Specimens.—Prov.

The Willow Thrush shares with its even more retiring cousin, the

Olive-back, the forests of the northwestern portion of the State. Here

it may be found in the seclusion of spring draws and alder bottoms, or

in the miscellaneous cover which lines the banks of the larger streams.

It is confined almost entirely to the vicinity of water, and spends much

of its time on the damp ground poking among the fallen leaves and

searching the nooks and corners of tree-roots. Since the bird is but a

flitting shade, one cannot easily determine its color-pattern, and must

learn rather the range and quality of its notes. The bird _is_, rather

than _has_, a voice, an elusive voice, a weird and wonderful voice. And

only after one has heard the song, with its reverberant, sweet thunder,

and its exquisitely diminishing cadences, as it wells up at eventide

from some low thicket, may one be said to know the Willow Thrush.

For the most part the bird betrays interest in your movements by a

subdued _yewi_, a note of complaint and admonition, variously likened to

a grunt, a bleat, or a nasal interjection. Not infrequently this becomes

a clearly whistled _wheé-ew_; and this, in turn, is varied and

strengthened to _ve-er-u_, or _Veery_, whence the common name of the

typical form, _H. fuscescens_, in the East. The song proper consists of

six or seven of these _ve-er-ys_, rolled out with a rich and inimitable

brogue. The notes vibrate and resound, and fill the air so full of music

that one is led to suspect the multiple character of each. The bird is

really striking chords, and the sounding strings still vibrate when the

next is struck. There is, moreover, in the whole performance, a musical

crescendo coupled with a successive lowering of pitch, which is fairly

ravishing in its impression of mystery and power.

[Illustration: _Taken near Spokane._ _Photo by F. S. Merrill._

NEST AND EGGS OF THE WILLOW THRUSH.]

The distribution of this species is as yet imperfectly made out. Having

made its acquaintance at Spokane and along the valley of the Pend

d’Oreille, we were able to recognize it later at Chelan and Stehekin,

the latter unquestionably the westernmost record of its occurrence in

the United States. Whether it may also extend further south along the

east front of the Cascades, remains to be seen.

A nest before me was taken by Mr. Fred S. Merrill, in Spokane. It was

placed in the crotch of an alder at a height of two feet, and contained,

on the ninth day of June, four slightly incubated eggs. The nest is a

rather loosely constructed affair of bark-strips, dead leaves, coarse

grasses, shavings, leaf-stems, etc., and has a careless lining of

dessicated leaves and broken grasses. The matrix of mud, or leaf-mold,

which gives strength and consistency to the nests of certain other

thrushes, is conspicuously lacking in this one. The brooding hollow is

only three inches from brim to brim, by one and three-quarters in depth.

The eggs are in every way miniature Robins’, being without spots, and

representing only three-fifths or two-thirds the bulk of those of the

larger bird.

No. 93.

RUSSET-BACKED THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 758. Hylocichla ustulata (Nutt.).

Synonym.—“Wood Thrush” (name properly restricted to _H. mustelina_ of

the East).

Description.—_Adults_: Above olive-brown, substantially uniform; a

conspicuous orbital ring of pale buff; sides of head buffy mingled or

streaked with olive-brown; chin, throat and chest buff (or lightening

to buffy white toward chin); sides of throat and entire chest with

triangular marks of deep olive-brown, smaller and narrower on throat,

larger and broader (sector-shaped) posteriorly; breast, especially on

sides, transversely spotted with light brown; sides and flanks heavily

marked with brownish; remaining underparts white. Bill blackish,

paling basally on mandible; feet and legs brown; iris brown. _Winter_

specimens are brighter, more deeply tinged with buff before and with

under tail-coverts buffy. _Young birds_ are more or less marked and

streaked with buffy and tawny above and the markings of underparts are

mostly transverse. Length 6.50-7.50 (165.1-190.5); wing 3.83 (97);

tail 2.87 (73); bill .54 (13.7); tarsus 1.10 (28).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; uniform olive-brown above; heavy

spotting and buffy wash on chest; sides of head and eye-ring buffy;

brown above as compared with _H. u. swainsonii_.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of bark-strips, moss and grasses, with a heavy inner

mat or mould of dead leaves, lined with rootlets and fine grasses;

placed usually at moderate heights in bushes or saplings of thickets,

sometimes 30-60 feet high in trees. _Eggs_: 3-5, usually 4, greenish

blue or dull grayish blue dotted and spotted, rather sparingly, with

various shades of brown. Av. size, .93 × .67 (23.6 × 17). _Season_:

June, July; one or two broods.

General Range.—Pacific coast district from southern California to

Alaska (Juneau), breeding thruout its range; south in winter thru

Mexico to Central and northern South America.

Range in Washington.—Common summer resident and migrant west of the

Cascade Mountains; probably overflows thru mountain passes to at least

the eastern slopes of the Cascades.

Authorities.—_Turdus ustulatus_ Nuttall, Man. Orn. U. S. and Canada,

Land Birds, ed. 2, 1840, pp. VI. 830 (Columbia River). C&S. L¹. Rh.

D¹. Kb. Ra. D². Ss². Kk. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹(?). Prov. B. BN. E.

Artists of the later schools agree that shadows are not often black, as

they have been conventionally represented for centuries. Their deepest

color note is always that of the ground, or screen, which bears them.

The Thrush, therefore, is the truest embodiment of woodland shade, for

the shifting russets of its upperparts melt and blend with the tints of

fallen leaves, dun roots, and the shadows of tree-boles cast on the

brown ashes of fallen comrades. Not content, either, with such

protective guarantee, this gentle spirit clings to cover, and reveals

itself only as a flitting shade and a haunting voice. Now and then a

brown gleam does cross some open space in the forest, but the action is

hasty and the necessity much regretted.

[Illustration: RUSSET-BACKED THRUSH.]

The Russet-backed Thrush is not much given to song, altho on occasion

the woodside may ring with the simple melody of its _wee loo weelo

weeloeee_[35]. Other notes are more notable and characteristic; and by

these one may trace the bird’s every movement without recourse to sight.

_Quit_, or _hwit_, is a soft whistled note of inquiry and greeting, by

which the birds keep in constant touch with each other, and which they

are nowise disinclined to use in conversations with strangers.

_Hwootaylyochtyl_ is the name which the Quillayute lad gives the bird,

the first syllable being whistled rather than spoken, in imitation of

the bird’s note. At the friendly call the Thrush comes sidling over

toward you thru the brush, until you feel that you could put your hand

on it if you would; but the bird remains invisible, and says, _quit,

quit_, with some asperity, if you disregard the _convenances_.

A longer call-note, of sharper quality, _queee_, may be as readily

imitated, altho its meaning in the bush is uncertain. The bird has also

a spoken note, a sort of happy purring, which I call the _coordaddy_

cry. In this the _daddy_ notes are given in from one to six syllables,

and are spoken “trippingly on the tongue.”

Recalling again the _queee_ note, we are surprised to find that it is

the commonest sound heard during migrations. At midnight when a solemn

hush is over all besides, this weird note comes down from the sky at any

height, from every angle, a greeting _en passant_ from the voyageurs,

the tenderest, the most pathetic, the most mysterious voice of Nature.

There are a dozen variations of pitch and tone, _quééé, quee, kooo_,

etc., but the theme is one, and the quality is that of the Russet-backed

Thrush. Now it is incredible that any one species should so abound to

the exclusion of all others, or that one alone should speak, while

others flit by silently. Moreover, the intermittent utterance of a

single bird proclaims the rate at which that bird is moving, and oftener

argues for the passing of the smaller species, Warblers and the like.

Repeated observation would make it appear certain that this _quee_ note

is the common possession of many, perhaps of all species of migrant song

birds, a sort of Esperanto for “Ho, Comrade!” by which the flying

legions of the night are bound together in a great fellowship.

Much of the apparent difference in the call-notes of these night-birds

is explained when we remember that they are reaching us from different

angles. Thus, the _quee_ of a rapidly approaching bird is raised sharply

and shortened, _quĕĕ_; while the same voice, in passing, falls to a

ghostly _kwoo_, at least a musical third below. It is, perhaps, needless

to add that practiced lips may join this mystic chorus and hold

delightful converse with these brothers of the air—may, indeed, provoke

them to trebled utterance in passing.

But only the Russet-backed Thrush may repeat this cabalistic note, by

day. He is the bugler in that greatest of all armies and he must needs

keep in practice while on furlough.

Russet-backs are tardy migrants, seldom arriving before the first week

in May; and they are off again for the Southland by the first week in

September. Two instances are on record, however, of the bird’s wintering

hereabouts. On the 7th of March, 1891, several birds were “engaged in

conversation” by the writer near Tacoma; and on the 22nd of January,

1907, two birds were encountered on the University grounds in Seattle.

In the latter instance the birds would not disclose themselves, altho

they passed half way around me in the thicket, uttering their

characteristic and unmistakable notes.

In home building this Thrush makes no effort at nest concealment,

trusting rather to the seclusion of its haunts. The materials which

enter into the construction of the nest are themselves in a measure

protective, especially in those numerous instances in which the exterior

is composed entirely of green moss. At other times, twigs, bark-strips,

and grasses are used; but the two things which give character to the

nest of this Thrush are the mud-cup, or matrix, of mud and leaf-mold,

and the lining of dried leaf-skeletons. I have surprised a mother Russet

at her task of cup-moulding, and verily her bib was as dirty as that of

any child making mud pies. For altho the beak serves for hod and trowel,

the finishing touches, the actual moulding, must be accomplished by

pressure of the bird’s breast.

[Illustration: _Taken in Oregon._ _Photo by Bohlman and Finley._

MOTHER RUSSET AND HER BROOD.]

During a season’s nesting at Glacier, in the Mount Baker district, Mr.

D. E. Brown located about a hundred sets of the Russet-backed Thrush,

taking no account of nests in other stages of occupation. In distance

from the ground, nests varied from six inches to forty feet, altho a

four or five foot elevation was about the average. Nests were found in

thickets, where they were supported by the interlacing of branches, or

else saddled upon the inclined stems of vine maples, or in fir trees. In

the last-named places, nests might be set against the trunk on a

horizontal limb, but were more often at some distance from it. The birds

were very sensitive about molestation before eggs were laid, and would

desert a nest in process of construction on the merest suspicion that a

stranger had looked into it. After deposition, however, the mother

Thrush was found to be very devoted to her charges, and great confidence

was often engendered by carefully considered advances.

At Glacier, nest-building averaged to commence about the 25th of May,

and the first eggs were found on the 1st of June. The last set was found

July 15th. All nests examined in the earlier part of the season

contained four eggs; those found later, presumably second efforts, never

had more than three.

As a curious example of the use of the imagination on the part of early

writers, take this from our venerated Cooper[36]: “The eggs, unlike

those of most thrushes, are white, spotted thickly with brown, and four

or five in number.” The brown spotting is all right and an unpigmented

shell is not an impossibility, but deviations from the characteristic

greenish blue of the ground-color have not since been reported.

No. 94.

OLIVE-BACKED THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 758 a. Hylocichla ustulata swainsonii (Cab.).

Synonyms.—Swainson’s Thrush. Eastern Olive-back. Alma’s Thrush (_H. u.

almæ_ Oberh., disallowed by A. O. U. Com.).

Description.—_Adults_: Similar to _H. ustulata_ but grayer and more

olivaceous; “color of upperparts varying from olive to grayish hair

brown in summer, from deep olive to slightly brownish olive in

winter”; ground color of underparts lighter buffy (yellowish buff or

creamy buff); sides and flanks grayish—instead of brownish-olive. Size

of last.

Recognition Marks.—As in preceding; grayer above, lighter buffy below.

Nesting.—_Nest_ and _Eggs_ indistinguishable from those of typical

form, _H. ustulata_.

General Range.—North America in general except Pacific coast district

south of Cross Sound and Lynn Canal; breeding from the mountainous

districts of the United States (especially northerly) north to limit

of trees; south in winter thruout Mexico and Central America to Peru,

Bolivia, etc.

Range in Washington.—Imperfectly made out as regards that of _H.

ustulata_. Found breeding in the valley of the Stehekin hence

presumably summer resident in timbered districts of eastern

Washington.

Authorities.—Bowles and Dawson, Auk, Vol. XXV. Oct. 1908, p. 483.

Specimens.—Prov. B.

The more open woods and more abundant suns of eastern Washington effect

that reduction of color in the “burnt” Thrush, which henceforth

characterizes the species clear thru to the Atlantic. It would be idle

to trace in detail all accompanying changes of manner and habit, but we

can hardly fail to note the improved quality of the Olive-back’s song.

