BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
VOL. VIII. DECEMBER, 1900. NO. 5.
CONTENTS.
Page
DECEMBER. 193
THE WESTERN HORNED OWL. 194
THE OWL. 198
THE LONG-CRESTED JAY. 201
THE SUNRISE SERENADE. 202
A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 203
THE FULVOUS TREE-DUCK. 204
HOW THE SWIFTS CAME TO BUILD IN AUNT DOROTHY'S CHIMNEY. 207
THE RED-BREASTED SAPSUCKER. 213
A WHITE TABLE IN THE WOODS. 214
THE MOON-BABY. 215
THE CECROPIA AND PROMETHEA MOTHS. 216
A PLEA FOR LEGISLATIVE PROTECTION. 221
THE DOG AND ITS ANCESTORS. 225
A FAVORITE HAUNT. 227
CARNIVOROUS PLANTS. 228
MAPLE LEAVES. 232
MAY-APPLE. 235
INDEX.
DECEMBER.
The lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes
Of water 'neath the summer sunshine gleamed;
Far fairer than when placidly it streamed,
The brook its frozen architecture makes,
And under bridges white its swift way takes.
Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed
Might linger on the road; or one who deemed
His message hostile, gently, for their sakes
Who listened, might reveal it by degrees.
We gird against the cold of winter wind
Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep,
In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease,
And every shortening day, as shadows creep
O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find.
--Helen Hunt Jackson
Best of all, old King December,
Laughs beside the burning ember,
With his children round his knees,
And a look of jovial ease.
He is crowned Lord of Misrule--
Here's his Queen, and there's his fool.
He is wreathed with frosty green,
And ever the gay song between
"Wassail!" shouts he, "health to all!"
And re-echoes the old hall.--
Kind December!
--Walter Thornbury, "The Twelve Brothers."
Copyright, 1900, by A. W. Mumford.
THE WESTERN HORNED OWL.
(_Bubo virginianus subarcticus._)
"Bird of the silent wing and expansive eye, grimalkin in feathers,
feline, mousing, haunting ruins and towers, and mocking the midnight
stillness with thy uncanny cry."--_John Burroughs, Birds and Poets._
Among the birds of prey (Raptores) none are better known, more written
about or more cosmopolitan than that nocturnal division (Family
Strigidae), which includes the two hundred or more species of Owls.
From the Arctic regions of the north to the Antarctic regions of the
south they are known. Most of the genera are represented in both
hemispheres, though eight are peculiar to the Old World and three to
the New. The majority of the species finds a home in the forests,
though a few live in marshes and on the plains. Some invade the
buildings of civilization and may be found in the unfrequented towers
of churches and in outbuildings.
Disliked by all birds its appearance during the day is the signal for a
storm of protests and, knowing that there is little need of fear of his
power at this time, they flock about him, pecking and teasing him till
he is obliged to retreat to his obscure roosting place.
The Owls in most countries of both the New World as well as the Old are
regarded as birds of ill omen and messengers of woe, and are protected
from harm by some uncivilized and superstitious peoples, some believing
that spirits of the wicked reside in their bodies. By others they have
been called "Devil's Birds." The belief of some unlearned people in the
close relationship of the Owl with death and the grave dates back at
least to the time of Shakespeare, who speaks of the Owl's hoot as "A
song of death." Among the ancient races only the Athenians seem not to
have possessed this popular fear and superstition. They venerated the
Owl and regarded it as the favorite bird of Minerva. On the other hand
the Romans looked upon the Owl with fear and detestation, dreading its
appearance as the embodiment of all evil and the omen of unfortunate
events to come. By them the Owl was consecrated to Proserpine, the wife
of Hades and queen of the underworld. Pliny tells us that the city of
Rome underwent a solemn cleansing because of the visit of one of these
birds. When the unearthly character of their cries and their quiet,
spirit-like motion, as they fly through the night hours, are taken
into consideration, it is not surprising that they have been and are
held in awe and dread by many people. The characteristics of the two
sexes are practically the same, except that the female is somewhat the
larger. The young resemble the adults, but are usually darker in color.
