaked mate down in the marsh +knew what a fussy and suspicious personage she had married, and would +not be made anxious by his extravagances; but she too distrusted the +bird gazers, adding her protests to his, and such an outpouring of +"chacks" and other blackbird maledictions one—happily—is not often +called upon to encounter.</p> + +<p>After the bird-students the haymakers; and every time a man or a horse +appeared in that field, the blackbird was thrown into utter despair, and +the air rang with his lamentations.</p> + +<p>He was evidently a character, a bird of individuality, and I was anxious +to know him better;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> so, although I hated to grieve him, I resolved to +go somewhat nearer, hoping that he would appreciate my harmlessness and +soon see that he had nothing to fear from me. Not he! Having taken it +into his obstinate little head that all who approached the sacred spot +he guarded were on mischief bent, he refused to discriminate. The moment +I approached the gate, the whole width of the meadow from him, he +greeted me with shouts and cries, and did not cease for an instant, +though I stayed two hours or more. I always went as modestly and +inoffensively as possible through the meadow, far from his two trees, +seated myself on the edge of the slope at some distance from him, and +remained quiet. But he was never reconciled. His first act, as I started +down the field, was to fly out to meet me, as if to drive me away. When +he reached me, he would hold himself ten or fifteen feet above my head, +perfectly motionless excepting a slight movement of the wings, looking +as if he meditated an attack; and indeed I did sometimes fear that he +would treat me as he did the crows. As I came nearer, his mate flew up +out of the bushes, and added her demonstrations to his. Their movements +in the air were beautiful. One would beat himself up quite high, and +then hover, or apparently rest at that altitude, as if too light to come +down, at last floating earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>ward, pausing now and then, as if he +absolutely could not return to our level.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>WHAT DID IT ALL MEAN?</i></div> + +<p>Occasionally my presence caused a domestic scene not easy to interpret. +Madam, no doubt fully aware of the prying ways of the human family, +sometimes hesitated to return to her little ones in the bushes. She flew +around uneasily, alighting here and there, anxious and worried, but +plainly afraid of exposing her precious secret. Then her "lord and +master" took her in hand, flying at her, and following wherever she fled +before him, till he almost overtook her, when she dropped into the +marsh, and with a low, satisfied chuckle he took a wide circle around +and returned to his tree. Scolding all the time, she remained some +minutes in the deep grass, then flew up high, and floated down to the +alder clump where the nest was placed. Upon this, her observant lord, +whose sharp eyes nothing escaped, instantly flew down again, dashed +impetuously through the alders, and without pausing returned to his +post. Now how should one interpret that little family interlude?</p> + +<p>Later, when the young were out of the nest and quite expert on wing, the +redwing's relations with them puzzled me also. I often saw the two who +appeared to compose the family flying about with their mother, and I +knew they were his because he frequently joined the party. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> their +conduct seemed unnatural, and a doubt stole over me whether this +bird—this individual, I mean—could be a domestic tyrant. I knew from +previous studies that the love-making manners of the redwing are a +little on the "knock-down-and-drag-out" order of some savage tribes of +our own species. To chase the beloved until she drops with fatigue seems +to be the blackbird idea of a tender attention, and possibly the pursuit +of his spouse already spoken of may have been of this sort, merely a +loverly demonstration. But with the babies it was a different thing. +Heretofore I had seen blackbird fathers devoted attendants on their +young, working as hard as the mothers in seeking supplies, and following +up the wandering brood to administer them. But this bird, I observed, +was avoided by the little folk. When he showed inclination to join the +family party on one of its excursions, they shied away from him, and if +he came too near they uttered a sort of husky "huff," like the familiar +protest of a cat. With the same sound they greeted him and moved away +when he approached a bush where they sat. Perhaps this crustiness of +demeanor was the natural result of his long weeks of anxiety and trouble +as protector during their helpless infancy; perhaps he was tired out and +exhausted, and it was not irritability, but nervous prostra<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>tion, that +made him appear so unamiable. Indeed, I do not see how it could be +otherwise, after his exciting life. And may that not explain the fact +that when the young are grown, the singer shakes off all family ties and +joins a flock of his comrades, while mother and young remain together? +Since he insists on taking his family responsibilities so hard, he +cannot be blamed for desiring a rest for part of the year.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A PANIC ON THE MARSH.</i></div> + +<p>Now that the nest was deserted and the young were always going about +with their mother, I wondered that the head of the family did not relax +his vigilance over the meadow and abandon his two watch-towers; but save +that his enticing song came up to me oftener than his cries of distress, +his habits were not materially altered. One day, when I thought his +summer troubles ought surely to be over, a fresh anxiety came to him. +Several women and girls, with a dog, appeared on the marsh, which at low +tide was in some parts explorable. The human members of the party amused +themselves with bathing and wading in the now shallow stream; but the +dog acted like one gone mad, dashing about on those peaceful flats where +so many birds were enjoying themselves quietly, rushing full gallop from +one group to another, wading or swimming the winding stream every time +he came to it, and barking at the top of his voice every instant. Birds +rose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> before him in flocks, sandpipers took to their wings in panic, +swallows swooped down over him in anxious clouds, sharp-tailed sparrows +and all other winged creatures fled wildly before this "agitator," who +seemed to have no aim except to disturb, and reminded me irresistibly of +his human prototype. Somewhere in that "league upon league of marsh +grass," I suppose, were the blackbird's little folk; for the watcher on +the bank was in deepest tribulation, and his outcries quickly brought me +down to see what had happened.</p> + +<p>The Young Americans of the redwing family are as vivacious and uneasy as +might be expected of the scions of that house. No sooner do they get the +use of their sturdy legs than they scramble out of the nest and start +upon their bustling pilgrimage through life, first climbing over the +bushes in their neighborhood, and as they learn the use of their wings +becoming more venturesome, till at last, every time a hard-working +mother brings a morsel of food, she has to hunt up her straggling +offspring before she can dispose of it. Though eager for food as most +youngsters, they are altogether too busy investigating this new and +interesting world to stay two minutes in one place. So far from waiting, +like Mr. Micawber, for something to turn up, they proceed, the moment +they can use their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> limbs, to attack the problem of delay for +themselves; to wait is not a blackbird possibility. It is needless to +say that such preternaturally sharp and wide-awake Young Americans very +soon graduate from the nursery.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A YELLOW-HEADED MONSTER.</i></div> + +<p>The last trial that came to the blackbird, and the one, perhaps, that +induced him finally to abandon his watch-towers and join his friends on +the bank farther down, was the appearance one day in the meadow of a new +importation from the city, a boy marked out for notice by a striking +yellow-and-black cap. The instant he entered the inclosure afar off, the +redwing uttered a shriek of hopeless despair, as who should say, "What +horrible yellow-headed monster have we here?" and as long as he remained +the bird cried and bewailed his fate and that of his family, as if +murder and sudden death were the sure fate of them all. It was the last +act in the blackbird drama on the meadow.</p> + +<p>Between my morning in the pasture and my afternoon down the meadow, were +two or three hours of rest beside my window, and there, too, the drama +of life went on. On one side was an orchard—an orchard, alas! without +bluebirds, for it was the summer following the dreadful tragedy in +Florida, where thousands perished of hunger, and not one of the +blue-coated darlings was to be seen where had always been many.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>Perhaps, too, even more destructive than the death by hunger that year +is the death which I am assured is common in all years about Washington, +and doubtless other places; death at the hands of man—for the table. +Who could eat a bluebird! It is bad enough to doom the bobolink to the +pot after he has changed his coat and become a reedbird, and given some +reason for his fate by his unfortunate fondness for rice. But what +excuse can there be for bringing the "Darling of the Spring" to this +woeful end?</p> + +<p>To the deserted orchard came but one bird, a phœbe, and I believe his +object was to retire from the world, for he was the most modest bird of +his family that I ever saw. He dwelt in an obscure corner, and never so +much as tried the peak of the barn, which was temptingly near. When he +called it was almost in a whisper. I saw no indications that he had a +nest or a family, and I am inclined to think that he was a misanthrope +and a hermit.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A BIRD BABY SHOW.</i></div> + +<p>Under my window on the other side came a vesper sparrow family. Three +youngsters in bright new coats, quite unlike the worn and faded hues of +their parents' dress. On the stone wall, or perched on a telegraph pole, +close to the solitary insulator on the summit, the singer poured out his +sweet little song, ending<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>—in his best moods—in an exquisite trill +that resembled the silver bell of the chewink. The family spent their +time in the road or the meadow, the mother working hard to supply the +hungry little mouths, which gave vent to queer whining cries. One day +when it was raining the mother and one infant were out on the usual +business, when suddenly they became aware of a chipmunk about eighteen +inches from them, and at the same instant he saw them. He sat up very +erect to look over the grass, and, holding his funny little hands over +his heart, stared at the pair as if he had never seen birds. The baby +sparrow flew a foot or two, but the elder ran toward him most valiantly, +upon which the brave chipmunk took to his heels, scrambled up the stone +wall, and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Before the window, too, were always the swallows, for the telegraph wire +was a favorite perch. And after the young were out, there was every day +a baby show, the eave and tree swallows having adopted the wires as +their out-of-door nursery. Nearly all the time might be seen half a +dozen or more waiting patiently for a morsel from some of their elders +circling about over their heads, and such a chatter as they kept up! +They whispered softly among themselves when their parents were away, and +called in squeaky little voices with fluttering wings as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> one of the +elders approached. Whether the young in these social nurseries know +their particular parents has always been an interesting question with +me, and I studied their ways for some clew to the truth. I noticed when +one of the parents swooped over them or came near, to alight, not more +than one or two of the waiting babies on the wire would flutter and ask +for food, and I saw also, on such occasions, that they were usually fed. +When somewhat later another parent came near, a different little one +would ask and be fed. They did not all, or even any great number, ask +every time an old bird came about, which certainly looked as if the +little ones knew their own parents.</p> + +<p>After a while the swallows came out in great numbers. There were +hundreds at a time on the telegraph wires, all, both old and young, +talking at once—as it appeared. They had flight exercises, when the +whole flock rose at once, filling the air with wings. This gathering +continued for three or four days, while all other birds seemed to have +disappeared, and then one morning they were gone to the marsh, where we +often saw them afterward, and the other birds returned to their usual +haunts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X.</h2> + +<h4>IN A COLORADO NOOK.</h4> + + +<p>The loveliest nook I know is one of nature's wild gardens, on the banks +of the "Shining Water," at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. It is +forever fresh and green in my memory. Let me picture it for you, dear +reader, as I saw it last.</p> + +<p>It is June, and we are sitting under a low tree buried up to our +shoulders in a luxuriant growth of weeds. Before us towers beautiful +Cheyenne, its wonderful red rocks gorgeous in the morning sun; above us +stretches the violet-blue sky, while all about us, filling our lungs, +and bracing and invigorating our whole being, is the glorious mountain +air of Colorado. Outside our shady nook the sunshine glows and burns, +but we are cool and comfortable.