This is most nearly comparable to that of the Willow Thrush and has

something of the same rolling vibrant quality. It is, however, less

prolonged and less vehement. It may or may not retain the liquid l’s,

but it discards outright the rich r’s, which the Veery rolls under his

tongue like sweet morsels; and the pitch of the whole rises slightly,

perhaps a musical third, as the volume of sound diminishes toward the

end: _We-e-o, we-e-o, we-o we-o weee_. A song heard some years ago at

the head of Lake Chelan, _weeloo weeloo weelooee looee_, seemed to have

all the music of perfected _swainsonii_ in it, yet it was not till the

season of 1908 that Mr. Bowles established the fact of the Olive-back’s

presence and the Russet-back’s absence from the Stehekin Valley. On the

other hand, Ridgway finds that both forms sometimes occur together, even

during the breeding season; so we are not yet prepared to make

generalizations as to the relative distribution of these birds in

Washington.

No. 95.

ALASKA HERMIT THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 759. Hylocichla guttata (Pallas).

Synonym.—Kadiak Dwarf Thrush (Ridgw.).

Description.—_Adult_: Upperparts plain grayish brown (hair brown to

near broccoli brown) changing on rumps to dull cinnamon-brown of upper

tail-coverts and tail; a prominent whitish orbital ring; sides of head

mingled grayish brown and dull whitish; underparts dull white, clear

only on belly,—throat and breast tinged with pale creamy buff; sides

and flanks washed with pale grayish brown; throat in confluent chain

on side and lower throat, chest and upper breast—spotted with dusky or

sooty, the spots narrow and wedge-shaped on lower throat, broadening

and deepening on chest, fading and becoming rounded on breast. Bill

drab brown paling on mandible basally; feet and legs brown; iris dark

brown. _Winter_ specimens are brighter and more strongly colored

thruout. _Young birds_ are streaked with buffy above and the spotting

of underparts inclines to bars on breast and sides. Length 6.30-7.40

(160-188); wing 3.46 (88); tail 2.52 (64); bill .50 (12.7); tarsus

1.14 (29).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; cinnamon of tail (and upper-coverts)

contrasting more or less with duller brown of remaining upperparts.

Nesting.—Does not breed in Washington. _Nest_ and _Eggs_ as in _H. g.

sequoiensis_.

General Range.—Coast district of Alaska breeding northward and

westward from Cross Sound; southward in winter as far as Texas and

western Mexico, migrating chiefly coastwise.

Range in Washington.—Spring and fall migrant west of the Cascades.

Migrations.—_Spring_: Tacoma, April 15, 1905 (J. H. Bowles). _Fall_:

Seattle Sept. 21, 1907 (Jennie V. Getty).

Authorities.—Bowles and Dawson, Auk, XXV. Oct. 1908, p. 483.

Specimens.—P(Alaskan). Prov. B.

About all we can certify to, so far, is that there are two varieties of

the Hermit Thrush which may be seen on Puget Sound during the

migrations: a lighter and grayer form, presumably from northwestern

Alaska; and a darker, more warmly-tinted bird, _H. g. nana_, which may

or may not summer to some extent in western Washington. Specimens so far

encountered in eastern Washington are probably _H. g. sequoiensis_, en

route to or from their breeding haunts in the high Cascades; while if

any are ever captured in the mountains of Stevens County, they will

probably prove to be of the _H. g. auduboni_ type, which prevails in the

eastern portion of British Columbia.

No. 96.

SIERRA HERMIT THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 759 part. Hylocichla guttata sequoiensis (Belding).

Synonyms.—Western Hermit Thrush. Cascade Hermit Thrush. Mountain

Hermit.

Description.—Similar in coloration to _H. guttata_ but larger, paler

and grayer. Adult male: wing 3.65 (92.8); tail 2.83 (71.8); bill .53

(13.5); tarsus 1.12 (28.4).

Recognition Marks.—As in _H. guttata_.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of bark-strips, grasses, leaves and moss, lined with

fine rootlets, placed on ground in thickets or at moderate heights in

fir trees. _Eggs_: 3 or 4, greenish blue unmarked—not certainly

distinguishable from those of the Willow Thrush. Av. size, .85 × .65

(21.6 × 16.5). _Season_: June, July; one brood.

General Range.—Mountains of the Cascade-Sierra system and from Mt.

Whitney north thru central British Columbia, etc., to the Yukon River;

south in winter to Lower California, Sonora, etc.

Range in Washington.—Common summer resident in the Cascade

Mountains—further distinction undetermined.

Authorities.—Dawson, Auk, Vol. XXV. Oct. 1908, p. 483.

Specimens.—D.

[Illustration: SIERRA HERMIT THRUSH.]

When asked to name the best songster of Washington, I answer,

unhesitatingly, the Hermit Thrush. It is not that the bird chooses for

his home the icy slopes and stunted forests of the high Cascades, tho

that were evidence enough of a poetic nature. It is not for any marked

vivacity, or personal charm of the singer, that we praise his song; the

bird is gentle, shy, and unassuming, and it is only rarely that one may

even see him. It is not that he excels in technique such conscious

artists as the Catbird, the Thrasher, and the Mockingbird; the mere

comparison is odious. The song of the Hermit Thrush is a thing apart. It

is sacred music, not secular. Having nothing of the dash and abandon of

Wren or Ouzel, least of all the sportive mockery of the Long-tailed

Chat, it is the pure offering of a shriven soul, holding acceptable

converse with high heaven. No voice of solemn-pealing organ or cathedral

choir at vespers ever hymns the parting day more fittingly than this

appointed chorister of the eternal hills. Mounted on the chancel of some

low-crowned fir tree, the bird looks calmly at the setting sun, and

slowly phrases his worship in such dulcet tones, exalted, pure, serene,

as must haunt the corridors of memory forever after.

[Illustration: _Taken in Rainier National Park._ _From a Photograph

Copyright, 1908, by W. L. Dawson._

FOOT OF NISQUALLY GLACIER FROM GOVERNMENT ROAD.

A CHARACTERISTIC HAUNT OF THE SIERRA HERMIT THRUSH.]

You do not have to approve of the Hermit Thrush,—nor of Browning, nor of

Shelley, nor of Keats. The writer once lost a subscription to “The Birds

of Washington, Patrons’ Edition, De Luxe, Limited to One Hundred Copies”

and all that, you know, because he ventured to defend Browning. “No; I

do not want your bird-book.” Quite right, Madame, it would have been a

waste of money—for you. But I have heard the Hermit Thrush.

“Ah, did you once see Shelley, plain,

And did he stop and speak to you,

And did you speak to him again?

How strange it seems, and new!

“But you were living before that,

And also you are living after;

And the memory I started at—

My starting moves your laughter!

“I crossed a moor with a name of its own,

And a certain use in the world, no doubt,

Yet a hand’s breadth of it shines alone

’Mid the blank miles around about:

“For there I picked up on the heather,

And there I put inside my breast,

A moulted feather, an eagle feather!

Well, I forget the rest.”

No. 97.

DWARF HERMIT THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 759 c. Hylocichla guttata nana (Aud.).

Synonyms.—Pacific Hermit Thrush. Sitkan Dwarf Thrush (Ridgway).

Description.—“Similar to _H. g. guttata_ but coloration darker and

browner, the color of back, etc., more sepia brown, upper tail-coverts

more russet, tail more chestnut, and spots on chest larger and darker”

(Ridgway). Adult male: wing 3.42 (86.8); tail 2.58 (65.5); bill .48

(12.2); tarsus 1.13 (28.8).

Recognition Marks.—As in _H. guttata_.

Nesting.—As in _H. g. sequoiensis_.

General Range.—Pacific coast district, breeding from western Oregon

(presumably) north to Cross Sound, Alaska; south in winter to

Southwestern States.

Range in Washington.—Probably common but little known, during

migrations. Presumably resident in summer west of the Cascades.

Authorities.—? _Turdus nanus_ Audubon, Orn. Biog. V. 1839, 201

(Columbia R.) ?Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. VIII. 1839, 153

(Col. R.) Belding, L. B. P. D. 1890, p. 254 (Walla Walla, J. W.

Williams, 1885).

Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. E.

As one passes thru the woods in middle April while the vine maples are

still leafless, and the forest floor is not yet fully recovered from the

brownness of the rainy season, a moving shape, a little browner still,

but scarcely outlined in the uncertain light, starts up from the ground

with a low _chuck_, and pauses for a moment on a mossy log. Before you

have made out definite characters, the bird flits to a branch a little

higher up and more removed, to stand motionless for a minute or so, or

else to chuckle softly with each twinkle of the ready wings. By

following quietly one may put the bird to a dozen short flights without

once driving it out of range; and in so doing he may learn that the tail

is abruptly rufous in contrast with the olive-brown of the back, and

that the breast is more boldly and distinctly spotted than is the case

with the Russet-backed Thrush.

This bird will not tarry with us, unless it may choose to haunt the

solitudes of the Olympics. In the vicinity of Sitka, however, Mr. J.

Grinnell reports the species as “very common everywhere, especially on

the small wooded ‘islands.’”[37]

When disturbed in its nesting haunts the Hermit Thrush has a nasal

scolding cry, not unlike that of the Oregon Towhee. This note lacks the

emphasis of Towhee’s, tho its dual character is still apparent—_Murrry_

or _Murre_. But one forgets all trivial things as he listens to the

angelic requiem of the Hermit at eventide. Not Orpheus in all his glory

could match that,—for he was a pagan.

No. 98.

AMERICAN ROBIN.

A. O. U. No. 761. Planesticus migratorius (Linn.).

Synonym.—Eastern Robin.

Description.—_Adult male_: Head black, interrupted by white of chin

and white with black stripes of throat; eyelids and a supraloral spot

white; tail blackish with white terminal spots on inner webs of outer

pair of rectrices; wings dusky except on external edges; remaining

upperparts grayish slate; below,—breast, sides, upper belly and lining

of wings cinnamon-rufous; lower belly and crissum white, touched

irregularly with slate; bill yellow with blackish tip; feet blackish

with yellowish soles. _Adult female_: Similar to male, but duller;

black of head veiled by brownish. _Adults in winter_: Upperparts

tinged with brown, the rufous feathers, especially on belly, with

white skirtings. _Immature_: Similar to adult, but head about the

color of back; rufous of underparts paler or more ochraceous. _Very

young birds_ are black spotted, above and below. Length about 10.00

(254); wing 5.08 (129); tail 3.75 (95.3); bill .78 (19.8).

Recognition Marks.—“Robin” size; cinnamon-rufous breast; the “corners”

of the tail conspicuously white-tipped, as distinguished from _P. m.

propinquus_.

Nesting.—Does not breed in Washington. _Nest_ and _eggs_ as in next

(sub) species, save that eggs 4 or 5, sometimes 6.

General Range.—Eastern and northern North America westward nearly to

the Rocky Mountains and northwestward to valley of Kowak River in

Alaska; breeds from the southern Alleghenies, Pennsylvania, Ohio,

Iowa, etc., northward; winters in Gulf States; south irregularly

across the Western States during migration.

Range in Washington.—An early spring (and late fall?) migrant, both

sides of the Cascades. Winters sparingly on Puget Sound.

Authorities.—_Turdus migratorius_ Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII., Oct.

1882, p. 227. B. E.

Specimens.—B. E.

A small proportion, not over one per cent, of the Robins which annually

cross our borders have enough white in the “corners” of their tails to

proclaim them true “Americans.” The difference is striking and

unmistakable, and we feel sure that we have here, not a chance

variation, but an alien element, a slender stream of migration diverted

from the accustomed channels of typical _P. migratorius_, and straggling

down, or up, on the wrong side of the Rockies. When it is remembered

that the American Robin winters in Florida and the Gulf States, and that

its spring migrations take it as far west as the Kowak River, in Alaska,

that is, due northwest from Atlanta, it is less surprising that the

birds should occasionally bear west northwest instead, and so make

Washington en route. It is almost certain that this is the case, for the

wintering birds west of the Rockies and in Mexico are invariably of the

western type, _propinquus_.

No. 99.

WESTERN ROBIN.

A. O. U. No. 761a. Planesticus migratorius propinquus (Ridgw.).

Description.—Similar to _P. migratorius_, but white on inner webs of

outer rectrices much reduced or wanting; gray of upperparts paler and

more olivaceous, more sharply contrasting with black of head;

cinnamon-rufous of underparts averaging paler; wing, tail, and tarsus

slightly longer. Length of males about 10.25 (260.3); wing 5.52 (140);

tail 4.13 (105); bill .80 (20.3); tarsus 1.34 (34.1). Females slightly

smaller.

Recognition Marks.—“Robin” size; cinnamon-rufous below—everyone knows

the Robin—without white on “corners” of tail as distinguished from

preceding.

Nesting.—_Nest_: a thick-walled but shapely bowl of mud (rarely felted

vegetable fibers instead) set about with twigs, leaves, string and

trash, and lined with fine grass-stems; placed anywhere in trees or

variously, but usually at moderate heights. _Eggs_: 3 or 4, rarely 5;

greenish blue, unmarked. Av. size 1.15 × .79 (29.2 × 20.1). _Season_:

April 15-July 10; two broods.

