Belonging to our household was a tiny creature, Nixie, who from his
gilded cage between the lace curtains observed and commented on all our
actions. His door was left open occasionally, and his gregariousness
moved him to go where he could take part in conversations and see
people. He desired company even at his bath; he had never heard of fear,
and won our hearts by his perfect trust. Morning and evening we gave him
first salutation, and allowed him to pick our fingers by way of shaking
hands. Messages came to him from over sea; gifts fell to him at
Christmas; in all our life he had a part. And even the mouse made its
bow.
Our hearts had been softened toward the “wee, cow’rin, timrous beasties”
by a tender little tale of a parsonage mouse, and we made friends with a
gray visitor that showed itself, now in the den at the back of our
house, now in the sitting room in front. Because we took our meals out,
Monsieur Mousie’s crumbs were uncertain; but he investigated thoroughly
and managed to find a livelihood. In our quiet rooms we often heard him
at his hunting, and smiled at thought of his daring and industry. Twice
he was emptied out of the carpet-sweeper (he must have fallen on very
hard times at those periods), but seemed none the worse for the
adventure, although the manipulator of the sweeper was herself much
disturbed. The waste paper basket finally became his cupboard, and
peanut shells his favorite fare. Often as we sat, my brother smoking and
I reading, we would hear bits of paper rustling and would know bright
eyes were watching us while sharp teeth nibbled the husks we had saved
for them. Daily, for a month or two, the small thing came for his share.
Alone in the room one Sunday evening, I was lying on the couch reading
when I saw a little gray shadow steal out and creep toward the waste
paper basket. I knew there was nothing in it, and lazily felt for
Mousie’s disappointment. The gray shadow stole back, halted by the lace
curtains, floated up them half way, and stopped near Nixie’s cage. I
held my breath. What next? Was he after bird seed? Was this the
explanation of Nixie’s empty cup that had perplexed me the last week?
But a peculiar, quick chirp made me wonder if the bird were afraid, if
the mouse could get at and hurt him. I raised my head and saw the gray
thing sitting on the seed cup eating like one starved. Nixie was looking
at it, his wings wide spread, eyes flashing, mouth wide open in protest,
body poised for attack. But the feast went quietly on. Nixie gave a few
sharp questions and then settled down to study his visitor.
It was too good to keep to myself; I called my mother and brother and
whistled up the tube for neighbors to join us in watching the strange
scene. By the time the audience was gathered the actors were ready to
play their parts. Nixie went close to the seed dish and chirped a
welcome to his guest, then, hopping backward, selected a station and
sang a sweet song for him. The mouse seemed to like it. He left off his
eating and crept along outside the floor of the cage, which extended a
couple of inches from the bars. Nixie within and Mousie without
promenaded together around the four sides; and close together, too,
Nixie all the time gayly gossiping and chattering. We say they kept it
up for half an hour, but that is a pretty long time. At any rate it was
several minutes.
How the acquaintance might have ended I cannot say. The next day the
curtains were taken down and Mousie, sadly disappointed, had no ladder
by which to climb. And later in the week Nixie went out of town for the
summer. We wanted to take the mouse, too, but the noise the packers and
movers made probably frightened him to such an extent that he dared not
show himself. We do not know what his future was, but we trust it was
crowned with the success due pluck and gentleness.
Katharine Pope.
[Illustration: GRASSHOPPER SPARROW.
(Ammodramus savannarum passerinus).
Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]
THE GRASSHOPPER SPARROW.
(_Ammodramus savannarum passerinus._)
Of all the bird voices of the meadow, for its interesting originality
and its effect in ensemble, we can least spare that of the little
Grasshopper Sparrow.—R. M. Silloway, in “Sketches of Some Common
Birds.”
This little bird of the meadow and hayfield is quite easily identified
by the marked yellow color at the shoulders of the wings, the yellowish
color of the lesser wing coverts, the buff colored breast and the orange
colored line before the eyes. Its home is on the ground, where its
retiring habits lead it to seek the protecting cover of tall grass and
other herbage. As it is not often seen except when flushed or when it
rises to the rail of a fence or to the top of a tall spear of grass to
utter its peculiar song, it is often considered rare. It is, however, a
common bird in many localities of its range, which covers the whole of
eastern North America, where it builds, upon the ground, its nest of
grass lined with hair and a few feathers. It nests as far north as
Massachusetts and Minnesota and winters in the southern states and the
adjacent islands.
This bird was given the name Grasshopper Sparrow from the fancied
resemblance of its weak cherup—“a peculiar monotonous song”—to the
shrilling produced by the long-horned grasshopper. However, the song
often begins and ends with a faint warble. Mr. Chapman says that these
notes “may be written pit túck zee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e.”
Mr. Silloway writes at length and enthusiastically of the Grasshopper
Sparrow. He says, “To the sympathetic ear the voice of the humble
Grasshopper Sparrow is as necessary to the harmony of the meadow
overture as the clear piping of the meadow lark or the jingling triangle
of the bobolink. The leading instruments of the orchestra usually
receive our attention, yet the accompanying pieces are chiefly
responsible for the resulting harmony. Taken alone, the notes of the
minor parts are harsh and unmelodious, but sounded in time and accord
with the cornet, the first violin, and the double bass, they assist in
producing an effect delightful and harmonious. Thus it is with the
voices of our little accompanist in the mottled brown coat. Heard alone
at close station, it is seemingly shrill and unmusical; but in the midst
of expanded verdure, following the lead of the meadow voices, its
noonday crooning produces a dreamy harmony perfectly in accord with the
thoughts of the listener.”
The name of this little bird is not only appropriate because of its song
but also on account of its food. In the examination of one hundred and
seventy stomachs, Dr. Sylvester D. Judd found that the contents
contained sixty-three per cent of animal matter, twenty-three per cent
of which consisted of the remains of grasshoppers. His investigations
covered a period of eight months. Thus during that period these insects
formed nearly one-fourth of the total diet of the birds examined. He
also discovered that during the month of June, the greatest number of
grasshoppers was eaten and formed about sixty per cent of the stomach
contents.
In rural districts it is seldom called a sparrow and is more commonly
called Grass-bird, Ground-bird or Grasshopper-bird. Another appropriate
name is Yellow-winged Sparrow. All these names well portray its habits
and characteristics. Its flights are short and rapid, but “on the ground
or in the grass it runs like meadow mice to elude the presence and
notice of intruders.”
The Grasshopper Sparrow is an adept in leading an intruder from the
vicinity of its nest. The male seldom utters its song close by its
brooding mate, and either bird when disturbed in the vicinity of their
home will skulk through the grass for some distance and, if necessity of
refuge requires flight, will rise from a point sufficiently far away to
mislead the intruder.
Both sexes bear the responsibilities of brooding and their home life
seems to be one round of contentment. “Although the male seeks to win
the affections of his lady love by persistently shrilling near her the
story of his passion he generally represses his love trills near the
home which his mistress has established. * * * Cheer her he must,
however, and so he trills throughout the day from fancied situations
within her hearing, yet safely removed from the guarded spot.”