</p> + +<p>The little field between our seat and the mountain is all given up to +weeds, with here and there a small oak-tree, and shut in by a hedge of +oak saplings and low willows. I say weeds, but think not of an eastern +weed-grown spot; imagine neither pigweed, smartweed, burdock,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> nor +sorrel. Rather, picture in your mind a flower-bed, more rich and gay +than ever met your admiring eyes. Yellow daisies by thousands turning +their shining faces up to the sun; royal purple clusters of a blossoming +mint glowing in the brilliant light; larkspurs four feet high, thrusting +themselves above the rest like blue banners here and there; while lower +down peep out white, and blue, and lavender, and other modest posies, +and everywhere our familiar woods flower the wild geranium, whose office +it seems to be in Colorado to fill all vacancies, much larger and more +luxurious than ours, though quite as dainty and as impatient of +handling. Almost within reach of our hand we easily count a dozen +varieties of blossoms, while at the back of the little field are masses +of a tall plant gone to seed. This departed bloom must have resembled +our elder in shape and size, and now it makes a wonderful display of +seeds in all shades of green, yellow, and golden brown, according to the +various degrees of ripeness. It is very effective, almost more beautiful +than blossoms, certainly more harmonious.</p> + +<p>Over all this growing glory butterflies flutter, and bees go hither and +thither, and still higher zigzag dozens of dragonflies. Behind us, a few +steps away, is the brook Minnelowan, whose musical murmur is in our +ears, but we will not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> turn around just yet. Truly it is good to be +here; to rest from the world of conventionality; to get into harmony +with nature; to steep our souls in the wildness, the freshness, and the +eternal youth of the growing world about us.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>CURIOUS BABIES.</i></div> + +<p>But we are seeking birds; we must control our enthusiasm and listen. Now +we become aware of low, sharp, insect-like cries about us. They seem to +come from all sides at once; we find it impossible to locate them, till +a sudden chorus of loud and excited "smacks" directs our attention to +the tree over our heads, and our eyes fall upon a pair of frantic little +fellow-creatures in golden yellow, hopping about on the branches, +posturing and gesticulating with vehemence, and addressing their remarks +most pointedly to us.</p> + +<p>We have doubtlessly invaded what they consider their domain. Those +insect-like chirps are the voices of their little folk, probably just +out of the nest, brand-new, ignorant, and curious babies, who know no +better than to stare at us, and make their comments within reach of our +hands. They are not yet trained to know and avoid their greatest enemy, +which you may not know, dear reader, that you are, not because you are +bloodthirsty, but because you belong to a bloodthirsty race.</p> + +<p>Now one of the babies comes in sight, in soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> olive, with golden +suggestions on tail and body; but mamma, horrified that he has exposed +himself to our gaze, hurries him away, and soon the chorus of peeps and +smacks—the yellow-bird baby talk—grows more distant, and the whole +family of golden warblers is gone. It is remarkable how much these +little folk know about our ways. If we walk through their territory +talking and laughing, the birds will continue their own affairs, singing +and calling, and carrying on their domestic concerns as though we were +blind and deaf, as indeed most of us are to the abundant life about us. +But when they see us quiet, looking at them, showing interest in their +ways, they recognize us at once as a suspicious variety of the <i>genus +homo</i>, who must be watched. At once they are on guard; they turn shy and +try to slip out behind a bush, or—if hampered by an untrained family of +little ones—attempt to expostulate with us, or to drive us away.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A RAPTUROUS SONG.</i></div> + +<p>All this time you have perhaps been conscious of a delicate little song, +like the ringing of a silver bell, over at the edge of our wild garden. +Now listen; you will hear a rustle as of dead leaves, a low utterance +like a hoarse "mew," then an instant's pause, and the bell song again. +Turn your glass toward the thick shrubbery, at a point where you can see +the ground at the foot of the bushes. In a moment you catch a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> glimpse +of the mysterious bell-ringer, nearly as big as a robin, modestly +dressed in black and white and chestnut, going about very busily on the +ground; now giving a little jump that throws a light shower of dirt and +leaves into the air, then looking earnestly in the spot thus uncovered, +perhaps picking something up, then hopping to the lowest twig of the +bush, and flinging out upon the air his joyous song. We are fortunate to +see him so soon; he might tantalize us all day with his song, and never +give us a glimpse of himself, for he delights in these quiet places, +under the thickest shrubs. He is the towhee bunting or chewink, +sometimes called ground robin, and in that corner of Colorado he takes +the place the robin fills with us, the most common bird about the house.</p> + +<p>Keep very still, and we may perhaps hear his most ecstatic song, for +remember it is June, the wooing and nesting time of our feathered +friends, when their songs and their plumes are in perfection. The +love-song of this particular chewink is simply his usual silver-bell +peal, with the addition of two rich notes in tremolo; first a note lower +in the scale than the bell, then a note higher, each a soft, delicious, +rapturous utterance impossible to describe, but enchanting to hear.</p> + +<p>The nest is doubtless close by, but it will be lost time to hunt for it +in a wilderness of bushes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> like this, for it is a mere cup in the +ground, hidden under the thickest shrubs that the brown-clad spouse of +the towhee can find. If we did uncover it we might not recognize it, so +perfectly do the colors of the birds, old and young, and even of the +eggs, harmonize with the earth in which it is placed.</p> + +<p>I once found, in another place a nest full of chewink babies. It was +where a patch of sage bushes stretched down the mountain, bordered by a +thick clump of oak brush seven or eight feet high. My attention was +called to it by the owner himself, who alighted on the oaks with a beak +full of food, and at once began to utter his cry of distress, or warning +to his mate. The moment he began I heard a rustle of wings behind me, +and turning quickly had a glimpse of the shy dame, skulking around a +sage bush. A little search revealed the nest, carefully hidden under the +largest branch of the shrub. It was a deep cup, sunk into the ground to +the brim, and three young birds opened their months to be fed when I +parted the leaves above them.</p> + +<p>Studying a nest among the sage bushes is not so easy as one might +imagine. This was so closely covered by the low-growing branches that I +could see it only by holding them one side. Moreover the sage is what is +called in the books a social plant; where there is one there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> may be a +thousand, as like each other as so, many peas. The particular bush that +hid my chewink babies had to be marked, as one would mark the special +tuft of grass that hides a bobolink's nest.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>AMONG THE SAGE BUSHES.</i></div> + +<p>However, I spent an hour or two every day in the sage patch, watching +the wind sweep over it in silvery waves, and getting acquainted with the +nesting-birds. All sorts of manœuvres the father of the family tried +on me, such as going about carrying food conspicuously in the mouth, +then pretending to visit a far-off spot and returning without it; but he +always ended by mounting the oak brush, ruffling up his neck feathers +till they stood out like a ruff, and uttering his cry; it can hardly be +called of distress, it became so evidently perfunctory. His mate never +tried deception, but relied upon skulking to and fro, unseen among the +bushes.</p> + +<p>In seven or eight days, as soon, in fact, as they could stand, the +nestlings deserted the little home and I saw them no more, but I learned +one fact new to me about the singing of the chewink. After the nest was +abandoned I sat down in the usual place, hoping to hear the silver +tremolo I am so fond of. In a moment my bird began. Securely hidden, as +he thought, by the impenetrable oak brush, in the dim seclusion he +loves, he poured out his simple yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> effective song for some time. Then, +to my amazement, with hardly a pause, he began a second song, quite +different, and unlike any chewink song I have heard. I had thought this +bird more closely confined to one rōle than most others, for none who +have studied birds will agree with the poet that</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Each sings its word or its phrase, and then</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It has nothing further to sing or to say;"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>but I learned on this day, and confirmed it somewhat later, that the +chewink can vary his song considerably.</p> + +<p>But let us return to our nook. We will now turn around, and the world is +totally changed for us. Let us seat ourselves under a tall old +pine-tree, whose delicious aroma the hot sun draws out, and the gentle +breeze wafts down to refresh and delight us here below.</p> + +<p>Before us is the brook, faint-hearted in manner, and only a murmur where +last summer it was a roar. Alas! the beautiful stream has seen reverses +since first I lingered on its banks with joy and admiration. Far up +above, just after it leaves the rocky walls of Cheyenne Cańon, it has +fallen into the greedy hands of men who have drawn off half of it for +their private service. So the sparkling waters which gathered themselves +together near the top of Cheyenne, leaped gayly down the seven steps of +the falls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> and rushed and bounded over the rocks of the cańon, now run +tamely down between rows of turnips and potatoes, water an alfalfa +field, bathe the roots of a row of tired-looking trees, or put a lawn +a-soak. The fragment that is left winds on its old way, not half filling +its bed, with a subdued babble, suited to its altered fortunes.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A BEWITCHING BEAUTY.</i></div> + +<p>Still there is enough to delight a brook-lover, and this spot is the +chosen home of the most bewitching little beauty in all Colorado, the +Arkansas goldfinch. Clumsy name enough for a tiny sprite of a birdling, +not so large as our charming little goldfinch in his black cap. He is +exquisite in olive green, with golden yellow breast, and the black cap +and wings of his family, and he is most winsome in manner, with every +tone in his varied utterances musical and delicious to hear. As he flies +over in bounding waves, calling "Swe-eet! swe-eet!" often ending with an +entrancing tremolo, your very soul is taken captive. What would you not +give to see the dainty cradle of his younglings! Not far away you may +see two thistle-blooms pulled to pieces; no doubt the down has gone to +make a bed for goldfinch babies, for nothing that grows, except +thistledown, is quite soft and delicate enough for the purpose.</p> + +<p>We will not try to find the nest. He is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> most shy, the most elusive +of birds, living in the tops of the tallest trees, and flitting from one +to another like a sunbeam, showing only a glint of a golden breast as he +goes. One is maddened by the medley of calls and scraps of song, the +trills and tremolos in the sweetest and most enticing tones, while not +able to catch so much as a glimpse of the bonny bird who utters them. +His love-song is utterly captivating, as rapturous as that of the +American goldfinch, with a touch of plaintiveness that makes it +wonderfully thrilling. It is mostly in tremolo, a sort of indescribable +vocal "shake" that is enchanting beyond the power of words to express. +When he is not singing, one may often hear his low, earnest chatter and +talk with his mate, in the same plaintive and winsome tones.</p> + +<p>Ah, how little we can see of what goes on about us, though we are +closely watching, and every sense is alert! On one side is a flash of +wings, and somebody disappears before he is seen; from the other comes +an unfamiliar note, and a rustle of leaves, behind which the author is +hidden. Here two bird voices are heard in excited talk, but your hasty +glance falls only on the swaying twig that proclaims their flight; and +in the tops of tall trees is a whole world of life and action entirely +beyond your vision.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>HOW TO BE HAPPY.</i></div> + +<p>Early in the study of bird-life one must learn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> to be content with +comparatively little, and not set his heart on solving every mystery of +sound or glimpse which comes to him. One must be content to let some +things remain unknown, and enjoy what he can understand, if he would be +happy with nature. And if at some future time—as often happens—the +mystery is solved, the joy is great enough to pay for waiting, and much +greater than if he had worried and tramped the country over in attempts +to settle it.