General Range.—Western North America from the Rocky Mountains to the

Pacific, north to limit of trees in coast forest district in Alaska;

south thru highlands of Mexico and occasionally Guatemala; breeding

nearly thruout its range.

Range in Washington.—Common summer resident and migrant thruout the

State, more common in settled portions; rare in mountains save in

vicinity of settlements; irregularly resident in winter, sometimes

abundantly on Puget Sound.

Migrations.—_Spring_: West-side, last week in February; East-side,

first or second week in March. _Fall_: October.

Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. 1814 Ed. Biddle: Coues, Vol.

II. p. 185.] _Turdus (planesticus) migratorius_, Linn., Baird, Rep.

Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 219. (T.) C&S. L¹. Rh. D¹. Sr.

Kb. Ra. D². Ss¹. Ss². Kk. J. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. BN. B. E.

There are, it may be, a thousand fruits, sweet, acid or spicy, which

delight the palate of man, yet if we were forced to choose among them,

not many of us would fail to reserve the apple. In like manner, we could

perhaps least afford to spare our tried and trusted, old, familiar

friend, the Robin. He is a staple.

Everybody knows Robin. He is part and parcel of springtime, chief

herald, chief poet, and lord high reveller of that joyful season. It is

a merry day when the first flock of Robins turns itself loose on the

home landscape. There is great bustle and stir of activity. Some scurry

about to note the changes wrought by winter, some wrestle with the early

and unsophisticated worm, while others voice their gladness from the

fence-post, the gable, the tree-top, anywhere. Everywhere are heard

interjections of delight, squeechings and pipings of ardent souls, and

no end of congratulations over the home-coming.

[Illustration: _Taken in Oregon._ _Photo by W. L. Finley._

BACK FROM MARKET.]

Robin has cast in his lot with ours, for better or for worse. Our lawns

are his lawns, our shade-trees were set on purpose to hold his homely

mud-cup, and he has undertaken with hearty good will the musical

instruction of our children. He serves without pay—Oh, a cherry now and

then, but what of that? The fruit-grower never had a more useful hired

man; and it is written: “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out

the corn.” I wonder if we realize how much of life’s good cheer and fond

enspiriting we owe to this familiar bird.

Near the close of a burning day in the desert, we drew near to a little

ranch where a bravery of green, supported by a windmill and a tiny

trickle of water, defied the engulfing waste of sand and sage. It seemed

to me that I had never seen anything more pathetic than the stubborn

faith of the man who had dreamed of rearing a home amidst such

desolation. How could a man be happy here? and how dare he bring a wife

and tender children to share such a forlorn hope? Why, the wilderness

around had raised nothing but sage-brush and jack-rabbits for countless

millenniums; but here in this tiny oasis were locust trees and poplars.

And here, as the sun sank low in the West, a Robin burst into song. The

nearest human neighbor was miles away, and the nearest timber further.

Yet here was this home-loving Robin, this reincarnation of childhood’s

friend, pouring out in the familiar cadence of old his thanksgiving for

shelter and food, his praise for joy of life and gladness to the

Almighty, who is Father of all. And then I understood.

[Illustration: _Taken in Seattle._ _Photo by the Author._

SUNSET AT THE ROBIN ROOST.]

The Robin’s song in its common form is too well known to require

particular description, and too truly music to lend itself well to

syllabic imitation. It is a common thing, indeed, like the upturned mold

and the air which fans it, but out of these come the varied greens which

beautify the world; the homely piping of the Robin has given birth to

many a heaven-directed aspiration, and purged many a soul of guilty

intent. Robin conceives many passages which are too high for him, and

these he hums inaudibly, or follows in silent thought, like a tenor with

a cold. When the theme reaches his compass again, he resumes, not where

he left off but at the end of the unheard passage. It must be confessed,

however reluctantly, that the song of the Western Robin is a little more

subdued in character than that of the Eastern. The bird is a little less

devoted to his art, and the total volume of sound yielded by any one

chorus has never equalled, in my experience, that of a similar effort in

the East.

When the Robin is much given to half-whispered notes and strains

unusually tender, one may suspect the near presence of his fiancée. If

you are willing to waive the proprieties for a few moments you will hear

low murmurs of affection and soft blandishments, which it would tax the

art of a Crockett to reproduce. And again, nothing can exceed the

sadness of a Robin’s lament over a lost mate. All the virtues of the

deceased are set forth in a coronach of surpassing woe, and the widower

declares himself forever comfortless. It is not well, of course, to

inquire too particularly as to the duration of this bereaved state—we

are all human.

In spite of his fondness for human society, there are two periods of

retirement in Robin’s year. The first occurs in March and early April,

and may be denominated the season of courtship. After the first ardent

greeting of the home folks, Robins gather in loose companies and keep to

the seclusion of the woods, following the sun from east to south and

west, ransacking the roots of trees and the edges of standing water for

food, and, above all, sketching in the matrimonial plans of the season.

When Robins have become common about the streets and yards of village

and town, partners have usually been selected, but there still remain

for many of the cocks hard-contested battles before peaceful possession

is assured. These are not sham fights either; a Robin will fight a hated

rival, beak and claw, till he is either thoroly winded or killed

outright.

In late July and August Robins again forsake their familiar haunts, and

spend the moulting season in the woods, moving about like ghosts in

great straggling, silent companies. When the moult is completed, as

autumn advances, they return in merry bevies to claim their share of the

ripening fruits—no longer begrudged now, for they prefer such harmless

viands as mountain-ash berries, and the insipid clusters of the madrone

tree.

Robins occasionally winter on the east side of the mountains; and they

are hard put to it unless they find a sufficient supply of ungathered

fruit, preferably apples, left out to freeze or rot as the season

dictates. West of the mountains they winter irregularly but quite

extensively. There is nothing in the climate to forbid their staying all

the time but I am inclined to think that their abundance in winter

depends upon the berry crop, and especially that of the Madrona

(_Arbutus menziesii_). The fall of 1907 was notable in this regard. The

trees were in splendid bearing, and a certain patch on the bluff south

of Fauntleroy Park was a gorgeous blaze of red, to which Robins resorted

in hundreds.

Under such circumstances the birds establish winter roosts in convenient

thickets, and repair to them at nightfall in great numbers. One such

roost has been maintained on the outskirts of Seattle, just east of

Ravenna Park, and in the winter of 1907-08 I estimated its population at

some four thousand. The winter, it will be remembered, was a mild one,

and every one in Seattle remarked the abundance of Robins.

In nesting, the Robin displays little caution, its homely mud-walled cup

not being withdrawn from most familiar observation. Indeed, as in the

case of the accompanying illustration, the bird appears rather to court

notoriety. The major crotches of orchard or shade trees are not shunned.

From five to fifteen feet is the usual elevation, but nests are

sometimes found at fifty feet; and again, tho rarely, on the ground.

Window sills and beams of porches, barns, and outbuildings are favorite

places, and, in default of these, brush-piles or log-heaps will do.

[Illustration: _Taken in Michigan._ _From a Photograph Copyright,

1908, by L. G. Linkletter._

THE ROBIN’S NEST.]

The mud used in construction is, of course, carried in the beak. Arrived

at the nest with a beakful of mud, the mother bird drops her load, or

plasters it loosely on the inside of the cup. Then she hops into the

nest, settles as low as possible, and begins to kick or trample

vigorously with her feet. From time to time she tests the smoothness or

roundness of the job by settling to it with her breast, but the shaping

is altogether accomplished by the peculiar tedder action of her feet.

On the other hand, one Robin’s nest which I found in the open sage had

no mud in its construction and was altogether composed of felted

vegetable materials. Another freak nest, in Spokane, showed a hatchet

handle firmly imbedded in its foundation and projecting from it a

distance of six inches. The presence of the handle was not adventitious,

for the nest was saddled on a pine branch, but it is difficult to

conceive how the birds could have placed it in position at a height of

fifteen feet.

Three eggs is the rule for the Western Robin; four is not unusual; but

five is rare, and I have never seen six. In this respect, therefore, the

Western Robin falls a little behind her eastern cousin.

[Illustration: A ROBIN BABY.]

Young Robins are darling creatures; that is conceded by everyone,—even

by the cat. And hungry! Oh, so hungry! It is estimated that if the

appetite of a man were proportioned to that of a young Robin, he would

consume daily the equivalent of a sausage four inches in diameter and

twelve feet long!

In spite of the law-makers, who knew exactly what they were doing in

declaring the Robin worthy of protection, thousands of these birds are

annually slaughtered by unthinking people because of a rumored fondness

for cherries and other small fruits. And yet we are assured by competent

authorities that cultivated fruit forms only four per cent of the

Robin’s food thruout the year, while injurious insects constitute more

than one-third. Robins in the cherry trees _are_ provoking, especially

when they bring the whole family and camp out; but there is one way to

limit their depredations without destroying these most distinguished

helpers; plant a row of mulberry trees, preferably the Russian Mulberry,

along the orchard fence, and the birds will seek no further. I have seen

a mulberry tree swarming with Robins, while neighboring fruit trees were

almost untouched. The plan is simple, humane, and efficacious.

No. 100.

VARIED THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 763. Ixoreus nævius (Gmelin).

Synonyms.—Mountain Robin. Winter Robin. Oregon Robin. Columbian Robin.

Varied Robin. Painted Robin.

Description.—_Adult male_: Above dark slate-color (plumbeous slate to

blackish slate), sometimes, especially in winter, tinged with

olivaceous; wings dusky edged more or less with slaty, the

flight-feathers varied by ochraceous-buff, the middle and greater

coverts tipped broadly with tawny or ochraceous forming two

conspicuous bars; tail blackish, the outermost or several lateral

rectrices tipped with white on inner web; a conspicuous lateral

head-stripe originating above eye and passing backward to nape

ochraceous or ochraceous-buff; area on side of head, including lores,

suborbital space and auriculars, black or slaty-black connected

narrowly on side of neck with a conspicuous pectoral collar of the

same shade; chin, throat and remaining underparts tawny (or

ochraceous-tawny to ochraceous-buff), paling on sides and flanks where

feathers broadly margined with slaty-gray, changing to white on

abdomen; under tail-coverts mingled white, slaty and ochraceous;

axillars and under wing-coverts white basally broadly tipped with

slaty-gray and under surface of flight-feathers crossed basally by

band of white or buffish. Bill brownish black paling basally on

mandible; feet and legs ochre-brown; irides brown. _Adult female_:

Similar to adult male but paler and duller; upperparts olive-slaty to

olive brownish; tawny of underparts much paler and pectoral collar

narrower, of the shade of back or a little darker; more extensively

white on abdomen; _Young birds_: Like adult female but more yellowish

ochraceous below; pectoral band indistinct composed of ochraceous

feathers having darker edges; other feathers of throat and breast more

or less tipped with olive dusky. Length of adult 9.50-10.00 (241-254);

wing 4.92 (125); tail 3.43 (87); bill .83 (21); tarsus .87 (22).

Recognition Marks.—Robin size; blackish collar distinctive; wings

conspicuously varied by tawny markings; head pattern

distinctive—otherwise very Robin-like in bearing and deportment.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of sticks, twigs, grasses and rotten wood smothered

in moss, a bulky, handsome structure placed in saplings or trees at

moderate heights without attempt at concealment. _Eggs_: usually 3,

rarely 4, greenish blue sparingly speckled or spotted, rarely blotched

with dark brown. Av. size 1.12 × .80 (28.4 × 20.3). _Season_: April

20-May 10, June 10-July 1; two broods.

General Range.—Mountains and forests of western North America,

breeding from northern California (Humboldt County) to northern

Alaska, wintering from Kadiak Island to southern California and

straggling irregularly eastward during migrations.

Range in Washington.—Resident in coniferous forests thruout the State

from sea-level to limit of trees; retires to valleys and lowlands in

winter; less common east of the main divides (Cascade).

Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814), Ed. Biddle; Coues,

Vol. II., p. 184]. _Turdus nævius_, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX.,

1858, pp. 211 (“Simiahmoo, W. T.”), 220. T. C&S. L¹. D¹. Kb. Ra. Kk.

J. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.

No; it does not always rain in western Washington. So far is this from

being the case, that we will match our Februaries against all comers,

and especially invite the attention of “native sons” of California. Our

summers, too, are just a little dry latterly, and we begin to wonder

with a vague uneasiness whether we are to be condemned to mediocrity

after all. This paves the way for a declaration that the true

web-footer, nevertheless, loves the rain, and will exchange a garish sky

for a gentle drizzle any day in the year. The Varied Thrush is a true

Web-footer. He loves rain as a fish loves water. It is his native

element and vital air. He endures dry weather, indeed, as all of us

should, with calm stoicism. _Lehrne zu leiden ohne zu klagen_, as poor

Emperor Frederick II, the beloved “_Unser Fritz_,” used to say. But the

Varied Thrush is not the poet of sunshine. Dust motes have no charm for

his eyes, and he will not misuse his vocal powers in praise of the

crackling leaf. Ergo, he sits silent in the thickets while avian

poet-asters shrill the notes of common day. But let the sun once veil

his splendors, let the clouds shed their gentle tears of self-pity, let

the benison of the rain-drops filter thru the forest, and let the

leafage begin to utter that myriad soft sigh which is dearer than

silence, and our poet Thrush wakes up. He mounts the chancel of some fir

tree and utters at intervals a single long-drawn note of brooding

melancholy and exalted beauty,—a voice stranger than the sound of any

instrument, a waif echo stranding on the shores of time.

[Illustration: _Taken in Rainier National Park._ _From a Photograph

Copyright, 1908, by W. L. Dawson._

A MORNING IN PARADISE.]

There is no sound of the western woods more subtle, more mysterious,

more thrilling withal, than this passion song of the Varied Thrush.

Somber depths, dripping foliage, and the distant gurgling of dark brown

waters are its fitting accompaniments; but it serves somehow to call up

before the mind’s eye the unscaled heights and the untried deeps of

experience. It is suggestive, elusive, and whimsically baffling. Never

colorless, it is also never personal, and its weird extra-mundane

quality reminds one of antique china reds, or recalls the subdued

luridness of certain ancient frescoes. Moreover, this bird can fling his

voice at you as well from the tree-top as from the ground, now right,

now left, the while he sits motionless upon a branch not fifteen feet

above you.

Fantastic and varied as is this single note which is the Thrush’s song,

it may be fairly reproduced by a high-pitched whistle combined with a

vocal undertone. At least, this imitation satisfies the bird, and it is

possible to engage one after another of them in a sort of vocal contest

in which curiosity and jealousy play unquestioned parts. Sometimes the

Thrush’s note is quite out of reach, but as often it descends to low

pitches, while now and then it is flatted and the resonance crowded out

of it, with an indescribable effect upon the listener, somewhere between

admiration and disgust. At other times a trill is introduced, which can

be taken care of by a trained palate, in addition to the vocal sound and

the whistle.

[Illustration: _Taken in Rainier National Park._ _Photo by W. L.

Dawson._

“GIVEN TALL TIMBER.”]

In a unique degree the Varied Thrushes are found thruout the forest

depths. Given tall timber and plenty of it, the precise altitude or

location are matters of no consequence. The prettiest compliment that

Nature can pay to the genuine wildness of Ravenna Park, in Seattle, or

Defiance Park, in Tacoma, is the continued presence of the Varied Thrush

in nesting time. Run a survey line across any timbered valley of western

Washington, or up any timbered slope of the Cascades or Olympics, and

the bird most certainly encountered, without reference to local

topography or presumed preference, will be the Varied Thrush. The bird

may likewise be found among the larches and cedars of the Calispell

Range.

The Varied Thrush is known by a variety of names, none more persistent

or fitting than Winter Robin. It is a Robin in size, prevailing color,

and general make-up; and it appears in the lowlands in large numbers

only in the winter time, when the deep snows have driven it out of the

hills. The Thrush is much more shy than the Robin, and altho it moves

about in straggling companies, and does not shun city parks, it keeps

more to cover. It also feeds largely upon the ground, and when startled

by a passer-by it flutters up sharply into the trees with a wing-sound

whose quality may soon be recognized as distinctive. At such times the

bird makes off thru the branches with a low chuck, or _tsook_, or else

tries the air by low notes which are like the song, only very much more

subdued. This is manifestly an attempt to keep in touch with companions,

while at the same time attracting as little hostile attention as

possible. This note is, therefore, barely audible, and has very little

musical quality, _aarue_, or _üür_.

The nesting of the Varied Thrush was most fully brought to light by Mr.

D. E. Brown, at Glacier, in the season of 1905. Like some tireless

retriever, this ardent naturalist quartered the mazes of the dense

spruce forest which covers the floor of the North Fork of the Nooksack,

and in a range of some fifteen miles up and down that stream succeeded

in locating forty-five nests of this, till then, little-understood

species. Of these, twenty-five contained full sets of eggs, while the

remainder fell before such accidents as desertion, robbing by Jays,

Owls, etc. The first set taken was on May 5th, and the eggs were

slightly incubated. The last, with fresh eggs, was taken June

19th,—probably the second nesting of some bird robbed earlier in the

season. Among the nests examined, three contained sets of four each, and

the remainder three. Of the entire number, all were placed in evergreen

trees, save two. Of these last, one was set in the splinters in the

broken top of a willow, about fifteen feet up; and the other was placed

in an upright crotch of an elderberry bush at four feet from the ground.

[Illustration: _Taken near Mt. Baker._ _Photo by the Author._

“THE VARIED THRUSH BUILDS WELL UP IN A SMALL FIR TREE.”]

Here are the woods that abound in moss-bunches,—great balls of thrifty

green which grow, without apparent excuse, alike from the flimsiest and

from the most substantial supports. It is in view of the abundance of

these, that the Varied Thrush builds as it does, right out in the open

of the underwood, near the top, or at least well up, in a small fir

tree. The searcher has only the advantage of knowing that in order to

secure adequate support the bird must build close up to the stem of the

tree. The only exception to this rule is when branches intersect, and so

offer additional strength. Owing to the fact that the large timber

affords considerable protection to the younger growth below, and because

of the superior construction of the nests, they prove very durable. Old

nests are common; and groups of half a dozen in the space of a single

acre are evidently the consecutive product of a single pair of birds.

There is a notable division of territory among these Thrushes. As a

rule, they maintain a distance of half a mile or so from any other

nesting pair. In two instances, however, Mr. Brown found nests within

three hundred yards of neighbors.

When one approaches the center of a reserve, the brooding female slips

quietly from the nest and joins her mate in denouncing the intruder. The

birds flit restlessly from branch to branch, or from log to log,

uttering repeatedly a stern _tsook_, which is almost their sole

recourse. If the nest is discovered and examined, the birds will

disappear silently; and the chances are that they will never again be

seen in that locality.

[Illustration: _Taken at Glacier._ _Photo by the Author._

NEST AND EGGS OF VARIED THRUSH.]

A nest found on May 10th, with two eggs, was revisited on the 12th. It

was saddled at a point ten feet out on a leaning hemlock, which jutted

from the river bank over the roaring Nooksack. The prominence of the

situation, in this instance, proved the owner’s undoing. An Owl had

evidently snatched her up on the previous night, the first of her

maternal duty; for the nest and the neighboring foliage were strewn with

feathers. Yet so subtly had the marauder executed his first coup that

not an egg was broken. The eggs were three in number, subovate, of a

slightly greenish blue, beautifully and heavily spotted—one might almost

say blotched—with rufous, the handsomest, Mr. Brown says, ever seen.

A more typical nest, freshly examined, is placed at a height of six feet

in the top of a tiny fir sapling, which required the support of a chance

armful of leaning vine-maple poles. The nest proper is an immense

affair, eight and a half inches deep and twelve inches by eight in

diameter outside, and two and a half in depth and four in width inside.

It would weigh about three pounds, and is, therefore, quite compact,

altho the moss, which is the largest element in its composition, holds a

large quantity of moisture. Twigs from six inches to a foot in length

enter into the exterior construction, and these are themselves

moss-bearing. Stripping off the outer moss-coat, one comes to the matrix

or crucible-shaped vessel of rotten wood, an inch or more in thickness

thruout, and sodden with moisture. Within this receptacle, in turn,

appears another cup with walls three-quarters of an inch in thickness,

and composed solely of dried grasses and moss, neatly woven and turned.

The innermost lining comprises the same materials, not very carefully

smoothed, but amazingly dry, considering the character of their

surroundings. The brim of the nest is strengthened by bark-strips, the

inner fiber of cedar bark being exclusively employed for this purpose;

while the finishing coat consists of moss, compacted and flawless. There

are, in fact, few nests to compare with that of the Varied Thrush in

strength, elaborateness, and elegance.

No. 101.

WESTERN BLUEBIRD.

A. O. U. No. 767. Sialia mexicana occidentalis (Towns.).

Synonyms.—California Bluebird. Mexican Bluebird. Townsend’s Bluebird.

Description.—_Adult male_: Head and neck all around and upperparts

rich smalt blue, brighter on hindneck, rump and wings, paler on sides

of neck and on throat; the shafts of wing-quills and tail-feathers and

the exposed tips of the former black; more or less chestnut on

scapulars usually irregularly continuous across back; sides of breast

and sides, continuous across breast, chestnut; belly, flanks, crissum

and under tail-coverts dull grayish blue (campanula blue to pearl

blue). Bill black; feet blackish; iris dark brown. _In winter_ touches

of chestnut appear on crown, hindneck and sides of head and neck, and

the blue of throat is slightly veiled by grayish brown skirting.

_Adult female_: Somewhat like male but everywhere paler and duller;

blue of upperparts clear only on rump, tail, lesser and middle

wing-coverts and outer edges of primaries, there lighter than in male

(campanula blue to flax-flower blue); first primary and outermost

rectrices edged with white; chestnut of scapulars obsolete, merged

with dingy mottled bluish or brownish-gray of remaining upperparts;

exposed tips of remiges dusky; outer web of first primary whitish;

blue of underparts replaced by sordid bluish gray, and chestnut of

subdued tone (pale cinnamon-rufous) veiled by grayish-brown tips of

feathers. _Young birds_ somewhat resemble the adult female but the

blue is restricted to flight-feathers and rectrices, that of the male

being brighter and bluer, that of the female duller and greener. In

both sexes the back and scapular areas are brownish heavily and

sharply streaked with white and the breast (jugulum, sides of breast,

and sides) is dark sepia brown so heavily streaked with white as to

appear “skeletonized.” Length of adults 6.50-7.00 (165-177.8); wing

4.13 (105); tail 2.80 (71); bill .49 (12.5); tarsus .85 (21.5).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; rich blue and chestnut coloring of

male; darker blue coloration of wings in female distinctive as

compared with that of _S. currucoides_.

Nesting.—_Nest_: in cavities, natural or artificial, old woodpecker

holes, hollow trees, stumps, posts, bird-boxes, etc., lined with

grasses and, occasionally, string, feathers and the like. _Eggs_: 4-6,

uniform pale blue. Av. size, .82 × .62 (20.8 × 15.7). _Season_:

May-July; two broods.

General Range.—Pacific coast district from Los Angeles County,

California, to British Columbia, extending irregularly eastward in

Oregon, Washington and British Columbia, and to Idaho and western

Montana; south irregularly in winter as far as San Pedro Martir

Mountains, L. C.

Range in Washington.—Summer resident, of general distribution west of

the Cascades, rare and local distribution (chiefly in heavily timbered

sections) east of the mountains; casually resident in winter.

Migrations.—_Spring_: c. March 1; East-side: Chelan, March 9, 1896;

Conconnully, March 15, 1896; West-side: Seattle, March 6, 1889; March

5, 1891; Tacoma, Feb. 25, 1905. _Fall_: October.

Authorities.—_Sialia occidentalis_, Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci.

Phila. Vol. VII. pt. II. 1837, 188. C&S. L¹. Rh. D¹. Kb. Ra. D². Kk.

J. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. B. BN.

_Miu-Miu-Miu_—mute you are, or next thing to it, you naughty little

beauties! Why don’t you sing, as do your cousins across the Rockies? You

bring spring with you, but you do not come shifting your “light load of

song from post to post along the cheerless fence.” Is your beauty, then,

so burdensome that you find it task enough to shift that?

Alack-a-day! our Bluebird does not sing! You see, he comes from Mexican

stock, _Sialia mexicana_, and since we will not let him talk Spanish, or

Aztecan, or Zampeyan, he flits about silent in seven languages.

Er—but—what’s this? Can we be mistaken? Here is what Dr. J. K.

Townsend[38] says of the Western Bluebird: “Common on the Columbia River

in the spring. It arrives from the south early in April, and about the

first week in May commences building. * * * A flock of eight or ten of

these birds visited the British fort on the Columbia, on a fine day in

the winter of 1835. They confined themselves chiefly to the fences,

occasionally flying to the ground and scratching among the snow for

minute insects, the fragments of which were found in the stomachs of

several which I killed. After procuring an insect the male usually

returned to the fence again, and warbled for a minute most delightfully.

This note altho somewhat like that of our common _Wilsonii_ [i. e., _S.

sialis_], is still so different as to be easily recognized. It is

equally sweet and clear but of so little compass (at this season) as to

be heard only a short distance. In the spring it is louder, but it is at

all times much less strong than that of the common species.”

Dr. Brewer, condensing Nuttall, says[39]: “He [Nuttall] speaks of its

habits as exactly similar to those of the common Bluebird. The male is

equally tuneful thruout the breeding-season, and his song is also very

similar. Like the common species he is very devoted to his mate,

alternately feeding and caressing her and entertaining her with his

song. This is a little more _varied, tender, and sweet_ [editor’s

italics] than that of the Eastern species, and differs in its

expressions.”