</p> + +<p>I have seen it recommended as the best way to know birds, to follow +every note heard, till the bird is found and identified. This method +requires great activity, and often an hour's search results in the +discovery of an unfamiliar note of a familiar bird,—the robin or +sparrow, perhaps. Meanwhile one has missed a dozen charming scenes in +bird-life, and a chance to make acquaintances worth more than the +gratification of that curiosity. The wiser course, it seems to me, is to +learn to be content with what comes to you, and not mourn over what +eludes you; to be happy with what nature offers you, nor make yourself +miserable over what she for the present withholds; to adopt for your +motto the grand words of a fellow bird-lover,—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What is mine shall know my face."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And in spite of such regrets, enough is always left to repay patient +waiting. From across the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> brook comes the unceasing cry of the Maryland +yellow-throat, "Witches here! witches here!" and you can readily believe +him, especially as with your best efforts you can see scarcely more than +a suggestion of his quaint black mask, as a small form dives into the +thick bushes.</p> + +<p>Nor are birds the only attraction in this most fascinating nook; there +are flowers. Through the dead pine leaves on which we sit, here and +there thrusts itself up a slender stem, holding upright one of +Colorado's matchless blossoms. This is the chosen nook of the rare +gilia, which hides itself under the edge of a bush, or close against a +low tree, bearing its pink and coral treasures modestly out of sight, +until a flower-seeking eye spies it, glowing like a gem in the green +world about it. Under the shrubs which hem in our nook on one side grows +here and there a rosy cyclamen; out in the sunshine are bunches of +bluebells; down the bank beside the water are great masses of golden +columbine, while a fragrant veil of blooming clematis is flung over the +weeds between. It is a rarely lovely and flowery spot.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>SAUCY LITTLE WRENS.</i></div> + +<p>We are not far from the world, however; this cańon-like valley of the +Minnelowan is narrow, and through it passes the road. Moreover, there +are many openings that might reveal us to the procession of tourists on +their way up the cańon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> But happily the sun is on our side, and the sun +of Colorado is not to be despised: a screen of umbrellas and parasols +and carriage curtains shuts us from view as completely as if the +passers-by had no eyes on that side. If seen, we should be classed among +the "sights," and the legitimate prey of the sight seeker. We should +certainly be stared at, perhaps have glasses turned upon us, possibly be +kodaked, and without doubt take prominent place in all the newspaper +letters that go from here. But we may be sure of solitude till the sun +crosses the road.</p> + +<p>Yet this is far from solitude. Here comes a whole bevy reviling us, six +or seven of them, running up and down the branches of a great bush, all +scolding at the top of their voices,—a family of house wrens lately +emancipated from their wooden castle in that old stump across the +brook,—pert and saucy little parents, and droll babies imitating them +with spirit.</p> + +<p>The wrens were not the only tenants of that old tree-trunk; I have spent +many hours beside it. Such conveniences for bird homes are rare in this +country, and that one was well occupied, and offered a problem I was +never able to solve. Beside the deserted woodpecker home to which the +wrens had succeeded, there were two freshly made woodpecker doors, and +both led to homes of the red-shafted woodpecker or western flicker,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> who +differs from our familiar flicker only in having red instead of yellow +shafts to his wing and tail feathers, and wearing the red badge of his +family on his "mustaches" instead of on his collar, as does our bird.</p> + +<p>One day when I was watching the stump, a male flicker came with food, +and alighted at the lower door, upon which a young bird put his bill out +and was fed in the murderous-looking fashion of the flickers. Papa +thrust his long beak down baby's throat, and gave several +vicious-looking pokes, as if to hammer something down. While I was +musing over this strange way of feeding, the bird left, and a female +flicker appeared. She glanced into the open door, and then to my +surprise slipped half around the trunk and a foot higher, and stopped +before the other hole, which I had not noticed till then. Instantly a +head came out, much bigger than the first one, uttered the familiar +flicker baby-cry, and was fed.</p> + +<p>Then the question that interested me was, Were there two nests, or one +of two stories with babies of different ages? Did both belong to one +pair, or was that little dame peeping into her neighbor's house? Much +time I spent before that castle in the air, but never was able to answer +my own questions. No two old birds came at the same time, and no +difference could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> I discover in looks or manners, that answered the +query whether there were one or two pairs at work. Now they have all +flown, and only the laugh of the flicker and the call of the young ones +all around remain to tell that woodpecker babies grew up in the tree.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE GLORY OF THE WEST.</i></div> + +<p>Now let us close our glasses, fold our camp-chairs, and go back to the +camp, our present home. As we turn into the gate another voice strikes +our ear, louder, richer, more attention-compelling than any we have +heard. Listen: It is the wonder and the glory of the West; it is the +most intoxicating, the most soul-stirring of bird voices in the land +where thrushes are absent; it embodies the solitude, the vastness, the +mystery of the mesa; it is the western meadow lark. This is his +nesting-time, and we may be treated to his love-song, the exquisite, +whispered aria he addresses to his mate. As I have heard it when very +close to him, he sings his common strain several times, and then drops +to a very low twittering and trilling warble, in which now and then is +interpolated a note or two of the usual score, yet the whole altogether +different in spirit and execution. He ends by a burst into the loud +carol he offers to the world. There is nothing beyond that to hear, even +in my beloved nook.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI.</h2> + +<h4>THE IDYL OF AN EMPTY LOT.</h4> + +<h4>A CITY STUDY.</h4> + + +<p>Opposite my study windows is an empty lot. It is of generous size; six +residences facing another street, with high board fences, stretch across +the back; a large apartment-house towers above it on the right, and a +tight fence defines it on the left. The front is open to the street, but +the whole is so given up to weeds, such a tangle of rank vegetation, +that few people penetrate it, and it is the great out-of-doors for the +animal life of the neighborhood. Looking down upon it as I do, +constantly spread out under my windows, I cannot choose but see +everything that goes on.</p> + +<p>Last summer was the blossoming-time of the empty lot. It had but one +summer of romance—just one—between the building of the brick row +behind it and the beginning of the new row which shall hide it from the +sun for ages, perhaps.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A RELAPSE INTO BARBARISM.</i></div> + +<p>It was not attractive in the spring, for man had done what he could to +deface it. Here is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> curious fact: the human being is capable of a +certain amount of civilization under the pressure of the necessities of +city life. He—or she—will learn to dispose inoffensively of the waste +and rubbish that drag after him like a trail wherever he goes. He—and +always likewise she—can be taught to burn his waste paper, to bag his +rags, to barrel his ashes, to burn the refuse from his table, to hide +the relics of china and glass. In fact, he <i>can</i> live in a modern house +with no back yard, no "glory-hole" whatever.</p> + +<p>Yet if one would see how superficial his culture, how easy his relapse +into barbarism, he need only open his windows upon an empty lot. This +tempting space, this unguarded bit of the universe, brings out all the +savage within him. Ashes and old boots, broken glass, worn-out tin pans, +and newspapers whose moment is over, alike drift naturally into that +unfortunate spot. The lot under my window had suffered at the hands of +lawless men,—not to say women,—for it offered the eternal oblivion of +"over the back fence" to no less than ten kitchens with their presiding +genii.</p> + +<p>Nor was this all. The lot and all the land about it had belonged to an +unsettled estate, and for years had been a dumping-ground for carts, +long before the surrounding buildings had begun their additions to its +stores.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>But last spring a change came to it. Its nearly fenced condition for the +first time allowed Mother Nature a chance, and anxious, like other +mothers, to hide the evil deeds of her children, she went busily to +work,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"With a hand of healing to cover the wounds</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And strew the artificial mounds</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cuttings with underwood and flowers."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>We may call them weeds, but forever blessed be the hardy, rapid-growing, +ever-ready plants we name so scornfully! What else could so quickly +answer the mother's purpose? She had not time to evolve a century-plant, +or elaborate an oak-tree, before man would be upon it again. She did the +best she could, and the result was wonderful.</p> + +<p>When I returned from the country I found, to my delight, in place of the +abomination of desolation I have described, a beautiful green oasis in +the world of stone and brick. From fence to fence flourished and waved +in the breeze an unbroken forest. The unsightly heaps had become a range +of hills, sloping gently down to the level on one side, and ending on +the other in an abrupt declivity, with the highest peak bare and rocky, +overhanging a deep and narrow ravine. The bordering fences were veiled +by luxurious ailanthus shoots, chicory blossoms opened their sweet blue +eyes to every morning sun, and it was beside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Rich in wild grasses numberless, and flowers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unnamed save in mute Nature's inventory."</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A NOBLE FOREST.</i></div> + +<p>In the air above, myriads of dainty white butterflies sported, ever +rising in little agitated parties of two or three, climbing gayly the +invisible staircase till at an immense height, and then fluttering back +to earth no wiser than they went up, so far as the human eye could see.</p> + +<p>The forest, as I have called it, was, to be sure, by measurement of man, +not more than three or four feet high. But all things are relative, and +to the frequenters of that pleasant bit of woodland, far above whose +head it towered, it was as the deep woods to us. I chose to look at it +from their point of view, and to them it was a noble forest, resembling +indeed a tropical jungle, so thickly grown that paths were made under +it, where might be enjoyed leisurely walks, given up to quiet and +meditation. For there were inhabitants in plenty,—the regulars, the +transients, the stragglers,—in furs, in feathers, in wings.</p> + +<p>In this nook, secluded from the world which every day swept by without a +glance, a constant drama of life went on, which I could see and be +myself unseen. I soon became absorbed in the study of it. The actors +were of that mysterious race which lives with us, and yet is rarely of +us; whose real life is to us mostly a sealed book, and of whom +Wordsworth delightfully sings,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Think of the beautiful gliding form,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tread that would scarcely crush a worm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the soothing song by the winter fire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soft as the dying throb of the lyre."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Yes, the cats, whose ways are ever the unexpected, and of whom I am so +fond that one of the most touching objects unearthed at Pompeii—to +me—is the skeleton of a woman holding in her arms the skeleton of a +cat, whom perhaps she gave her life to save.</p> + +<p>The builder of the fences at the back of this Cat's Eden very +considerately capped them all with a board three inches wide, thus +making a highway for the feline race, not only across the back, but from +that to each house door. On this private path, above the heads of boys +and dogs, they spent much time. This was their Broadway, and at the same +time their point of outlook, where they might survey the landscape and +decide when and where to enter their secluded domain. How admirable the +facility with which these mysterious beasts pass up or down high fences! +Ladders or stairs are superfluous. How can one possibly walk several +steps down a perpendicular board without falling headlong to the ground? +And still more strange,—how can one leap squarely against the same +fence, and run right up to the top?</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THREE REGULARS.</i></div> + +<p>Soon after breakfast on every fair day the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> houses around began to give +up their cats. There were three in whose actions I became specially +interested. The most important, and the one to whom I felt the place +belonged by right of appreciating it, was a personage of dignified +manners, and evidently of rank in his own world, a magnificent silver +tabby, the beauty of the neighborhood. Next in interest was a +white-and-black cat for whom I had sincere respect because she lived +most amicably with two canaries whose cages were always within reach and +never disturbed. The third was to my eyes anything but attractive, being +a faded-looking gray tabby, who entered the place by a hole under the +fence next the apartment-house. She looked ill-used, as if her home life +was troubled by bad children, or a frivolous, teasing dog, or a raging +housekeeper who left no peace to man or beast.