Our own Dr. Cooper testifies:[40] “It also differs [i. e. from _S.

sialis_] in its song, which is not so loud as sweet, and is curiously

performed to sound as if two birds were singing at once and in different

keys.” Here the tradition begins to waver. More recent writers say: “The

song of the Western Bluebird is not full but is, like his manners,

gentle and sweet” (Lord); and, “It has the soft warble of its kind”

(Mrs. Bailey). But again Dr. Brewer writes:[41] “In regard to their song

Mr. Ridgway states that he did not hear even during the pairing season,

any note approaching in sweetness, or indeed similar to, the joyous

spring warble which justly renders our Eastern Bluebird (_S. sialis_) so

universal a favorite.” The doctors disagree. Some one has been dreaming!

All I can say is, that in an experience of some sixteen seasons in

Washington, I have never heard the Bluebird sing, or utter any note more

pretentious than the plaintive _miu_ already referred to. It has beside,

however, a note of protest, which sounds remotely like the _kek_ of a

distrustful Guinea fowl; and it indulges certain very unmusical

chittering and clucking notes when endeavoring to attract the attention

of its young.

No; the Western Bluebird is no musician, but he _is_ a beauty; and he

does have the same gentle courtesy of bearing which has endeared the

Bluebird wherever he is known. It is impossible to treat of Bluebirds’

domestic life without recourse to humanizing terms. Bluebird is a

gentleman, chivalrous and brave, as he is tender and loving. Mrs.

Bluebird is a lady, gentle, confiding, and most appreciative. And as for

the little Bluebirdses they are as well behaved a lot of children as

ever crowned an earthly affection.

[Illustration: _Taken in Oregon._ _Photo by Finley and Bohlman._

WESTERN BLUEBIRD AT NEST.]

Both parents are unsparing in their devotion to the rising generation,

and so thoroly is this unselfish spirit reflected in the conduct of the

children that it is the subject of frequent remark. Mr. Finley tells[42]

of an instance in which a first brood, just out of pinafores, turned to

and helped their parents provide food for another batch of babies, and

this not once, nor twice, nor casually, but regularly, until the second

brood were well matured. Instinct! Instinct! say you? But, wherefor? Is

it not rather a foregleam of ethical life, an outcropping of that

altruistic tendency which hints a deeper kinship with the birds than we

have yet confessed?

And real gallantry between the sexes may not be less ethical. On a day

in Ohio, I located a Bluebird’s nest in the knot-hole of an apple tree,

and planted the camera in a commanding and somewhat threatening

position. The cavity held callow young, but after the parents had

visited their charges once and were somewhat relieved in anxiety, I saw

a very pretty passage which took place between them. In a neighboring

apple tree the male secured an elegant fat grub and was most devoutly

thrashing it, when the female appeared upon the scene. With a coaxing

twitter she approached her mate; but he backed off, as much as to say,

“Wait, wait, dear, he isn’t dead yet!” But she was hungry and pressed

her suit, until he in good-natured impatience flitted across to another

limb. Here he whacked the worm vigorously, striking him first against

one side of the limb and then against the other by a swinging motion of

the head. The female followed her lord and cooed: “Oh, I know that will

taste good. Um! I hav’n’t tasted one of those white grubs for a week. So

good of you, dearest! Really, don’t you think he is done now?” The

valiant husband gave the luckless grub just one more whack; and then,

with every appearance of satisfaction, he hopped over toward his better

half and placed the morsel in her waiting beak, while she received the

favor with quivering wings and a soft flood of tender thanks. Altogether

I think I never saw a prettier exhibition of conjugal affection,

gallantry, and genuine altruism than the sight afforded. It was not only

like the behavior of humans; it was like the best in human life, a

pattern rather than a copy, an inspiration to nobility and gentleness of

the very highest type.

[Illustration: _Taken in Spokane._ _Photo by F. S. Merrill._

LITTLE BOY BLUE.]

Bluebirds have a decided preference for human society, or at least are

very quick to appreciate the hospitality of proffered bird-boxes. Being

chiefly insectivorous, their presence is a benediction to any

neighborhood, and is an especial advantage in the orchard. A friend of

mine in the East, who owns two young orchards and a small vineyard,

maintains upon his premises upwards of fifty Bluebird boxes, each

composed of a section of a hollow limb closed with a board at top and

bottom, and provided with a neat augur-hole in the side. The boxes are

made fast to the apple-trees or lodged at considerable intervals along

the intersecting fences. The experimenter finds that more than half of

the boxes are occupied each season, and he counts the birds of

inestimable value in helping to save the grapes and apples from the

ravages of worms.

In providing for Bluebird’s comfort, care must be taken to expel cats

from the premises; or at least to place the box in an inaccessible

position. English Sparrows, also, must be shot at sight, for the

Bluebird, however valorous, is no match for a mob. Tree Swallows or

Violet-greens may covet the nesting-box—your affections are sure to be

divided when these last appear upon the scene—but the Bluebirds can take

care of themselves here. For the rest, do not make the box too nice; and

above all, do not make it of new lumber. Nesting birds do not care to be

the observed of all observers, and the more natural their surroundings,

the more at ease your tenants will be. An occasional inspection will not

be resented, if the Bluebirds know their landlord well. There may be

some untoward condition to correct,—an overcrowded nestling, or the

like. At the end of the season the box should be emptied, cleaned, and

if possible sterilized.

Two broods are raised in a season, and the species appears to be on the

increase in the more thickly settled portion of the State.

_Occidentalis_ avoids the dry sections, and is nowhere common on the

east side of the mountains, save during migrations. It is, however,

regularly found on the timbered slopes of the Cascades, the Kalispell

Range, and the Blue Mountains, where its range inosculates with that of

the Mountain Bluebird. There is reason to suppose that its range will

extend with the increase of irrigated territory. West of the mountains,

per contra, the Bluebird affects the more open country, and especially

that which has been prepared by fire and the double-bitted axe.

No. 102.

MOUNTAIN BLUEBIRD.

A. O. U. No. 768. Sialia currucoides (Bechstein).

Synonym.—Arctic Bluebird.

Description.—_Adult male in summer_: Above rich cerulean blue, palest

(turquoise blue) on forehead, brightest on upper tail-coverts, darkest

(sevres blue) on lesser wing-coverts; below pale blue (deepest

turquoise) on chest, shading on sides of head and neck to color of

back, paling on lower belly, crissum and under tail-coverts to

whitish; exposed tips of flight feathers dusky. Bill and feet black;

iris dark brown. _Adult male in winter_: Blue somewhat duller and

feathers skirted more or less with brownish above and below, notably

on hind-neck, upper back, breast and sides. _Adult female_: Like male

but paler blue, clear on rump, tail and wings only, elsewhere quenched

in gray; pileum, hindneck, back and scapulars mouse-gray tinged with

greenish-blue; outer edge of first primary and outer web of outermost

rectrix, basally, white; a whitish orbital ring; underparts tinged

with pale brownish gray fading to white posteriorly. _Young birds_

somewhat resemble the adult female but are even duller; the blue of

rump and upper tail-coverts is replaced by ashy gray; the back is

streaked with white; the throat and jugulum are pale gray indistinctly

streaked with whitish; chest, sides and flanks broadly streaked with

drab, each feather having a white center. Length 7.00 (177.8) or over;

wing 4.60 (117); tail 2.83 (72); bill .53 (13.4); tarsus .89 (22.6).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; azure blue coloration of male and

bluish-gray and azure of female unmistakable.

Nesting.—_Nest_: much as in preceding species. _Eggs_: usually 5,

uniform pale blue sometimes very light bluish white, rarely pure

white. Av. size, .80 × .60 (20.3 × 15.2). _Season_: May, June; two

broods.

General Range.—Mountain districts of western North America north to

the Mackenzie and Yukon Territory, breeding eastward to the Black

Hills and western Texas, westward to the Cascade-Sierras, southward to

the higher ranges of Arizona, New Mexico and Chihuahua, in winter

irregularly eastward upon the Great plains and southward to southern

California, Lower California, etc.

Range in Washington.—Summer resident in the Cascade Mountains chiefly

on the eastern slopes (but west to Mt. Rainier); common during

migrations and irregularly resident in summer upon lower levels east

of the Cascades (Wallula, May 15, 1907, breeding).

Migrations.—_Spring_: Chelan, Feb. 24, 1896; Conconnully, March 15,

1896; Ahtanum, March 13, 1900.

Authorities.—_Sialia arctica_ Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII. Oct. 1882, p.

227. T. L¹. D¹. D². Ss¹. J.

Specimens.—P¹. Prov. C.

A bit of heaven’s blue incarnate! We shall not stop to chide this

exquisite creature that he does not sing. Why should he? It is enough to

inspire song.

The sky has not fallen this beautiful morn,

But here is its messenger come to adorn

For a moment our wayside, and bring to our sight

In symbol of azure, a vision of right.

So hopeful, confiding, thou brave mountaineer,

Thou bringest to April a mighty good cheer.

Chill winter is vanquished, his rigors forgot,

The Lord is on earth,—what else, matters not.

The Mountain Bluebird is of regular occurrence but of very irregular

distribution in eastern Washington, and is scarcely known west of the

Cascades. John Fannin found it in British Columbia “west occasionally,

to Chilliwack, and other points on the lower Fraser; also Vancouver

Island,” but we have only two records of its occurrence on the Pacific

slope in Washington[43]. The bird ranges up to the highest peaks of the

central divide, but it is not at all common in the mountains. It seems

to prefer more open situations and, so far from being exclusively boreal

in its tastes, has been found nesting at as low an altitude as Wallula,

on the banks of the Columbia River.

At Chelan in a typical season (1896) the migrations opened with the

appearance, on the 24th day of February, of seven males of most perfect

beauty. They deployed upon the townsite in search of insects, and

uttered plaintive notes of Sialian quality, varied by dainty,

thrush-like _tsooks_ of alarm when too closely pressed. They did not at

any time attempt song, and the entire song tradition, including the

“delightful warble” of Townsend, appears to be quite without foundation,

as in the case of _S. m. occidentalis_. On the 15th of March a flock of

fifty Bluebirds, all males, were sighted flying in close order over the

mountain-side, a vision of loveliness which was enhanced by the presence

of a dozen or more Westerns. Several flocks were observed at this season

in which the two species mingled freely. On the 27th of the same month

the last great wave of migration was noted, and some two hundred birds,

all “Arctics” now, and at least a third of them females, quartered

themselves upon us for a day,—with what delighted appreciation upon our

part may best be imagined. The males are practically _all_ azure; but

the females have a much more modest garb of reddish gray, or

stone-olive, which flashes into blue on wings and tail, only as the bird

flits from post to post.

In nesting, Mountain Bluebirds sometimes display the same confidence

shown by the darker species; and their adoption into urban, or at least

village life, would seem to be only a matter of time. They are a gentle

breed, and it is an honor of which we may well strive to prove worthy,

to be chosen as hosts by these distinguished gentlefolk.

“Gentle,” as applied to Bluebirds, has always the older sense of

noble,—noble because brave. My attention was first called to a nest in

the timbered foothills of Yakima County, because its valiant owner

furiously beset a Flicker of twice his size, a clumsy villain who had

lighted by mistake on the Bluebird’s nesting stub. The gallant defender

did not use these tactics on the bird-man, but his accents were sternly

accusing as the man proceeded to investigate a clean-cut hole eight feet

up in a pine stub four feet thru. Five dainty eggs of the palest

possible blue rested at the bottom of the cavity on a soft cushion of

fine grasses.

This must have been a typical structure, but near Chelan I found the

birds nesting at the end of a tunnel driven into a perpendicular bank

much frequented by Bank Swallows. The original miner might have been a

Swallow, but the Bluebirds had certainly enlarged the hole and rounded

it. There were no available trees for a mile or so around, but—well,

really now, it did give one a turn to see this bit of heaven quench

itself in the ground—for love’s sake.

_Sylviidæ_—The Old World Warblers, Kinglets, and Gnatcatchers

No. 103.

WESTERN GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLET.

A. O. U. No. 748. Regulus satrapa olivaceus Baird.

Description.—_Adult male_; Crown-patch (partially concealed) bright

orange or flame-color (cadmium orange); a border of plain yellow

feathers overlying the orange on the sides; these in turn bordered by

black in front and on sides; extreme forehead white, connecting with

white superciliary stripe; a dark line thru eye; above bright

olive-green, becoming olive-gray on nape and side of head and neck;

wing-quills and tail-feathers much edged with light greenish yellow,

the former in such fashion as to throw into relief a dusky spot on

middle of secondaries; greater coverts tipped with whitish; underparts

sordid white, sometimes dusky-washed, or touched on sides with

olivaceous. _Adult female_: Similar, but with crown-patch plain yellow

instead of orange. _Immature_: Without crown-patch or bordering black,

gradually acquiring these thru gradation of color. Length about 4.00

(101.6); wing 2.16 (55); tail 1.57 (40); bill .29 (7.5); tarsus .67

(17).