</p> + +<p>For whatever cause, when, soon after breakfast, Madam Grey appeared on +the scene, she proceeded at once and in silence to the highest bare peak +of the hills, a sightly place where she could overlook the thick green +forest, with its shady walks and cool retreats, and have timely notice +of any approach from the street. On that point she found or made a +slight depression, and there she calmly dressed her fur, and then, +wrapping her robe around her (so to speak), slept hours at a time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>She never did anything on the lot except sleep, and she seemed totally +blind to the attractions of nature. I never saw her notice anything. As +soon as she awoke she went back through the humble portal to her flat.</p> + +<p>This piece of woods was not merely a pleasure-ground. It was a +hunting-field as well, and the denizens of its quiet shades were not at +all averse to a little excitement of the chase, nor to a taste now and +then of wild game of their own catching. What was there I know not, but +I judge from the spasmodic character of the hunt that it was +grasshoppers.</p> + +<p>The silver tabby and the white-and-black, who were daily visitors to the +place, never quarreled with each other, and their intercourse, when they +happened to meet on the common highway, was conducted in the courteous +and dignified manner of the race.</p> + +<p>Cats are popularly supposed to dislike wet, but I have seen two of them +in a steady rain conduct an interview with all the gravity and +deliberation for which these affairs are celebrated. The slow approach, +with frequent pauses to sit down and meditate, or "view the landscape +o'er," the earnest and musical—if melancholy—exchange of salutations, +the almost imperceptible drawing nearer, with the slightly waving tail +the only sign of excitement, and at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> last the instantaneous dash, the +slap or scratch (so rapid one can never tell which), the fiery expletive +and retort, and the instant retreat, to sit down again. There seems to +be some canon of feline etiquette which forbids two to meet and pass +without solemn formalities of this sort, reminding one of the +ceremonious greetings of the Orient, where time is of no particular +value.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A WAY OF HIS OWN.</i></div> + +<p>The silver tabby was an original, and had a way of his own. He seemed +impatient of these serious rites, and when within three feet of his +<i>vis-ą-vis</i> he usually gave one great leap over the intervening space, +administered his salute,—whatever it was,—and passed on. This cat was +peculiar in other ways. Sometimes he had the whole wood to himself, and +it was charming to see him wander in his leisurely way all over it, +smelling daintily of this and that, now tasting a leaf, now looking +intently at some creeper or crawler on the ground, now sitting down to +enjoy the seclusion and the silence of the wood. He was a philosopher, +or a lover of nature,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"A lover who knows by heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each joy the mountain dales impart."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>One of the accusations brought against this reserved little beast is +that he does not love man. Has he reason to do so? Tragedies I have seen +on the lot, which I try to forget and shall not repeat, in which small +boys demon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>strated in their treatment of the abused race how much more +brutal than a brute the human animal can be. Cats show their +intelligence by being wary of mankind.</p> + +<p>When October at last stripped the woods of their summer glory, and the +weather was no longer warm, the heat-loving creatures deserted the empty +lot, except the silver tabby, who often came out and sauntered through +its lonely paths, smelling of the weeds here and there, seating himself +in a bower that was still green, rubbing his face against something he +found there, and evidently enjoying sufficient society in his own +thoughts, for to him plainly it was still</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"A woodland enchanted."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Then came a week of unwonted glory, of distinguished visitors. All the +summer birds had hovered over it; toward evening the night hawk circled +high in air above it, uttering his wild, quaint cry, collecting food for +his little family, no doubt safely reposing on some gravel roof near by.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A RARE VISITOR.</i></div> + +<p>And there were always the city sparrows. They had taken possession of a +vine, which, clambering up the back of one of the houses bordering the +lot, had burst into sudden luxuriance when it found itself without +further support at the eaves, spreading out each side, and clinging for +dear life to the roof, making a delightful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> screen, as well as a +comfortable site for many bird homes. Indeed, there seemed to be a +populous bird village behind the green curtain, and great disturbances +sometimes occurred, and I could hear the excited voices of the residents +till darkness put an end to their discussions. One cool October day, as +I sat at my window I heard a strange bird note, and my ready glass in a +moment revealed a rare visitor indeed,—a thrasher. He stood on the edge +of a roof silhouetted against the sky, tossing his tail in excitement, +and peering eagerly into the yards opened out before him. Suddenly he +dashed into a tall rosebush leaning on the back fence of the empty lot, +and busied himself a few moments, perhaps with the rose hips; then +finding that too near the four-footed inhabitants, he retired to the +roof, looked to see that no plebeian sparrows were at home in the vine, +then plunged into that and disappeared behind its ample foliage. Here he +spent some time getting the berries, as I could see, and during his +occupancy no sparrow entered, though some flew by. All day he remained +in the vicinity; but at night I suppose he resumed his journey +southward, for I saw him no more.</p> + +<p>One day a pair of juncos appeared on the scene, mingling fraternally +with the sparrows, and sharing their usual pickings around back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> doors +and along the back fence, and white-throated sparrows showed themselves +on the shrubs and small trees which overhung the division walls.</p> + +<p>But the crowning day of the empty lot came still later, when a +fairy-like kinglet hunted over the rosebushes, and that shy woods +dweller, the hermit thrush, condescended to show his graceful form on +the fence, until the silver tabby, seeming to regard their calls as +intrusions, took up his station on the cats' highway and I saw the birds +no more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="IN_THE_BIRD-ROOM" id="IN_THE_BIRD-ROOM"></a>IN THE BIRD-ROOM.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII.</h2> + +<h4>THE SOLITAIRE.</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give sunlight for the lark and robin,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sun and sky, and mead and bloom;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But give for this rare throat to throb in,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And this lonesome soul to sob in,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wildwoods with their green and gloom.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Coates Kinney.</span></span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>For three years there lived in my house one of the remarkable birds +described in their native land as "invisible, mysterious birds with the +heavenly song." I have hesitated to write of him, because I feel unable +to do justice either to himself or to his musical abilities; and, +moreover, I am certain that what I must say will appear extravagant. Yet +when I find grave scientific books indulging in a mild rapture over him; +when learned travelers, unsuspected of sentimentality or exaggeration, +rave over him; when the literary man, studying the customs, the history, +and the government of a nation, goes out of his way to eulogize the song +of this bird, I take heart, and dare try to tell of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> wonderful song +and the life no less noble and beautiful.</p> + +<p>Among eight or ten American birds of as many kinds, the solitaire, or, +as he is called, the clarin, reminds one of a person of high degree +among the common herd. This may sound absurd; but such is the reserve of +his manner, the dignity of his bearing, the mystery of his utterances, +and the unapproachable beauty of his song, that the comparison is +irresistible. The mockingbird is a joyous, rollicking, marvelous +songster; the wood thrush moves the very soul with his ecstatic notes; +the clarin equals the latter in quality, with a much larger variety. He +is an artist of the highest order; he is "God's poet," if any bird +deserves the name; he strikes the listener dumb, and transports him with +delight.</p> + +<p>The solitaires, <i>Myadestes</i>, or fly-catching thrushes, are natives of +the West Indies and Mexico, with one branch in the Rocky Mountains. My +bird was <i>M. obscurus</i>, and came from Mexico. I found him in a New York +bird-store, where he looked about as much at home among the shrieking +and singing mob of parrots and canaries as a poet among a howling rabble +of the "great unwashed."</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>NO DESIRE TO LIVE.</i></div> + +<p>Upon a casual glance he might be mistaken for a catbird, being about his +size, with plumage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> of the same shade of dark slate, with darker wings +and tail and slightly lighter breast; but a moment's examination showed +his great difference from that interesting bird. His short, sharp, and +wide beak indicated the flycatcher, and his calm dark eyes were +surrounded with delicate lines of minute white feathers, a break at each +corner just preventing their being perfect rings.</p> + +<p>Being a warm admirer of the catbird, I noticed the stranger first for +the resemblance; but a few moments' study of his look and manner drew me +strongly to himself, and though I desired only our native birds, I could +not resist him.</p> + +<p>When introduced to his new quarters in my house, the clarin did not +flutter; he did not resist. He rested on the bottom of the cage where he +was placed, and looked at me with eyes that said, "What are <i>you</i> going +to do with me?" He had already accepted his imprisonment; he did not +expect to be free, and it was plain that he no longer cared for his +life. If he were to be subjected to the indignity of traveling in a box +among common birds, as he had been sent from the bird-store where I +found him, he had no desire to live. It required much coaxing to make +him forget the outrage, and I am glad to say it was the last affront he +suffered. From<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> that day he was treated as lie deserved, being always at +liberty in the room, and enjoying the distinguished consideration of a +houseful of people and birds. Before he came to understand that his life +had changed, however, I feared he would die. He did not mope, he simply +cared for nothing. For more than twenty-four hours he crouched on the +floor of his cage, utterly indifferent even to a comfortable position; +food he would not look at. I talked to him; I screened him from noisy +neighbors; I made his cage attractive; I spared no effort to win +him,—and at last I succeeded. He took up again the burden of life, +hopped upon a perch, and began to dress his feathers. Soon he was +induced to eat, and then he began to notice the bird voices about him. +Like other of the more intelligent birds, once won, he was entirely won. +He was never in the least wild with me after that experience; never +hesitated to put himself completely in my power, or to avail himself of +my help if he needed it in any way. Says another bird-lover, "Let but a +bird—that being so free and uncontrolled—be willing to draw near and +conclude a friendship with you, and lo, how your heart is moved!"</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A MYSTICAL CALL.</i></div> + +<p>It is hard to tell in what way this bird impressed every one with a +sense of his imperial character, but it is true that he did. He never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +associated with the other birds, and he selected for his perches those +in the darker part of the room, where his fellows did not go. Favorite +resting-places were the edge of a hanging map, the top of a gas fixture, +and a perch so near my seat that most birds were shy of it. Though +extravagantly fond of water, requiring his bath daily, he greatly +disliked to bathe in the dishes common to all. Like a royal personage, +he preferred his bath in his own quarters.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the clarin never added his voice to a medley of music. If +moved to sing while others were doing so, he first reduced them to +silence by a peculiar mystical call, which had a marked effect not only +upon every bird in the room, but upon the human listeners as well. This +call cut into the ripple of sweet sounds about him like a knife, loud, +sharp, and incisive, instantly silencing every bird. It consisted of two +notes exactly one octave apart,—the lower one first,—uttered so nearly +together that they produced the effect of one double note. After a pause +of a few seconds it was repeated, as clear and distinct as before, with +mouth open wide. It was delivered with the deliberation of a thrush; the +bird standing motionless except the tail, which hung straight down, and +emphasized every note with a slight jerk. This loud call, having been +given perhaps twenty times, began to diminish in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> volume, with longer +intervals between, till it became so faint it could scarcely be +heard,—a mere murmur with closed bill, yet so remarkable and so +effective that for some time not a bird peeped. Occasionally, while the +room was quiet, he began to sing; but again it appeared that it was his +purpose merely to hush the babble of music, for, having secured his +beloved stillness, the beautiful bird remained a long time at rest, +sitting closely on his perch, plainly in deep content and happiness. +Sometimes, when out in the room, he delivered the call with +extraordinary excitement, turning from side to side, posturing, flirting +one wing or both, lifting them quite high and bringing them down +sharply; but when in the cage at dusk—his favorite time—he stood, as I +said, motionless and without agitation.</p> + +<p>In another way my bird differed from nearly all the feathered folk, and +proved his right to belong to the thrush family; he was not in any +degree fussy; he never hopped about aimlessly, or to pass away time. He +had not only a beautiful repose of manner, but there was an air of +reticence in everything he did. Even in so trivial a matter as eating, +he was peculiar. During the season he was always supplied with +huckleberries, of which he was exceedingly fond. Any other bird would +take his stand beside the dish, and eat till he was satisfied; but +quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> otherwise did the clarin. He went deliberately to the floor where +they were, took one berry daintily in the tip of his beak, returned with +it to the upper perch, fixed his eyes upon me, and suddenly, without a +movement, let it slip down his throat, his eyes still upon me, with the +most comically solemn expression of "Who says I swallowed a berry?" Then +he stood with an air of defiant innocence, as if it were a crime to eat +berries, not wiping his bill nor moving a feather till he wanted another +berry, when he ate it in exactly the same way.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>AT THE MIRROR.</i></div> + +<p>The clarin defended himself against imposition, but, except to his own +reflection in the glass, he never showed warlike inclinations. Upon his +first sight of himself he was much excited. His feathers rose, +especially on the back, where they looked like a hump; his beak pointed +toward the offensive stranger, he uttered a peculiar new war-cry and +then flung himself violently upon the enemy. Of course he brought up +against the glass, and dropped panting to the bureau. In a moment he +rallied, poured out a few unfamiliar notes in a loud strange voice, with +wings quivering, body swaying from side to side, and tail wide spread. +Then lifting both wings high above his back, he repeated the attack. +Finding himself a second time baffled, he remained where he had dropped, +silent, a picture of despair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>I hastened to end his trouble by covering the glass. He flew several +times around the room, then alighted, reduced the inmates to meek +silence by his mysterious calls, then flew to his own cage, retired to +the upper perch, and remained quiet and motionless for an hour or more; +apparently meditating upon the strange occurrence, and wondering how the +elusive stranger had disappeared. During his trouble before the glass, +all the birds in the room were excited; they always were close observers +of everything he did, and never seemed to regard him as one of +themselves.</p> + +<p>In the spring, when the room was emptied of all its tenants excepting +two or three who could not be set free, the clarin was a very happy +bird. He flew freely and joyously about, delighting especially in +sweeping just over my head as if he intended to alight, and he sang +hours at a time. The only disturbance he had then—the crumpled roseleaf +in his lot—was the presence of a saucy blue jay, a new-comer whom he +could neither impress by his manner nor silence by his potent calls. So +far from that, the jay plainly determined to outshriek him; and when no +one was present to impose restraint on the naughty blue-coat (who, as a +stranger, was for a time quite modest), he overpowered every effort of +his beautiful <i>vis-ą-vis</i> by whistles and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> squawks and cat-calls of the +loudest and most plebeian sort. At the first sound of this vulgar tirade +the imperial bird was silent, scorning to use his exquisite voice in so +low company; while the jay, in no whit abashed, filled the room with the +uproar till some one entered, when he instantly ceased.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>WRAPPED IN FUSS.</i></div> + +<p>The regularity of the clarin's bath has been mentioned; he dried +himself, if possible, in the sunshine. Even in this he had his own way, +which was to raise every feather on end; the delicate tips rose on his +crown, the neck plumage stood out like a ruff, the tail spread, and the +wings hung away from the body. In this attitude, he looked as if wrapped +in exquisite furs from his small beak to his slender black legs. He +shared with all thrushes a strange restlessness on the approach of +evening. First he moved back and forth on one perch with a gliding +motion, his body crouched till the breast almost touched the perch, tail +standing up, and wings quivering. Then he became quiet, and uttered his +call for some time, and soon after settled for the night, sleeping well +and even dreaming, as was evident from the muffled scraps of song and +whispered calls that came from his cage.</p> + +<p>This bird has all the sensitiveness of an artistic temperament, and one +can readily believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> that in freedom he would choose a life so secluded +as to merit the popular name, "the invisible bird," inhabiting the +wildest and most inaccessible spots on the rough mountain-side, as Mr. +Frederic A. Ober found some of his near relations in the West Indies. +If, in spite of his reserved manners, any bird was impertinent enough to +chase or annoy him, he acted as if his feelings were hurt, went to his +cage, and refused to leave it for some time. Yet it was not cowardice, +for he could and did defend his cage against intruders, flying at them +with cries of rage. Also, if his wishes chanced to interfere with the +notions of another bird,—as they did on one or two occasions that I +noticed,—he showed no lack of spirit in carrying them out. Once that I +remember, he chose to perch on the top of a certain cage next a window, +where he had not before cared to go. The particular spot that he +occupied was the regular stand of another bird, one also accustomed to +having his own way, and quite willing to fight for it,—a Brazilian +cardinal. The cardinal, of course, disputed the point with the clarin, +but the latter retained his position as long as he desired, running at +the enemy with a cry if he ventured to alight near. In general, his +tastes were so different from others that he seldom came into collision +with them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>NOT DARING TO LAUGH.</i></div> + +<p>When, on the approach of spring, some of his room-mates grew +belligerent, and there arose occasional jarring between them, my bird +showed his dislike of contention and coarse ways by declining to come +out of his cage at all. Although the door stood open all day, and he was +kept busy driving away visitors, he insisted on remaining a hermit till +the restless birds were liberated, when he instantly resumed his usual +habits, and came out as before. His sensitiveness was exhibited in +another way,—mortification if an accident befell him. For example, +when, by loss of feathers in moulting, he was unable to fly well, and +fell to the floor instead of reaching the perch he aimed at, he stood as +if stunned, motionless where he happened to drop, as if life were no +longer worth living. Once he fell in this way upon a table beside a +newspaper. As he landed, his feet slid on the polished surface, and he +slipped partly under the loose paper, so that only his head appeared +above it. There he stood for five minutes looking at me, and bearing a +droll resemblance to a bird's head on a newspaper. He was not more than +four feet from me, and was obviously deeply chagrined, and in doubt +whether he would better ever try to recover himself; and I positively +did not dare to laugh, lest I hurt him more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>The first time the clarin fell to the floor, I ventured to offer him the +end of a perch which I held. Not in the least startled, he looked at it, +then at me, then accepted the civility by stepping upon it, and holding +there while I lifted and carried him to the door of the cage. This soon +came to be the regular thing, and all through the trying season of +moulting he waited for me to bring a perch and restore him to the upper +regions where he belonged. He would have been easily tamed. Even with no +efforts toward it, he came on my desk freely, talked to me, with +quivering wings, and readily ate from my finger. The only show of +excitement, as he made these successive advancements, was the rising of +some part of his plumage. At one time he lifted the feathers around the +base of his head, so that he appeared to have on a cap a little too big, +with a fringe on the edge; and on his first alighting on the arm of the +chair where I sat, the feathers over his ears stood out like ear-muffs.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 347px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f216.jpg" width="347" height="550" alt="STUDYING THE BLUE JAY—SOLITAIRE AND BLUE JAY" title="" /> +<span class="caption">STUDYING THE BLUE JAY—SOLITAIRE AND BLUE JAY</span> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>IMITATING THE JAY.</i></div> + +<p>When at last the clarin and the blue jay were left nearly alone in the +room, I noticed that the clarin began watching with interest the +movements of the jay. They had never come in collision, except of the +voice above mentioned, because the jay preferred the floor, chairs, and +desk, and seldom touched the perches, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> clarin nearly lived +upon them. But after some study the latter clearly made up his mind to +try the places his larger room-mate liked so well. He had already +learned to go upon the desk and ask for currants, which in the absence +of fresh berries I kept soaking in a little covered dish. If, after +asking as plainly as eloquent looks and significant movements of wings +could, I did not take the hint and give him some, he flew over my head, +just touching it as he passed. But now, having resolved to imitate the +jay, he went to the floor, and tried all of his chosen retreats: the +lower rounds of the chair, my rockers, my knee, and the back of a chair +sacred to the jay. During these excursions into unknown regions he +discovered that warm air came out of the register, and apparently +thinking he had discovered summer, he perched on the water-cup that hung +before it, spread his feathers, and seemed as happy as if he had really +found that genial season.</p> + +<p>Who can describe the song of a bird? Poets and prose writers alike have +lavished epithets on nightingale and mockingbird, wood thrush and veery, +yet who, till he heard one, could imagine what its song was like? Yet I +must speak of it.</p> + +<p>Singing was always a serious matter with my bird; that is, he never sang +while eating or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> flying about, interpolating his exquisite notes between +two mouthfuls, or dropping them from the air. He always placed himself +deliberately, and waited for the room to be still,—or made it so, as +already related. During the first few months of his residence with me he +gave one song of perhaps twenty notes, ending in a lovely tremolo. This +had great variety of arrangement, but all bore unmistakable resemblance +to the original theme. It was in quality totally unlike any bird note I +ever heard, and thrilling in an extraordinary degree, though it was +uttered with the beak nearly closed. I can readily believe what Mr. Ober +and others assert, that it must have a startling effect when poured out +freely in his native woods.</p> + +<p>This song alone placed the clarin at the head of all songsters that I +have heard or heard of, and I have heard all of our own best songsters, +and the nightingale and wood lark of Europe. But after nearly a year of +this he came out one memorable day with an entirely new melody, much +more intricate and more beautiful, which for some time he reserved for +very special and particular occasions, still giving the former one +ordinarily. Some months later, to my amazement, he added a third chant, +part of which so resembled that of the wood thrush that if he had been +near one I should have thought it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> a remarkable mimicry. He delivered +this with the exquisite feeling of the native bird, even the delicious +quivering tone at the end, which indeed my bird often repeated in a low +tone by itself. Sometimes, when the room was very still and he sitting +on his perch, feathers puffed out, perfectly happy, he breathed out this +most bewitching tremulous sound without opening his beak,—a performance +enchanting beyond words to express.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ENCHANTING SINGER.</i></div> + +<p>These themes the clarin constantly varied, and in the three years of his +life with me I often noted down, in a sort of phonetic way, his songs, +as he delivered them, and I have six or seven that are perfectly +distinct and different. He never mixed them together or united them; he +rarely sang two on the same day. All through, too, there seemed so much +reserve power that one could not resist the conviction that he could go +on and on, and break one's heart with his voice if he chose. The bird's +own deep feeling was shown by his conduct; the least movement in the +room would shut him up instantly. One could heartily say with another +bird-lover across the sea, "If he has not a soul, who will answer to me +for the human soul?"