Recognition Marks.—Pygmy size; orange, or yellow, and black of crown

distinctive.

Nesting.—_Nest_: lashed to and largely concealed by drooping twigs on

under side of fir bough near tip, an exquisite ball of mosses,

lichens, liverwort, fine grasses, etc.; bound together with cobwebs

and lined with the softest materials, vegetable-down, cow-hair, and

feathers, 3½-7 inches in diameter, and placed from five feet _up_.

_Eggs_: 7-9, rarely 10 (one of 11 on record), sometimes in _two

layers_, dull white, cream white, or sordid cream-color, finely

sprinkled or not with pale wood-brown or dull rufous, and sometimes,

obscurely, with lavender. Av. size, .54 × .40 (13.7 × 10.2). _Season_:

April 1-July 1; two broods.

General Range.—Western North America from Rocky Mountains to the

Pacific Coast, southward in winter over highlands of Mexico to

elevated districts of Guatemala; breeding from Colorado (near

timber-line), eastern Oregon (mountains near Fort Klamath), Sierra

Nevada (south to Mount Whitney), Mount Shasta, etc., northward to

Kenai Peninsula and Kadiak Island, Alaska.

Range in Washington.—Common resident in coniferous timber (except

pine) thruout the State, sea-level to limit of trees, less common east

of Cascades, where numbers greatly augmented during migrations.

Authorities.—_? Townsend_, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. VIII. 1839, 154

(Columbia River). _Regulus satrapa_, Licht. Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R.

Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 228 (part). (T.) C&S. L. Rh. D¹. Kb. Ra.

D². Kk. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P. Prov. B. E.

“Good things come done up in small packages,” my college chum used to

say (speaking, of course, of _la femme petite_), and that was before he

knew the Golden-crowned Kinglet. Indeed, it is surprising how few people

do know this amiable little monarch; and yet, I suppose, he is by all

odds the most abundant bird in Washington. To one who seeks the honor of

his acquaintance, he proves a most delightful friend; but he has his

little modesties and reserves, becoming to a potentate, so that a

thousand of him would never be “common,” nor pall upon the senses.

Kinglets go in troupes, family parties, which keep a little to

themselves ordinarily; altho Chickadees and Nuthatches, or even Creepers

and Wrens, are welcome messmates, in the friendly winter time. Evergreen

trees, exclusively, are frequented, except during migrations upon the

East-side where the favorite cover is lacking, and the real abundance of

the birds at all seasons is coextensive with that of the Douglas Spruce

(_Pseudotsuga douglasi_). With tireless energy they search both bark and

branches for insects’ eggs and larvæ scarce visible to the human eye.

They peer about incessantly, bending and darting and twisting and

squirming, now hanging head downward, if need be, now fluttering

prettily against the under side of the branch above; but always on the

go, until frequently one despairs of catching fair sight of the crown

for the necessary fraction of a second. Of course it’s a Golden-crown;

but, then, we want to see it.

[Illustration: _Taken in Rainier National Park._ _From a Photograph

Copyright, 1908, by W. L. Dawson._

THE UNVEILING.

A FAVORITE HAUNT OF THE KINGLET.]

And all the time Cutikins is carrying on an amiable conversation with

his neighbor, interrupted and fragmentary, to be sure, but he has all

day to it—_tss, tss-tsip-chip, tseek_. If you draw too near, _tsip_ can

be made to express vigorous disapproval.

Concerning the “song” one is a little puzzled how to report. One hears,

no doubt, many little snatches and phrases which have in them something

of the quality of the better known carol of the Ruby-crown, but they

lack distinctness and completion. Moreover, they are never given

earnestly, even in the height of the mating season, but, as it were,

reminiscently, mere by-products of a contented mood. It may seem a

little fanciful, but I am half tempted to believe that the Gold-crests

are losing the ancient art of minstrelsy. The lines have fallen unto

them in such pleasant places; food and shelter are no problems, and

there is nothing of that shock and hazard of life which reacts most

certainly upon the passion of song. And then it is _her_ fault, anyway.

Phyllis would rather whisper sweet nothings in the mossy bower than be

serenaded, never so ably. Oh, perilous house of content!

It remained for Mr. Bowles, after years of untiring effort, to discover

the first nest of this western variety. And then it came by way of

revelation—a fir branch caught against the evening sky and scrutinized

mechanically afforded grounds for suspicion in a certain thickening of

the twigs under the midrib. Investigation revealed a ball of moss

matched to a nicety of green with the surrounding foliage, and made fast

by dainty lashings to the enveloping twigs; and, better yet, a basketful

of eggs.

These birds probably nest at any height in the heaviest fir timber; but,

because they are relatively so infinitesimal, it is idle to look for the

nests except at the lower levels, and in places where the forest area

has been reduced to groves and thickets. The boundaries of the prairie

country about Centralia and northward afford the best opportunity for

nesting, for here the Douglas Spruces attain a height of only a hundred

feet or such a matter, and occur in loose open groves which invite

inspection. Here, too, the Kinglets may be noted as they flit across

from tree to tree, and their movements traced.

The kinglet and queenlet are a devoted pair in nesting time. Whether

gathering materials for the nest or hunting for food after the babies

are hatched, they work in company as much as possible. They are

discovered, it may be a hundred yards from the home tree, gleaning

assiduously. After a time one of the birds by a muffled squeak announces

a beakful, and suggests a return; the other acquiesces and they set off

homeward, the male usually in the lead. It looks as tho tracing would be

an easy matter, but the birds stop circumspectly at every tree clump en

route, and they are all too easily lost to sight long before the home

tree is reached.

Nests may be found at any height from the level of the eyes to fifty

feet (higher, no doubt, if one’s eye-sight avails) but always on the

under side of a fir limb, and usually where the foliage is naturally

dense. The nest ball is a wonderfully compacted affair of moss, both

green and gray, interspersed with liverworts, dried grasses, soft weed

fibers, and cow-hair. The deep depression of the nest cup scarcely mars

the sphericity of the whole, for the edges are brought well in; so much

so, in fact, that a containing branch overloaded with foliage upon one

side, once tipped half way over without spilling the eggs. The deep

cavity is heavily lined with cow-hair and abundant feathers of grouse or

domestic fowl. These feathers are placed with their soft ends

protruding, and they curl over the entrance in such fashion as almost or

quite to conceal the eggs. One would like to particularize at great

length, for no fervors of description can overstate the beauties of this

Kinglet palace.

[Illustration: _Taken near Tacoma._ _Photo by Bowles and Dawson._

NEST OF WESTERN GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLET IN FIR BRANCH.

THIS IS THE MOST THAT MAY BE SEEN OF NEST OR CONTENTS FROM ANY ANGLE.]

Eggs vary in number from five to nine, seven and eight being the rule. I

once took a nest with eleven—one too many at the least, for it had to

rest on top of the others. They are not much larger than Hummingbirds’

and are quite as fragile. Mr. Bowles consumed twenty minutes in removing

the contents of the big nest to the collecting box _without a break_.

The eggs vary in color from pure white to sordid white and dusky brown.

In the last two cases the tint may be due to a profusion of fine brown

dots, or to advancement in incubation, the shell being so thin that the

progressive stages of the chick’s development are dimly shadowed thru

it.

The female Kinglet is a close sitter and will not often leave the nest

until the containing branch is sharply tapped. Then, invariably, she

drops down a couple of feet and flits sharply sidewise, with manifest

intent to deceive the laggard eye. Yet almost immediately she is minded

to return, and will do so if there is no further demonstration of

hostilities. Re-covering the eggs is not always an easy matter, for the

well is deep and the mouth narrow. One dame lighted on the brim of her

nest and bowed and scraped and stamped, precisely as a carefully

disciplined husband will when he brings muddy boots to the kitchen door.

The operation was evidently quite unconnected with hesitation in view of

my presence, but in some way was preparatory to her sinking carefully

into the feather-lined pit before her. When she first covered the eggs,

also, there was a great fuss made in settling, as tho to free her

feathers from the engaging edges of the nest. When the bird is well down

upon her eggs there is nothing visible but the top of her head and the

tip of her tail.

The male bird, meanwhile, is not indifferent. First he bustles up onto

the nesting branch and flashes his fiery crest in plain token of anger,

but later he is content to squeak disapproval from a position more

removed.

While the mother bird is sitting, the male tends her faithfully, but he

spends his spare moments, according to Mr. Bowles, in constructing “cock

nests,” or decoys, in the neighboring trees. These seem to serve no

purpose beyond that of a nervous relief to the impatient father, and are

seldom as carefully constructed as the veritable domus.

[Illustration: _Taken near Tacoma._ _Photo by the Authors._

NID-NID-NODDING.]

When the young of the first brood are hatched and ready to fly, the

chief care of them falls to the father, while the female prepares for a

second nesting. As to the further domestic relations one cannot speak

with certainty, but it would seem at least possible that fall bird

troops consist of the combined families of Mr. and Mrs. Quiverful.

As to the time of home-making, the Ringlets are not very particular. Nor

is it necessary that they should be. It is always spring here after the

first of February. Besides that, a fir tree is both forest and

store-house at any season. In the vicinity of Tacoma, the usual nesting

time is the last week in April for the first set, and the second week in

June for the second. The earliest record is April 9th, that of a nest

containing half-grown young. The first egg of this set must, therefore,

have been deposited about March 15th.

So far as we can make out, this bird is strictly resident in western

Washington, but it is much less common on the east side of the Cascades,

and is there largely migratory. Not only does the species retire in

winter from the mountains to the lower foot-hills, but considerable

numbers pass over the State to and from British Columbia. At such times

they appear wherever timber or watered shrubbery is to be found. With

manners so engaging and lives so sheltered, to say nothing of families

so blessed in the yearly increase, is it any wonder that the gentle

tribe of _Regulus_ prevails thruout the giant forests of this western

slope, and spills over in blessing wherever trees abound?

No. 104.

RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET.

A. O. U. No. 749. Regulus calendula (Linn.).

Description.—_Adult male_: Above olive-green, duller anteriorly,

brightening to greenish yellow on edgings of quills and tail-feathers;

a partly concealed crest of scarlet (flame-scarlet to

scarlet-vermilion); two narrow, whitish wing-bars formed by tips of

middle and greater coverts; some whitish edging on tertials; a dusky

interval separating greenish yellow edges on outer webs of

secondaries; a whitish eye-ring and whitish skirtings around base of

bill; under parts soiled white, heavily tinged with buffy and

olivaceous buff. _Adult female and immature_: Similar but without

crown-patch. Length 4.00-4.50 (101.6-114.3); wing 2.33 (59.2); tail

1.72 (43.7); bill from nostril .25 (6.4).

Recognition Marks.—Pygmy size; scarlet crest distinctive. Note

wing-bars and whitish eye-ring of female and young. Lighter than _R.

c. grinnelli._

Nesting.—_Nest_: a ball of moss, lichens, etc., bound together with

cobwebs, and lashed to drooping twigs beneath branch of conifer, lined

with vegetable-down, catkins, hair, and feathers, and placed at

moderate heights. _Eggs_: 5-9, dull white, or pale buffy, faintly or

sharply but sparingly speckled with reddish brown, chiefly about

larger end. Av. size, .55 × .43 (14 × 10.9). _Season_: June; one

brood(?).

General Range.—North America at large in wooded districts, north to

limit of trees, west to northwestern Alaska (Kowak River), breeding

chiefly north of the United States, and irregularly in the higher

ranges of the West.

Range in Washington.—Common spring and fall migrant; summer resident

in northeastern portion of State only(?).

Migrations.—_Spring_: April, May. _Fall_: October.

Authorities.—Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 227.

(T.) C&S. L¹. Rh.(?) D¹. Sr. Ra. D². Kk. J. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. BN. E.

“Where’s your kingdom, little king?

Where’s the land you call your own?

Where’s your palace and your throne?

Fluttering lightly on the wing

Thru the blossom world of May

Whither lies your royal way?

Where’s the realm that owns your sway,

Little King?”

Dr. Henry Van Dyke is the questioner, and the little bird has a ready

answer for him. Being an Easterner, it is “Labrador” in May, and

“Where the cypress’ vivid green

And the dark magnolia’s sheen

Weave a shelter round my home”

in October. But under the incitement of the poet’s playful banter, the

Kinglet enlarges his claim:

“Never king by right divine

Ruled a richer realm than mine!

What are lands and golden crowns,

Armies, fortresses and towns,

Jewels, scepters, robes and rings,

What are these to song and wings?

Everywhere that I can fly

There I own the earth and sky:

Everywhere that I can sing

There I’m happy as a king.”

And surely there is no one who can meet this dainty monarch in one of

his happy moods without paying instant homage. His _imperium_ is that of

the spirit, and those who boast a soul above the clod must swear fealty

to this most delicate expression of the creative Infinite, this thought

of God made luminous and vocal, and own him king by right divine.

It seems only yesterday I saw him, Easter Day in old Ohio. The

significant dawn was struggling with great masses of heaped-up

clouds,—the incredulities and fears of the world’s night; but now and

again the invincible sun found some tiny rift and poured a flood of

tender gold upon a favored spot where stood some solitary tree or

expectant sylvan company. Along the river bank all was still. There were

no signs of spring, save for the modest springing violet and the pious

buckeye, shaking its late-prisoned fronds to the morning air, and

tardily setting in order its manifold array of Easter candles. The oak

trees were gray and hushed, and the swamp elms held their peace until

the fortunes of the morning should be decided. Suddenly from down the

river path there came a tiny burst of angel music, the peerless song of

the Ruby-crown. Pure, ethereal, without hint of earthly dross or

sadness, came those limpid welling notes, the sweetest and the gladdest

ever sung—at least by those who have not suffered. It was not indeed the

greeting of the earth to the risen Lord, but rather the annunciation of

the glorious fact by heaven’s own appointed herald.

The Ruby-crowned Kinglet has something of the nervousness and vivacity

of the typical wren. It moves restlessly from twig to twig, flirting its

wings with a motion too quick for the eyes to follow, and frequently

uttering a titter of alarm, _chit-tit_ or _chit-it-it_. During

migrations the birds swarm thru the tree-tops like Warblers, but are

often found singly or in small companies in thickets or open clusters of

saplings. In such situations they exhibit more or less curiosity, and if

one keeps reasonably still he is almost sure to be inspected from a

distance not exceeding four or five feet. It is here too that the males

are found singing in spring. The bird often begins _sotto voce_ with two

or three high squeaks as tho trying to get the pitch down to the range

of mortal ears before he gives his full voice. The core of the song is

something like _tew, tew, tew, tew, titooreet′, titooreet′_, the last

phrases being given with a rising inflection, and with an accent of

ravishing sweetness. The tones are so pure that they may readily be

whistled by the human listener, and a musical contest provoked in which

one is glad to come out second best.

Having heard only the preparatory spring song for years, it was a matter

of considerable rejoicing to come upon the birds at home in Stevens

County. They were especially common in the neighborhood of Newport, and

they sang incessantly, and loudly from the depths of the giant larches,

which abound there. It appears that the full-fledged breeding song is

quite different from the delicate migratory carol. The preliminary notes

are of much the same quality, but instead of accenting the final

syllable of the _titooreet_ phrase, and repeating this, the phrase is

given only once, with a sort of tittering, tremolo effect, and the

emphasis is thrown upon a series of strong, sharp terminal notes, four

or five in number, and of a uniform character—the whole somewhat as

follows: _tew tew tew tew titteretteretter reet, cheep′ cheep′ cheep′

cheep′_. These emphatic notes are also rendered in a detached form at

occasional intervals, usually after the entire song has been rehearsed;

and they are so loud at all times as to be heard at a distance of half a

mile. One individual began his song with an elaborate preliminary run of

high-pitched, whining notes of a fineness almost beyond human

cognizance; then effected a descent by a _kititew_ note to the tew tew

tew series. In his case, also, the emphatic closing notes had a

distinctly double character, as _cheépy, cheépy, cheépy_.

We ransacked the Newport woods day after day with feverish eagerness,

allured and goaded by the music, but filled also with that strange fire

of oölogical madness which will lead its possessor to bridge chasms,

dangle over precipices, brave the billows of the sea, battle with eagles

on the heights, or crawl on hands and knees all over a forty-acre field.

The quest was well-nigh hopeless, for the woods were dense and the

tamaracks were heavily draped in brown moss, “Spanish beards,” with a

thousand possibilities of hidden nests to a single tree. June the First

was to be the last day of our stay, and it opened up with a dense fog

emanating from the Pend d’Oreille River hard-by. Nevertheless, six

o’clock found us ogling thru the mists on the crest of a wooded hill. A

Ruby-crown was humming fragmentary snatches of song, and I put the

glasses on him. I was watching the flitting sprite with languid interest

when Jack exclaimed petulantly, “Now, why won’t that bird visit his

nest?” “He did,” I replied, lowering the binoculars. The bird in

flitting about had paused but an instant near the end of a small fir

branch about thirty-five feet up in a sixty-foot tree, springing from

the hillside below. There was nothing in the movement nor in the length

of time spent to excite suspicion, but it had served to reveal thru the

glasses a thickening of the drooping foliage, clearly noticeable as it

lay outlined against the fog.

We returned at ten o’clock and the first strokes of the hand-ax, as the

lowermost spike bit into the live wood, sent the female flying from the

nest into a neighboring tree. As the ascent was made spike by spike, she

uttered a rapid complaint, composed of notes similar to the prefatory

notes of the male’s song; but during my entire stay aloft she did not

venture back into the nesting tree, nor did the male once put in an

appearance. The nest was only five and a half feet out from the tree

trunk, and the containing branch an inch in thickness at the base.

Hence, it was not a difficult, albeit an anxious, task to support the

limb midway with one hand and to sever it with a pocket-knife held in

the other, then to haul it in slowly.

The nest was composed largely of the drooping brown moss, so common in

this region as to be almost a necessity, yet contrasting strongly with

the clean bright green of the young fir tree. But, even so, it was so

thoroly concealed by the draping foliage that its presence would have

escaped notice from any attainable standpoint, save for the mere

density,—a shade thicker than elsewhere. At first sight one is tempted

to call it a moss-ball, but close examination shows it to be rather an

assemblage of all sorts of soft substances, vegetable downs, cottons

from the pussy willows and cottonwood trees, weathered aments, hair,

fine grass (in abundance), with occasional strange inclusions, such as

spider-egg cases, dried flower-stalks, and the like. The lining is

exclusively of feathers, those from the breast of the Robin being most

in evidence. A few of these curled up from under the neatly turned brim,

so as to partly conceal the contents; but only a little effort was

required to obtain a perfect view of the eggs from above.

[Illustration: _Taken near Newport._ _Photo by Dawson and Bowles._

RUBY’S BASKETFUL.]

I counted the glowing pile, slowly, calmly, as a miser counts his gold

when the bolts are shot—twice to make sure—one, two, three, * * *

_nine_, the last one being thrown in on top of the heap for good

measure.

The eggs were marvelously fresh, insomuch that in blowing them Mr.

Bowles coaxed seven of the nine yolks out unbroken thru the mere

needle-holes in the shell which he counts a sufficient exit. In color

they were pure white, flushed with the peculiar ruddy of fresh eggs

having semi-transparent shells, with a pale broad band of brownish dust

about the larger ends (the smaller one in one case).

When I had descended,—singing and whistling right merrily snatches of

songs once popular, “Sweet Marie,” and the like, for my spirits were

uncommon high,—the mother-bird returned to the nesting tree and haunted

the site of the ruined home persistently. First she peered down from the

branch above; then she dropped down to the branch below, and craned her

head, sorely perplexed. She lighted upon the white stump of the severed

limb and examined it confusedly, then she fluttered in midair precisely

where the nest ought to have been, and dropped to the limb below again

in despair. This mystified quest she repeated over and over again until

it wrung the hearts of the beholders. Well, well; we are inconsistent

creatures, we humans. And somehow the comfortable philosophy of the

bird-nester fails at these critical points.

No. 105.

SITKAN KINGLET.

A. O. U. No. 749 a. Regulus calendula grinnelli Palmer.

Synonyms.—Alaskan Kinglet. Sitka Ruby-crowned Kinglet. Grinnell’s

Kinglet.

Description.—Like preceding but of much darker coloration,—a

“saturated” form; also wing somewhat shorter, bill larger, etc. Av.

measurements of male[44]: wing 2.23 (56.6); tail 1.69 (42.9); bill .34

(8.7); tarsus .72 (18.1).

Recognition Marks.—Of strikingly darker coloration than _R.

calendula_—supposed to be the exclusive form in winter.

Nesting.—As preceding. Does not breed in Washington.

General Range.—Pacific Coast district breeding from British Columbia

to head of Lynn Canal and Yakutat Bay, Alaska; south in winter (at

least) to middle California.

Range in Washington.—Early spring and late fall migrant, common winter

resident on Puget Sound.

Authorities.—_? Regulus calendula_, Licht. _Cooper and Suckley_, Rep.

Pac. R. R. Surv. XII. pt. II. 1860, p. 174 (Winter resident on Puget

Sound). Bowles, Auk, Vol. XXIII. Apr. 1906, p. 148.

Specimens.—B. E. P(A).

So far as our somewhat scanty observation goes, this would appear to be

the prevailing form in the earlier spring migrations, and the only one

found in winter upon Puget Sound. Thus, while the lighter-colored birds,

which summer in our mountains and in British Columbia, are enjoying

sunshine in Mexico, this Alaskan coast dweller is re-dyeing his plumage

under the dull skies of the Pacific watershed.

The Sitkan Kinglet is not abundant in winter, altho it enjoys a general

distribution. It does not associate in flocks of its own kind to any

large extent, but oftener two or three individuals join themselves to

winter bird troops consisting of Chickadees, Seattle Wrens, Western

Golden-crowned Kinglets, Puget Sound Bush-Tits, etc. At such times it is

noticeable that they keep largely to the lower levels, for they hunt and

titter among the spiræa thickets, salal bushes, logs and evergreen

saplings, while their cousins only occasionally venture within five or

ten feet of the ground, and range from there to the tops of the tallest

firs.

The notes, too, of the Sitkan Kinglet are low-pitched and explosive, as

compared with the fairy sibilations of the Golden-crowns. The

neighborhood of “Seattle” Wrens and Western Winter Wrens will serve also

to throw a certain wren-like quality of the Alaskan’s note into fine

relief.

_Paridæ_—The Titmice

No. 106.

CHICKADEE.

A. O. U. No. 735. Penthestes atricapillus (Linn.).

Synonyms.—Black-capped Chickadee. Black-capped Titmouse.

Description.—_Adult_: Top of head and nape shining black; throat dead

black with whitish skirting posteriorly; a white band on side of head

and neck, increasing in width behind; back and scapulars gray with an

olivaceous cast and more or less admixture of buffy at the edges and

as skirting; wings and tail dusky, more or less edged, especially on

greater coverts and tertials, with ashy or whitish; breast and belly

white; sides, flanks and crissum washed with buffy or light rusty

(nearly whitish in summer); bill and feet dark. Rather variable in

size; one adult specimen measures: wing 2.27 (57.7); tail 2.10 (53.3);

bill .34 (8.6). Another: wing 2.70 (68.6); tail 2.57 (65.3) bill .38

(9.7). Length, 4.75-5.75 (120.6-146.1); average of eight specimens of

medium size: wing 2.60 (66); tail 2.44 (62); bill .36 (9.1).

Recognition Marks.—Warbler size; of lighter coloration but not

certainly distinguishable afield from _P. a. occidentalis_ (q. v.).

Nesting.—_Nest_: a heavy mat of moss, grasses, and plant-down, lined

with rabbits’ fur, wool, hair, or feathers, in made hole or natural

cavity of stump or tree, usually not over ten feet from the ground,

and near water. _Eggs_: 5-8, white, marked sparingly with reddish

brown, in small spots, tending to gather about larger end. Av. size,

.58 × .47 (14.7 × 11.9). _Season_: April 15-May 15; one brood.

General Range.—Eastern North America north of the Potomac and Ohio

Valleys. “A separate ‘colony’ inhabits the area between the Rocky

Mountains and the Cascade Range, in eastern Washington (Walla Walla,

Ellensburg, etc.), western Idaho (Lemi, Fort Sherman, etc.), and

central British Columbia (Sicamores [Sicamoos], Clinton, Ashcroft,

etc.).[45]”—Ridgway.

Range in Washington.—As above.

Authorities.—_P. a. occidentalis_ Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII. 1882, 228

(Walla Walla). J. If this colony proves to be completely isolated, as

claimed, the bird should, perhaps, be separately named, and I would

suggest _Penthestes atricapillus_ fortuitus.

Specimens.—B. P¹.

The Chickadees of eastern Washington, east of the Cascade foothills,

along with those of northeastern Oregon, western Idaho, and southwestern

British Columbia, are notably larger and brighter than _P. a.

occidentalis_. In these and other regards they exactly reproduce the

characters of _P. atricapillus_, which is a bird of the eastern United

States, and from which they are widely separated by _P. a.

septentrionalis_. Now Chickadees are resident wherever found. The most

severe winters do not suffice to drive them south, and they are

subjected to such uniform conditions as tend to insure stability of

type, once adjustment to local environment is accomplished. We have

here, therefore, either an example of a colony widely separated from the

parent stock, and remaining inflexible under alien conditions, or else

an indistinguishable reduplication of another form not closely related

in time thru the interaction of similar conditions. If the latter

supposition be the true one, and it probably is, we have in this bird a

theoretical sub-species, but one which we cannot describe or distinguish

in other than geographical terms.