</p> + +<p>It was reserved for the last weeks of his life for my bird to give me +the most genuine surprise. One day I sat quietly at my desk. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> bird +stood on a perch very near my head,—so near I could not turn to look at +him, when, without a moment's hesitation, without an instant's +preliminary practice, he burst out into a glorious, heavenly, perfect +song that struck me dumb and breathless. Not daring to move hand or +foot, yet wanting some record of the wonderful aria, I jotted down, in +the page I was writing, a few of the opening notes; I could re-write my +page, but I could not bear to lose the music. Three times, at intervals +of perhaps one minute, he uttered the same marvelous song, and then I +never heard it again. After all, I had not a record of it, for though it +was deliberate and distinct, at every repetition I was spellbound, and +could not separate it into tones.</p> + +<p>Though I should live to be a thousand years old, and visit every country +under heaven, I am sure I should never hear such a rapturous burst of +song again,—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Low and soft as the soothing fall</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of the fountains of Eden; sweet as the call</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of angels over the jasper wall</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That welcomes a soul to heaven."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>After the foregoing study was written, Mr. Frederic A. Ober kindly +placed at my disposal his unpublished notes upon another solitaire, the +<i>siffleur montagne</i>, or mountain whistler. He had the bird in +confinement for some time,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> while in the Antilles on a collecting tour +for the United States National Museum; and the bird's character, as +shown in captivity, so closely resembled the one I have tried to depict, +that I give it as evidence that others have similarly interpreted the +manners of the family.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>LOVE OF SOLITUDE.</i></div> + +<p>To begin with his love of solitude, one of the strongest characteristics +of the <i>Myadestes</i> wherever found. It is that more than anything else +which, in connection with his wonderful song, has wrapped the bird in +mystery, and aroused the superstitions of the natives of the countries +in which he lives. Mr. Ober says, and every one of the few observers who +have succeeded in seeing the bird confirms the statement, that he is +found only in the most solitary places, inaccessible mountains, wild, +gloomy ravines, and dark, impenetrable gorges. Here the graceful bird +delights to dwell, calling and singing from his post on a branch +overhanging the perpendicular cliffs, hundreds of feet above the level +earth. One of them, indeed, secures his beloved solitude by inhabiting +the craters of extinct volcanoes.</p> + +<p>In sprightliness of manner this bird of solitude reminds one of the +catbird, whom he also greatly resembles in looks. He has the +quick-darting movements of the flycatchers, and at the same time a +strange, preoccupied air, that seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> to make him oblivious of people, +although they may be within a few feet of him.</p> + +<p>Passing one of these peculiarly lonely places one day in his wanderings, +Mr. Ober heard the note of the siffleur close at hand. He crept +cautiously through the trees until he saw the bird, who had ceased +singing, and was eating berries from a tall shrub, clinging to its +hanging branches.</p> + +<p>He soon finished his repast, flew to a dead branch, plumed his feathers, +and after a few moments resumed his singing. He uttered a few trills of +a rare musical quality that held his listener spellbound, then lightly +flew to another branch overhanging the little ravine, at the bottom of +which a babbling brook made music,—"not so liquid as siffleurs,"—says +the historian. Here a few more strains fell from him, then he flitted to +a swinging vine, repeated his bewitching note, and in a moment +disappeared. The tones, says Mr. Ober, "are thrilling with solemn music +and indescribably impressive." They have also a ventriloquial quality, +and many tunes had he vainly searched for the singer, until a note of +another sort betrayed his position, which was sometimes almost over the +observer's head.</p> + +<p>One morning a captive siffleur was dragged out of the trousers pocket of +one of his "ragged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> brigade" and presented to the chronicler. These +boys, whose help was indispensable to the collector, were a study in +themselves. They were familiar with the habits, songs, and food of every +bird in the woods, as well as expert in imitating the note of each one, +and by this means drawing him to the fatal limed twigs. The interesting +birds of the mountains, the siffleur, the trembleur, and others, they +attracted by a peculiar hissing noise.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE BIRD INSULTED.</i></div> + +<p>The bird brought to Mr. Ober had been caught by bird-lime and was +unhurt, but greatly mortified and insulted by his treatment. He seemed +at first dazed, and utterly silent. But after a while he gave utterance +to a cry of distress, which he repeated at intervals on that first +morning, particularly when people came too near him. Before night he +evidently realized the uselessness of protests, and became silent. He +never for a moment displayed the wild terror and panic seen in most +birds when first caught.</p> + +<p>The next morning he ate berries and drank fresh water calmly and without +fear; but for several days he did not utter a sound. One of the +peculiarities of these birds is their fearlessness in the presence of +man, or perhaps more correctly their intelligence, which prevents them, +as it does our native thrushes, from be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>ing frightened unless there is +something really alarming.</p> + +<p>This is the natural and charming attitude of bird and beast toward man, +until taught by deadly experience what they have to dread, as has been +proved many times.</p> + +<p>It is not, therefore, in the case of the solitaires, fear of man which +drives them to their secluded dwelling-places. It is a certain reserve +of character, a strong dislike to a crowd, a genuine love of solitude, +and who shall say there is not also an appreciation of the attractions +of scenery!</p> + +<p>After Mr. Ober's bird had become used to his captivity, the collecting +boys brought in another prisoner, a trembleur, so named because of his +curious and restless manners, the jerks and quivers, the spasmodic +movements of head and wings and tail, and the bows and postures with +which he does everything.</p> + +<p>The unfortunate trembleur indulged in no amusing antics on this +occasion, however. He was overwhelmed by the extent of the disaster that +had befallen him,—captivity in the hands of his worst foe. He crouched +in one corner of his box, looking with wonder at his surroundings.</p> + +<p>Now appeared a new trait in the character of siffleur. His deep love of +solitude was even aggressive; he would not tolerate the intrusion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> of +another bird upon his domain. He greeted his fellow-sufferer first with +hisses and then with threats and feints of war. Trembleur did not +respond, but he presented his formidable bill in readiness to repel +attack.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>ANNOYED BY HUMMINGBIRDS.</i></div> + +<p>One of his own family, another siffleur, being added to the imprisoned +party, the first-comer was most unfriendly, flying at him, and trying to +keep him from food and water.</p> + +<p>Another indication of the bird's love of quiet was his annoyance at the +hummingbirds, whose ways Mr. Ober was studying, and who flitted about +the room all the time. From the first he regarded them with disfavor. +Their frivolous manners and their constant humming were not pleasing to +him; but when they became so impertinent as to alight on his back, this +trifling with his dignity was past endurance; he hissed, and snapped his +beak at the elusive little creatures, and finally worked himself into +such a rage that he was found completely exhausted, and almost in a +dying condition. These continued excitements, indeed, so wore upon his +sensitive nature that he did not long survive his extreme passion.</p> + +<p>This was the more to be regretted because of the readiness with which he +accepted his fate. He became tame in a week after capture, and readily +took food from the fingers. From the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> first he never made the least +effort to escape, but seemed perfectly contented, so long as he was +alone. It was the presence of intruders—as he regarded them—that he +resented so fatally.</p> + +<p>One of this most interesting family, Townsend's fly-catching thrush +(<i>Myadestes Townsendii</i>) is resident in the mountains of Colorado, and +it is pleasing to see how the most scientific and the least emotional of +chroniclers fall into rapture over his song. "Never have I heard a more +delightful chorus of bird music," says one. "The song can be compared to +nothing uttered by any other bird I have heard," says another. "A most +exquisite song in which the notes of purple finch, wood thrush, and +winter wren are blended into a silvery cascade of melody that ripples +and dances down the mountain-side as clear and sparkling as the mountain +brook," says a third.</p> + +<p>Charles Dudley Warner, who found the clarin a favorite cage bird in +Mexico, says of his song (in "Mexican Notes"): "Its long, liquid, +full-throated note is more sweet and thrilling than any other bird note +I have ever heard; it is hardly a song, but a flood of melody, +elevating, inspiring as the skylark, but with a touch of the tender +melancholy of the nightingale in the night."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII.</h2> + +<h4>INCOMPATIBILITY IN THE ORIOLE FAMILY.</h4> + + +<p>One whole year I entertained in my bird-room an individual of strongly +marked character, an orchard oriole. Wishing to study his habits, I put +a pair of this species into a big cage, hoping they would live happily, +as did other couples in the room at the same time. The pretty little +yellow and olive dame was amiable enough,—she could live in peace with +any bird in the room; but her comrade rebelled against the decrees of +man. He was an autocrat; he intended to have his house to himself, and, +more, he purposed to appropriate any other residence he chose to select, +whoever might claim it. Hostilities began the moment the door was shut +upon them; he drove her away from the food-cup, he fought her over the +bathing-dish, he answered her sweet call with a harsh "chack" or an +insulting "huff," he twitched her feathers if she came near him, and +gave her a peck if she seemed to be having too easy a time. Withal, such +was his villainous temper that he desired a victim to abuse, and never +let her out of his sight for two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> minutes, lest she should enjoy +something he could deprive her of. She was of a happy temperament; she +contented herself with what was given her. If she could not have pear, +she cheerfully ate bread and milk; while if my lord could not have pear, +he would starve. She had large dark eyes, and soft, delicate colors, +with legs and feet the tint of light blue kid; but her liege lord was in +the immature plumage of the second year, with black mask covering his +small eyes.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>IN THE LOOKING-GLASS.</i></div> + +<p>Hardly were the two orioles let out into the room when they began to +investigate the wonders about them: one flew to the fringe of a +window-shade, and hung head down while trying with sharp beak to pry +open the cords; the other devoted itself to unraveling the mysteries of +books and boxes, very soon learning to open both with the same prying +instrument. The slats of the blinds were appropriated as ladders to run +up and down, and every few moments one disappeared in some hole, never +hesitating to creep through the smallest opening. Madam went up out of +sight among the springs of a stuffed chair, while her mate set himself +the task of pulling out the stitches of embroidery on a toilet cushion, +with perfect success. Having exhausted this amusement, he looked about +for new worlds to conquer, and soon found sundry holes in the +wall-paper, where I suppose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> nails had been driven, though they were so +hidden by the confused pattern that I could not see them. Before the +walls he hovered slowly, and the discovery of an opening was the signal +for work. One claw inserted under the broken edge of the paper was perch +enough, and the first intimation of the mischief was the falling of bits +of plaster and fluttering fragments of paper. Of thus amusing himself he +could never be cured, and many unsightly places remained to tell the +tale. While the head of the family disfigured the wall, his little +spouse found occupation in working at a paper covering the cage of a +gentle bird who specially disliked intrusive neighbors. First she pulled +out the pin that held it in place, took it under a toe, and tried to +wrench the head off; failing in this, she passed it through her beak +back and forth as she did a worm, evidently to reduce it to a softer +condition. Finding the pin intractable, she dropped it, and turned her +attention to the paper; tearing off bits, peeping under it, and +constantly worrying the peace-loving owner, until a roof of enameled +cloth, securely fastened by sewing, was provided for him.