The case is somewhat similar with our Nighthawks (_C. virginianus

subsp._) and Sparrow Hawks (_Falco sparverius subsp._), but the problem

in these instances is further complicated by the opportunities of

migration.

No. 107.

OREGON CHICKADEE.

A. O. U. No. 735b. Penthestes atricapillus occidentalis (Baird).

Synonym.—Western Black-capped Chickadee.

Description.—_Adults_: Similar to _P. atricapillus_ but smaller and

coloration much darker; whitish edging on wings and tail much reduced

in area; “back varying from deep mouse-gray or very slight buffy

slate-gray in spring and summer to deep hair-brown or light olive in

fall and winter plumage”; sides and flanks pale buffy in spring,

strong brownish buff or pale wood-brown in fall plumage. Length

4.50-5.25 (114.3-133.3); wing 2.44 (62); tail 2.20 (56); bill .37

(9.5); tarsus .66 (16.8).

Recognition Marks.—Warbler size; no white stripe over eye as

distinguished from _P. gambeli_; back gray as distinguished from _P.

rufescens_.

Nesting.—_Nest_: as in _P. atricapillus_, usually placed low in stump

of deciduous tree. _Eggs_: as in foregoing. _Season_: April 15-May 15;

one brood.

General Range.—Pacific Coast district from northern California to

British Columbia (Port Moody).

Range in Washington.—Resident west of Cascades; characteristic of wet

lowlands and borders of streams; intergrades with _typicus_ on east

slopes of Cascade Range.

Authorities.—_Parus occidentalis_ Baird, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv.

IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 391. (T.) C&S. Rh. D¹. Kb. Ra. D². ? Ss¹. ? Ss².

Kk. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.

Chickadees abound in Washington; and, because for the life of you you

cannot surely tell whose notes you hear, there is a perennial necessity

for levelling the glasses to make sure which is passing, Oregon or the

Chestnut-backed. There are differences—Oh, bless you, yes—but then you

always want to make certain, if only to pat yourself on the back and

say, when you happen to have guessed correctly, “There, I knew it was an

Oregon; I can always tell by its squeak.”

Chickadees are friendly little folk (and this remark applies,

irrespective of species), so that wherever they go, except in the busy

nesting season, they form the nucleus of a merry band, Western

Golden-crowned Kinglets, Sitkan Kinglets, Creepers, Juncoes, Towhees

maybe, and a Seattle Wren or two to guard the terrestrial passage, and

to furnish sport for the federated fairies. The Chickadees are

undisputed leaders, tho their name be legion. While they remain aloft we

may mistake their dainty squeakings and minikin ways for those of

Kinglets, but if we can only determine what direction the flock is

pursuing, we may count on the vanguard’s being composed of these

sprightly, saucy little Black-caps.

Chickadee refuses to look down for long upon the world; or, indeed, to

look at any one thing from any one direction for more than two

consecutive twelfths of a second. “Any old side up without care,” is the

label he bears; and so with anything he meets, be it a pine-cone, an

alder catkin, or a bug-bearing branchlet, topside, bottomside, inside,

outside, all is right side to the nimble Chickadee. Faith! their little

brains must have special guy-ropes and stays, else they would have been

spilled long ago, the way their owners frisk about. Blind-man’s buff,

hide-and-seek, and tag are merry games enough when played out on one

plane, but when staged in three dimensions, with a labyrinth of

interlacing branches for hazard, only the blithe bird whose praises we

sing could possibly master their intricacies.

[Illustration: _Taken near Tacoma_ _Photo by the Author._

NEST AND EGGS OF OREGON CHICKADEE.

THE FRONT WALL OF THE CONTAINING STUMP HAS BEEN REMOVED.]

But Chickadee is as confiding and as confidence-inviting as he is

capable. It is precisely because you babble all your secrets to him at

the first breath that the whole wood-side comes to him for news. With

the fatuity of utter trust he will interrogate the fiercest-looking

stranger; and the sound of the “_sweetee_” call is the signal for all

birds to be alert. At the repetition of it the leaves begin to rustle,

the moss to sigh, and the log-heaps to give up their hidden store of

sleepy Wrens, bashful Sparrows, and frowning Towhees. Juncoes simper and

Kinglets squeak over the strange discovery; the Steller Jay takes notice

and sidles over to spy upon the performance; while the distant-faring

Crow swerves from his course and bends an inquiring eye toward the

mystery. _Dee-dee-dee_ says the Black-cap. A hundred beady eyes are bent

upon you, trying to resolve your domino of corduroy or khaki. _Caw_ says

the Crow in comprehension, and you know that the game is up,—up for all

but the Chickadee. He will stay and talk with you as long as you may

endure to pucker your lips to his fairy lispings.

It is no exaggeration to say that the “_Swee-tee_” note of the

Chickadee, passably imitated, is the quickest summons in the bird-world.

It is the open sesame to all woodland secrets. One drawback, however,

attends its use: you cannot compass it when the air is chilly and the

lips thick. Now, the eastern bird, (_P. atricapillus_) has a clear,

high-pitched call-note, _Swee-tee_, or _Swee-tee tee_ [Illustration:

music] or [Illustration: music] which must be taken as the type of this

genus and the calls of the western bird are best understood by reference

to this norm. In the song of _occidentalis_ the first note of the type,

“high C,” is oftenest repeated three or four times, and has a double

character impossible to represent on paper; while the whole ends, or

not, with the lower note of _atricapillus_. These notes may be called

the _deo deo deo day_ series. In rare instances they become a ravishing

trill on high C, beyond imitation or analysis.

[Illustration: _Taken in Oregon._ _Photo by W. L. Finley._

LADEN WITH DAINTIES.

OREGON CHICKADEE NEAR NEST.]

For the rest, Chickadee’s notes divide themselves into squeaks, vocal

notes, and whistles. Of the squeaks one is a very high-pitched, whining

note, which closely resembles the keep-in-touch, or flocking, cry of the

Western Golden-crowned Kinglet. The Chickadees employ this when in

company with Kinglets, or while ranging thru the tree-tops when no other

sound is audible in the woods. Then there is a regular squeaking trill

which is oftenest preliminary to the familiar _dee dee dee dee dee_

(spoken) notes, but which sometimes appears alone, as by suspension or

change of intent.

Of the whistled series the commonest are, first, a clearly rendered

_kuswee_, not unlike the “Sweetee” theme, but of lower pitch and more

trivial character; and, second the _deo deo deo day_ series, already

recorded. There is a striking resemblance between the whistled and the

spoken series. The _day day_ words correspond to the _deo deo_ whistles,

altho they are oftenest preceded by a fairy sneeze, which we have

conventionalized in “Chick”; and there is a spoken, or rather lisped,

_kuswee_, which is very charming and delicate. A spoken trill occurs

infrequently, and offers its analogy to both whistle and squeak.

These may seem like fine-spun distinctions. They are offered only to be

forgotten; but the enjoyment of the next Chickadee troop you encounter

will be enhanced by an effort to realize the striking variety of the

notes heard.

Contrary to the wont of most hole-nesting birds, the Chickadee believes

in warm blankets. Into the chosen cavity, whether natural or artificial,

the birds lug immense quantities of moss, wool, hair, or rabbits’ fur,

until the place is half filled; and the sitting bird, during the chilly

days of late April and early May, is snug and warm.

[Illustration: _Taken in Oregon._ _Photo by Bohlman and Finley._

A TIGHT FIT.

YOUNG OREGON CHICKADEE EMERGING FROM NEST.]

Ordinarily, a hole is dug by the birds in a rotten stub at a height of

two or three feet. The near presence of water is a prime requisite, and

a low swampy woods is the favorite location. Sometimes a deserted nest

of a Gairdner Woodpecker may be used; but, on the other hand,

excavations may be made in green wood at no little cost of exertion on

the part of the midgets. Several nests I have seen in willow and poplar

trees, and at a height of fifteen or twenty feet.

Young Chickadees are such cunning little creatures that the temptation

to fondle them is sometimes irresistible. The parents may have very

decided views as to the propriety of such action, or they may regard you

as some benevolent giant whose ways are above suspicion. Not

infrequently, if the young are kindly treated, the parent bird will

venture upon the hand or shoulder to pursue its necessary offices.

No. 108.

MOUNTAIN CHICKADEE.

A. O. U. No. 738. Penthestes gambeli (Ridgway).

Description.—_Adults in spring and summer_: Somewhat as in _P.

atricapillus_, head and throat similar but black interrupted by strong

white superciliary stripe nearly or quite meeting fellow on forehead;

upperparts plain deep ashy gray, or mouse-gray; wings and tail deeper

gray with some pale grayish edging; sides of head and neck white;

underparts (except throat) dull white more or less washed on sides,

flanks, and under tail-coverts with gray. _Adults in fall and winter_:

Upperparts washed with buffy; brownish on sides; some white edging on

forehead and superciliary stripe broader. _Young_ birds are duller as

to black of head and neck, and have a less distinct superciliary.

Length about 5.00 (127); wing 2.75 (70); tail 2.35 (60); bill .40

(10.2); tarsus .70 (18).

Recognition Marks.—Warbler size; much like Oregon Chickadee, but white

superciliary distinctive; range higher (on the average) than other

species.

Nesting.—_Nest_: quite as in _atricapillus_ and similarly situated.

_Eggs_: 5-8, _pure white_, or only faintly marked with reddish brown.

Av. size, .60 × .45 (15.2 × 11.4). _Season_: May; one brood.

General Range.—Mountains of western United States from the Rockies to

the Pacific Coast; north to British Columbia (chiefly east of the

Cascades); south to northern Lower California.

Range in Washington.—Resident in the mountains and timbered foothills,

chiefly east of the (Cascade) divide; casual at Seattle.

Authorities.—[“Mountain Chickadee” Johnson, Rep. Gov. W. T. 1884

(885), p. 22.] [_Parus montanus_, Gambel, Cooper and Suckley, Rep.

Pac. R. R. Surv. XII. 1860, p. 194. “Fort Dalles” (Baird, “Fort

Dalles, Oregon”). Not a valid Washington record.] _Parus gambeli_

Lawrence, Auk, Vol. IX. Jan. 1892, p. 47. C&S. L¹. D¹. D². J.

Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. C.

It is either accident or the methodical habit of scrutinizing every

passing bird which first reveals to you the Mountain Chickadee. He is

quite similar in general appearance and conduct to the foregoing

species, altho the white superciliary line does confer a little air of

distinction when you look closely. His notes, so far as observed, are

not different; and he exhibits the cheerful confiding nature which makes

the name of Chickadee beloved.

_Gambeli_ is a bird of the foothills as well as of the mountains, and is

confined almost exclusively to the East-side. I have not seen it on

Puget Sound; but a dead bird was once brought by one of the school

children to Miss A. L. Pollock, of Seattle.

Both of the nests which have come under my observation have been placed

in decayed stumps not above three feet from the ground. One, in a wild

cherry stub in northern Okanogan County, contained fresh eggs on the

18th day of May. Their color had been pure white, but they were much

soiled thru contact with the miscellaneous stuff which made up the

lining of the cavity: moss, cow-hair, rabbits’ wool, wild ducks’ down,

hawks’ casts, etc. The birds were not especially solicitous, altho once

the female flew almost in my face as I was preparing the eggs for the

cabinet. And then she sat quietly for several minutes on a twig not

above a foot from my eyes.

On Senator Turner’s grounds in Spokane—by permission—we came upon a

nestful of well-grown young, on the 5th of June, 1906. The nest was two

feet up in a stump, concealed by a clump of second-growth maples,

picturesquely nestled at the base of a volcanic knob. Upon first

discovery the parent birds both appeared with bills full of larvæ, and

scolded daintily. Finally, after several feints, one entered the nesting

hole and fed, with our eyes not two feet removed. Photography was

impossible because of the subdued light, but it was an unfailing source

of interest to see the busy parents hurrying to and fro and bringing

incredible quantities of provisions in the shape of moths’ eggs,

spiders, wood-boring grubs, and winged creatures of a hundred sorts.

Evidently the gardener knew what he was about in sheltering these unpaid

assistants. Why, when it comes to horticulture, three pairs of

Chickadees are equal to one Scotchman any day.

The young were fully fledged, and the irrepressible of the flock (there

is always an irrepressible) spent a good deal of time at the entrance

shifting upon his toes, and wishing he dared venture out. The old birds

fed incessantly, usually alighting upon the bark at one side of the hole

and debating for a moment before plunging into the wooden cavern, whence

issued a chorus of childish entreaties.

The next morning our Chickadees had all flown, and upon breaking into

the abandoned home we found a nest chamber some six inches in diameter,

with its original warm lining mingled with fallen punk and trodden into

an indistinguishable mass by the restless feet of the chick Chickadees.

A special feature of the interior construction was a knot, which had

persisted as a hard core when the surrounding punk had been removed.

This had evidently been no end of amusement to the young birds and of

service to the parents as well, for its surface was polished by the

friction of many Penthestine toes.