</p> + +<p>The only one in the room whom the unlovely bird found it impossible to +annoy was the oriole he saw in the looking-glass, and he never gave up +trying to reduce even him to a proper state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> of meekness. Whenever he +caught sight of his reflection he was furious: he strode across the +lower support, bowing and posturing; then flew up against the glass, +touching it with breast and claws, and beating his wings against it. +Failing, of course, to seize the enemy, he peered eagerly behind the +mirror, then returned with fresh rage to the charge in front. After a +while I placed the glass at such an angle that he could not see himself +from below. Instantly he alighted on a basket that hung conveniently +near, ran to the end where he could stretch around and see his face, +then to the other end from which he could look behind, uttering at the +same time a loud cry. This also he kept up till I removed the basket. A +day or two later, the discovery of a hand-glass standing on a table gave +opportunity for a repetition of the performance. He attitudinized, +drooped his wings, beat against it, hopped quite over it, touched the +glass many times with his beak, and at last circled round and round, +going into a rage whenever he reached the front, and springing suddenly +around, as if to seize the elusive enemy behind. It was a strange +exhibition of passion, very droll if it had not been painful to see. +After that the glasses were covered.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;"> +<img src="images/ill-f230.jpg" width="342" height="550" alt="THE ENEMY IN THE GLASS—THE ORCHARD ORIOLE" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE ENEMY IN THE GLASS—THE ORCHARD ORIOLE</span> +</div> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>GYMNASTICS ON THE ROOF.</i></div> + +<p>Repose of manner was unknown to the orchard oriole; he could never wait +a moment for any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>thing. If he wanted to bathe, he plumped into the +dish, whether it were empty or not; thus he often surprised a more +dignified bird by bouncing in beside him and splashing as though no one +else were in sight. In fact, the bath was a constant subject of dispute; +he was very fond of it, and the sound of dashing water was always +irresistibly tempting to him. If he were shut into his cage with no +other amusement, he indulged in gymnastics on the roof, running about, +head down, on the wires, as readily as a fly on the ceiling, and often +hanging by one claw, swinging back and forth, as if to enjoy the +upside-down view of the world. If he stood still two minutes on a perch +he was usually asleep; and both of these birds indulged in daytime naps, +in which they buried their heads in their feathers, exactly as they did +at night.</p> + +<p>The lord and master of this household was extremely fastidious in his +fare. Mockingbird food he despised, bread and milk he left to his cage +mate, apples were too hard to please him; nothing appealed to his taste +except the tenderest of Bartlett pears, and of these he condescended to +eat one a day. After a while, in his trampish fashion of prowling about +in other birds' houses, he discovered that mockingbird food was not so +bad; and although he scorned it at home, he soon spent half his time in +going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> from cage to cage, pulling over the food-supply, and selecting +dainty bits for his own delectation. Naturally, he had many encounters +with insulted proprietors, and some narrow escapes from a pecking; but +he accepted these little episodes in the spirit of the tramp, regularly +poached upon his neighbors, and nothing would keep him out of others' +cages, or convince him that his own dish was as well supplied as any. +The truth is, he seemed to be devoured by a fear that some one was +better provisioned than he; and this feeling went so far that in the +cage of a seed-eater he ate seeds, though since he did not take off the +shells he was obliged to throw them up in a ball somewhat later. Like +many other birds, the orioles were fond of huckleberries, which they ate +daintily, driving their sharp beaks into a berry, and holding it under +one toe while they neatly extracted the pulp, thrusting far out their +long white tongues in the operation.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>HIS DEAREST DELIGHT.</i></div> + +<p>Meal-worms—the choice morsels of the bird-room—came near driving the +oriole wild. It was natural for him to take one under his toe, and pull +off small bits till all was eaten, but his greed made this way very +distasteful. How could he be satisfied with a slow manner, while +thrushes and bluebirds took one at a gulp, and were ready for more? He +could not; he put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> himself in training, and in a few days could bolt a +worm as quickly as anybody. Now it became the object of his life to +secure them all for himself. He was so quick in movement that he had no +difficulty in swooping down upon every one that was put out, before more +leisurely birds had stirred a feather. When he was absolutely incapable +of swallowing another, he continued to seize them, kill them by a bite, +and drop them on the floor. Nobody cared for dead worms, and thus the +selfish fellow managed, as long as he was allowed, to deprive every bird +in the room of his share. The remedy was simple: his door was closed +till the other birds had eaten, and he pranced back and forth before it, +actually squealing with rage, while they disposed of the dainties in +their own natural way.</p> + +<p>The dearest delight of this bird, however, was one which no other in the +room shared,—catching flies. Observing that he tried to get one on the +outside of the window-frame, I thought I would indulge him; so the next +morning, before the cages were opened, I raised the windows. As I +anticipated, two or three flies came in. The oriole saw them in an +instant, and was frantic to get out. When his door was unclosed he at +once gave chase, and never rested till every fly was caught and eaten. +He hunted them up and down the windows with great eagerness, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> never +followed them back into the room, though of course, as they could not +keep away from the light themselves, they all fell victims sooner or +later. After that several flies were allowed to come in every morning, +and no sportsman, of whatever size, was ever keener after his prey, +whether fish, fox, or tiger from the jungle.</p> + +<p>The little dame liked flies too, and if one came near her did not +hesitate to appropriate it, although it brought her mate upon her "like +a wolf on the fold." The two had once a funny time with a very large fly +which fell into the hands—or beak—of madam. The victim did not submit +with meekness; in fact, he protested in a loud voice. This at once +attracted the attention of the master, who flung himself furiously at +his usually amiable spouse, to snatch it from her. She did not give it +up, but flew away, he following closely, and the fly buzzing madly all +the while. Round and round the room they went for some time, till he was +tired and gave up, when she alighted and tried to dispose of her prize, +which was, after all, rather embarrassing to her. The insect was large, +and she seemed afraid to put it under one toe, as usual, lest she should +be attacked and have to fly suddenly, and so lose it. When she did make +the attempt at last, her movements or his strength caused a slip +somewhere, and away he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> went, buzzing louder than ever in triumph. This +sound again roused the hunter's instinct, and both orioles flew wildly +after that noisy creature, which took one turn around the room, then +alighted on the top of the lower sash of a window, and passed quickly +down the hole made for the window-cord. The orioles in chase of this +slippery fellow, seeing him outside, came bang against the glass, and +then dropped to a perch, looking rather foolish.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>THE FLY ESCAPED.</i></div> + +<p>Very soon after these birds were at home in the room, the female began +to sing a low and sweet song of considerable variety. The male confined +his utterances to scolding and "huffing," and he tried to silence her +with a peck, or by making ostentatious preparations for a nap, in which +curious way many birds show contempt. But she did not often sing at +home. She preferred a perch the other side of the room, where she sat +down, her breast feathers covering her toes, threw her head up, and +turned it from side to side (perhaps looking for the enemy always ready +to pounce upon her), as she poured out the pleasing melody. Not a note +of song came out of his throat till weeks afterwards, when her presence +no longer disturbed him, and spring came to stir even his hard heart.</p> + +<p>Matters culminated, in this ill-assorted union,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> with a tragedy. He +began a bully and a scold; and so far from being mollified by her +gentleness, his bad temper increased by indulgence, until he absolutely +prevented her from eating, bathing, or entering the cage when he was +about. At this point providence—in the shape of the +mistress—interfered, bought a new cage as big as the old one, and, in +the summary way in which we of the human family dispose of the lives and +happiness of those we call the lower animals, declared a divorce. This +was agreeable to the female, at least. She entered her solitary cage +with joy, and ate to her satisfaction, but not so well pleased was the +tyrant; he wanted an object on which to vent his ill-humor, and it +grieved his selfish soul to see her happy, out of his reach, with table +spread as bountifully as his own. He usurped the new cage; she retired +contentedly to the old. Still he was not suited, for the old one was +nearer the window; so he tried to occupy both, and drive her away +altogether. So outrageous did he become that finally he had to be shut +into one cage before she could enter the other. It was curious, on these +occasions, to see the care with which she examined the door of his cage, +to be sure that he really could not get out, and the satisfied air with +which she finally went home; even then she ate at the point of the +bayonet, as it were,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> he raging from side to side of his cage, as near +to her as he could get, and scolding furiously. This could not go on +forever, and the most watchful care was not able always to protect her +without making prisoner of one. It was the middle of winter, and she +could not be set free; but if I had suspected how far his tyranny would +go, I should have removed one of them to another room. To my deep +sorrow, I found her dead one morning, and her body so thin I was sure +she had been worried to death.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A BAD TEMPER.</i></div> + +<p>Naturally, I did not love the brutal bird who had teased another out of +her life, but I certainly looked for an improvement in his temper now +that he had no one to vex his sight. I looked in vain. He was more +savage, more of a tramp and poacher, more of a scold, than ever. He even +went so far as to huff at the sparrows outside the window. He never +entered into the feelings of his neighbors in any way; when every other +bird in the room was excited, alarmed, or disturbed, he alone remained +perfectly unconcerned, exactly as if he did not see them.</p> + +<p>During the latter part of that winter I was interested to see a curious +provision of nature for an emergency. The oriole had a serious affection +of one hind-toe, which swelled, turned white, and was evidently so +painful to use that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> he alighted on the other foot, holding this one up. +After a few days I noticed him using his foot again; there was a hind +toe all well, and the disabled one above the new one, quite out of +harm's way. It looked as if it were going to fall off, and I did not +know but the universal Mother had provided a new toe; but on close +examination I found that one of the three front toes had turned back to +take the place of the useless member. Thus relieved, it became well, the +front toe returned to its proper place, and the bird was all right +again.</p> + +<p>Now spring came on, and the oriole began to sing, strange, half-choking +sounds at first, interspersed with his harshest notes, as if he were +forced to sing by the season, but was resolved that no one should enjoy +it as music, and so spoiled it by these interpolations. I found +afterwards, however, on studying his wild relatives, that this is their +customary way of singing. Now, too, queer little spots began to appear +in his plumage, dots of bright reddish chestnut, first on one side of +the breast, then about the tail coverts, till after a month he looked +like patchwork of the "crazy" sort. All this time his song was gaining +in strength and volume, till by the first of May he could outsing any +bird in the room.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>UTTERLY UNLOVELY.</i></div> + +<p>To outdo in some way was his delight, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> regularly discomfited the +singers and silenced the gentle ripple of thrush music in the house by +his loud carol. Later, the weather became settled, the well and perfect +birds were given their liberty, and he had the bird-room to himself, the +only utterly unlovely bird I ever knew.</p> + +<p>The relations of a pair of Baltimore orioles at the same time were not +much more harmonious; but the little dame being more spirited than her +neighbor, things arranged themselves differently.</p> + +<p>I introduced the pair by the rather summary process of putting both into +one large cage. She had suffered at the hands of mankind, and her +plumage was in a terribly draggled state; and clothes have as much to do +with self-respect in the feathered world as in our own. Her condition of +general wreck was so complete as to leave her without a tail,—the last +stage of respectability. She was depressed in spirits, and at first did +not gainsay the dictation of the bird already in possession. He drove +her away from the food-dishes, denied her a place on his perch, and in +fact set up for lord and master, and she submitted for a time.</p> + +<p>It was amusing to see these birds trying, on the first evening, to +settle the question of sleeping-quarters. As usual, the mind of the male +was made up, and he planted himself in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> darkest corner of the upper +perch away from the window, shook himself out, and considered the matter +decided. The meek little new-comer did not aspire to his corner, but she +ardently desired a place on that farther perch, and after he became +quiet she resolved to try for it. Too modest to approach it in the +natural way, from the lower perches, she scrambled up the wires of the +cage, and shyly came on from the back. The autocrat was not asleep, and +the instant her foot touched it he bounced across the cage to the other +upper perch. He evidently expected that she would be put to shame in her +surreptitious attempt to share his perch, and would at once retire to +her proper sphere; but he was mistaken. So far from being embarrassed by +his displeasure, she calmly accepted the relinquished position, and +prepared for sleep. This was far from satisfactory to his majesty, and +he jumped back as suddenly as he had gone; whereupon madam dropped to +the floor. But, with true oriole persistence, in a moment she tried it +again, going as before up the wires. Again the annoyed oriole deserted +his post, and, disappointed in the effect, returned; once more, also, +rather disconcerted, she descended to the floor. Not to stay, however. +She was as set in her way as he was, and to sleep in that corner was her +determination. This curious seesaw performance was reėnacted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> far into +the twilight with amusing regularity, but how they finally settled it I +could not stay to see.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>SHE REBELLED.</i></div> + +<p>The unfortunate condition of the female kept her in subjection a few +days, and then she rose superior to clothes, and quietly rebelled. The +possession of the bath was the first disputed point. There she took her +stand, bowed and postured on the edge, while he splashed unconcernedly +in the tub; and the next time she went so far as to remain in the water +and keep on bathing, while he assumed the offensive on the edge. After +trying in vain to awe or terrify her, he actually plumped in beside her, +and they spattered and fluttered side by side, as if they were +inseparable friends. The oriole, however, had learned a lesson. He +recognized a kindred spirit, and henceforth they lived peaceably +together, in a sort of armed neutrality. No quarreling disgraced their +house; each went on in his own way, and the other did not interfere.</p> + +<p>One had no right to expect sociability between a pair living in mere +tolerance of each other, and yet I was disappointed that they did not +talk together. I wanted to hear them, but I listened in vain for weeks. +In sight or out of sight, it made no difference; they were the same +taciturn couple, each occupied in its own way, and never exchanging a +note. But at last I caught them. At night, during the winter, each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> cage +was closely wrapped in a thick, warm cover, and before this was taken +off in the morning I began to hear low murmurs from the orioles. One +spoke in a complaining tone, as if it said, "Why do you treat me thus?" +and the other uttered a regular oriole "chur-r-r." In time the sounds +grew louder, and I noticed in the querulous tone great variety of pitch, +inflection, and duration of note, accompanied often by a hopping back +and forth, as if the listener were inattentive. Wishing to see as well +as hear this little domestic drama, I took care the next night to +arrange the covering in such a way that I could peep in without +disturbing it. Then I saw the lordly Baltimore on the middle perch, +leaning over and looking at his mate on the floor. He addressed her in a +tone so low that it was scarcely audible at the distance of one foot, +and she replied in the fretful voice I have spoken of. Then he began +hopping from perch to perch, occasionally pausing to take his part in +the conversation, which was kept up till they saw me.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>A NEW SONG.</i></div> + +<p>Not all the time of the beautiful orioles was passed in contentions; +once having placed themselves on what they considered their proper +footing in the family, they had leisure for other things. No more +entertaining birds ever lived in the room; full of intelligent curiosity +as they were, and industriously studying out the idio<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>syncrasies of +human surroundings in ways peculiarly their own, they pried into and +under everything,—opened the match-safe and threw out the contents, +tore the paper off the wall in great patches, pecked the backs of books, +and probed every hole and crack with their sharp beaks. They ate very +daintily, and were exceedingly fond of dried currants. For this little +treat the male soon learned to tease, alighting on the desk, looking +wistfully at the little china box whence he knew they came, wiping his +bill, and, in language plain enough to a bird-student, asking for some. +He even went so far, when I did not at once take the hint, as to address +me in low, coaxing talk of very sweet and varied tones. Still I was +deaf, and he came within two feet of me, uttering the half-singing talk, +and later burst into song as his supreme effort at pleasing or +propitiating the dispenser of dainties. I need not say that he had his +fill after that.</p> + +<p>On the 24th of April spring emotions began to work in the oriole family. +The first symptom was a song, so low it was scarcely heard, though the +agitation of the singer, with head thrown up and tail quivering, was +plainly enough seen. As it grew in volume from day to day, it proved to +be totally different from the beautiful oriole strain of four or six +notes, so familiar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> during the nesting season. It was a long-continued +melody, of considerable variety, with an occasional interpolation of the +common scolding "chur-r-r." After about a month of this lovely chant, +the usual June carol was added, and from this time he sang the two. Both +birds also treated us to the several calls we are accustomed to hear in +the orchard in that perfect month.</p> + +<p>Shortly following the beginning of the second and more familiar song, a +change appeared in the relations of the pair. The male assumed the +aggressive, and became rather violent in his attentions. He drove his +mate around the room, and when he cornered her they indulged in what +must be called a "clawing match," upon which he flew away with a loud +song, as though he had won a victory. When this performance had gone on +a few days, she began to show a disinclination to go home, took +possession of another cage whose owner was amiable, and finally turned +upon her rough wooer, as I suppose he must be named; though if I had not +seen a similar style of courtship among the orchard orioles I should +hesitate to give it that name. One morning she rose in her might to put +an end to all this persecution, and I saw her on the war-path, pursuing +him with open beak; but after fleeing a moment, he turned and flung +himself upon her so savagely that both flew violently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> against the +window, which they had not touched for months, being perfectly aware of +the obstacle there. However, he changed his manners, and I heard much +low, sweet talk in the cage, such as he had used to coax me for +currants. She listened, but said nothing. I neglected to say that +meanwhile she had replaced her scraggy feathers and grown a fine tail.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>FREE AT LAST.</i></div> + +<p>Another time I saw the two orioles on top of a cage, six or eight inches +apart. First she stretched up and faced him, uttering a peculiar cry, a +single note of rich but mournful tone, and then she bowed again and +again, constantly repeating the call. He posed, turned this way and +that, evidently aching to fly at her. At last she flew, and he followed +to another cage, where the performance was repeated. Then came a mad +chase around the room, which she ended by slipping behind a large cage.</p> + +<p>For some days these scenes were frequent, and I began to feel myself a +jailer; so one morning they were carried to the country, where sparrows +would not mob them, and set at liberty to pursue their wooing, if such +it were, in freedom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX.</h2> + + + +<ul class="none"><li> Arkansas goldfinch, <a href='#Page_185'>185</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Black-throated green warbler, <a href='#Page_26'>26</a>, <a href='#Page_28'>28</a>, <a href='#Page_29'>29</a>.</li> + +<li> Bluebird, <a href='#Page_173'>173</a>.</li> + +<li> Blue jay, <a href='#Page_216'>216</a>.</li> + +<li> Bobolink, <a href='#Page_30'>30</a>.</li> + +<li> Brazilian cardinal, <a href='#Page_214'>214</a>.</li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Catbird, <a href='#Page_153'>153</a>, <a href='#Page_158'>158</a>.</li> + +<li> Cats, <a href='#Page_197'>197</a>.</li> + +<li> Chebec, <a href='#Page_6'>6</a>, <a href='#Page_21'>21</a>.</li> + +<li> Chewink, <a href='#Page_159'>159</a>, <a href='#Page_180'>180-184</a>.</li> + +<li> Chipmunk, <a href='#Page_13'>13</a>.</li> + +<li> Chipping sparrow, <a href='#Page_86'>86</a>.</li> + +<li> Clarin, <a href='#Page_205'>205-220</a>, <a href='#Page_226'>226</a>.</li> + +<li> Cowbird, <a href='#Page_22'>22</a>.</li> + +<li> Crow, <a href='#Page_6'>6</a>, <a href='#Page_156'>156</a>, <a href='#Page_166'>166</a>.</li> + +<li> Cuckoo, <a href='#Page_62'>62</a>, <a href='#Page_64'>64</a>, <a href='#Page_65'>65</a>.</li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Eave swallow, <a href='#Page_32'>32</a>, <a href='#Page_175'>175</a>.</li> + +<li> English sparrow, <a href='#Page_200'>200</a>.</li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Fox barking, <a href='#Page_16'>16</a>.</li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Golden-winged woodpecker, <a href='#Page_18'>18</a>, <a href='#Page_49'>49</a>, <a href='#Page_164'>164</a>.</li> + +<li> </li> +<li> Hermit thrush, <a href='#Page_6'>6</a>, <a href='#Page_8'>8</a>, <a href='#Page_9'>9</a>, <a href='#Page_10'>10</a>, <a href='#Page_21'>21</a>, <a href='#Page_22'>22</a>, <a href='#Page_202'>202</a>.</li> + +<li> House wren, <a href='#Page_30'>30</a>, <a href='#Page_49'>49</a>, <a href='#Page_189'>189</a>.</li> + +<li> </li> +<li> Junco, <a href='#Page_201'>201</a>.</li> + +<li> </li> +<li> Least flycatcher, <a href='#Page_61'>61</a>, <a href='#Page_62'>62</a>.</li> + +<li> </li> +<li> Maryland yellow-throat, <a href='#Page_142'>142-147</a>.</li> + +<li> Meadow lark, <a href='#Page_31'>31</a>, <a href='#Page_34'>34</a>.</li> + +<li> Meadow lark, western, <a href='#Page_191'>191</a>.</li> + +<li> Mountain whistler, <a href='#Page_220'>220-226</a>.</li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Night hawk, <a href='#Page_200'>200</a>.</li> + +<li> </li> +<li> Olive-aided flycatcher, <a href='#Page_7'>7</a>, <a href='#Page_11'>11</a>, <a href='#Page_14'>14-18</a>.</li> + +<li> Oriole, Baltimore, <a href='#Page_50'>50</a>, <a href='#Page_150'>150-153</a>, <a href='#Page_229'>229-245</a>.</li> + +<li> Oriole, orchard, <a href='#Page_227'>227-239</a>.</li> + +<li> Oven-bird, <a href='#Page_7'>7</a>.</li> + +<li> </li> +<li> Phœbe, <a href='#Page_33'>33</a>, <a href='#Page_34'>34</a>, <a href='#Page_174'>174</a>.</li> + + +<li> Red-eyed vireo, <a href='#Page_6'>6</a>, <a href='#Page_155'>155</a>.</li> + +<li> Red-headed woodpecker, <a href='#Page_35'>35</a>.</li> + +<li> Red-shafted woodpecker, <a href='#Page_189'>189</a>.</li> + +<li> Red-winged blackbird, <a href='#Page_166'>166-173</a>.</li> + +<li> Robin, <a href='#Page_29'>29</a>, <a href='#Page_30'>30</a>.</li> + +<li> Rose-breasted grosbeak, <a href='#Page_18'>18</a>, <a href='#Page_19'>19</a>.</li> + +<li> Ruby-throated hummingbird, <a href='#Page_103'>103-140</a>, <a href='#Page_225'>225</a>.</li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Sandpiper, <a href='#Page_6'>6</a>, <a href='#Page_164'>164</a>.</li> + +<li> Shrike, <a href='#Page_29'>29</a>, <a href='#Page_35'>35-60</a>, <a href='#Page_66'>66-71</a>.</li> + +<li> Solitaire, <a href='#Page_205'>205-220</a>, <a href='#Page_226'>226</a>.</li> + +<li> Song sparrow, <a href='#Page_30'>30</a>.</li> + +<li> Summer yellow-bird, <a href='#Page_179'>179</a>.</li> + +<li> </li> +<li> Thrasher, <a href='#Page_147'>147-149</a>, <a href='#Page_201'>201</a>.</li> + +<li> Towhee bunting, <a href='#Page_159'>159</a>, <a href='#Page_180'>180-184</a>.</li> + +<li> Townsend's fly-catching thrush, <a href='#Page_226'>226</a>.</li> + +<li> Tree swallows, <a href='#Page_175'>175</a>.</li> + +<li> Trembleur, <a href='#Page_224'>224</a>.</li> +<li> </li> + +<li> Veery, <a href='#Page_7'>7</a>, <a href='#Page_27'>27</a>, <a href='#Page_157'>157</a>.</li> + +<li> Vesper sparrow, <a href='#Page_174'>174</a>.</li></ul> + +<p class="center">Transcriber's note:</p> + +<p class="center">The original book had unique headings on every other page, they have been placed as sidenotes +in order to take them out of the middle of paragraphs.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Upon The Tree-Tops, by Olive Thorne Miller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UPON THE TREE-TOPS *** + +***** This file should be named 31269-h.htm or 31269-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/2/6/31269/ + +Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright 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