Excepting those species that are whitish in color, the Owls are usually
a mixture of black, brown, rufous gray, yellow and white, and barring
is common on the wings and tail. Their bills are blackish, dusky or
yellowish. Their eyes are so fixed that they have little power of
turning the eye-balls and thus are obliged to turn the head when they
wish to change their range of vision. This they do with great rapidity,
in fact, the motion is so rapid that without close observation the bird
seems to turn its head in one direction for several revolutions if the
object looked at passes around the perch upon which the Owl rests.
A remarkable characteristic is the reversible fourth toe or digit,
enabling the Owl to perch with either one or two toes behind.
[Illustration: WESTERN HORNED OWL.
(Bubo virginianus subarcticus.)
About 1/3 Life-size.
FROM COL. F. M. WOODRUFF
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
Mr. Evans tells us that "the note varies from a loud hoot to a low,
muffled sound or a clear, musical cry; the utterance of both young and
adults being in some cases a cat-like mew, while the screech-owl
snores when stationary. The hoot is said to be produced by closing the
bill, puffing out the throat, and then liberating the air, a proceeding
comparable to that of the Bitterns. On the whole the voice is mournful
and monotonous, but occasionally it resembles a shrill laugh." The
utterances of the Owls are, however, quite various. Some species will
give a piercing scream and hiss like an angry cat when disturbed.
The Western Horned Owl of our illustration is a variety of the Great
Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus) of eastern North America. It has a wide
and extensive range reaching from Manitoba, on the north, into the
table-lands of Mexico on the south and eastward from the Pacific coast
across the Great Plains. Occasionally specimens are taken as far east
as the states of Illinois and Wisconsin. It is replaced in the Arctic
regions by the Arctic Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus arcticus), which
is lighter in color, its range only reaching as far south as Idaho
and South Dakota. The Western Horned Owl breeds nearly throughout its
range. It is of interest that this Owl is not an inhabitant of high
altitudes but rather of the foothills and more open country of its
range. The Dusky Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus saturatus), the darkest
colored of all the owls, taking its place in the higher regions.
In its habits it is closely related to its eastern relative. It has
a similar call note and is as destructive. It feeds on grouse and
ducks as well as other species of valuable food water-birds. It also
kills many forest birds that are useful to man as insect destroyers.
It is said that they will feed on mammals, such as pole cats, prairie
dogs, squirrels, rabbits and other rodents. But this is not the worst
crime of this marauder, for when it visits the more thickly inhabited
districts it appreciates the delicacies to be found in the poultry
yards of the farmer and kills far more than it needs to satisfy its
appetite.
With regard to the nesting habits of this Owl, Captain Charles Bendire
says: "While perhaps the majority of these birds resort to hollow
trees or old nests of the larger hawks and of the common crow, quite
a number nest in the wind-worn holes in sandstone and other cliffs,
small caves in clay and chalk bluffs, in some localities on the ground,
and, I believe, even occasionally in badger holes under ground. On
the grassy plains in the Umatilla Indian Reservation, in northeastern
Oregon, I have several times seen Owls of this race sitting on the
little mounds in front of badger or coyote burrows, near the mouths of
which small bones and pellets of fur were scattered about. While unable
to assert positively that they do actually breed occasionally in such
holes, the indications point that way, and this would not seem to be
due to the absence of suitable timber, as an abundance of trees grow
along the banks of the Umatilla river not more than a mile away. When
nesting in trees, large cottonwoods, sycamores, willows, pecans, pines,
oaks and firs are generally preferred. In regions, however, where heavy
timber is scarce, they content themselves with nests in small mesquite
and hackberry trees, frequently placed not more than ten feet from
the ground." Captain Bendire also states that they have been known to
use the nests of the black-billed magpie, either laying their eggs on
the inside of these curiously built and enormous structures or on the
broken-down roofs. These nests are well adapted to the requirements
of the Owl, for they vary from one to three feet in diameter and are
constructed in a very substantial manner. The foundations consist of
twigs held together with mud, and upon this, built of smaller twigs, is
the nest, which is plastered with mud and lined with grass and small
roots. The whole structure is surrounded by dead twigs, which form an
arch over the top of the nest. This is a palace which the Owl would
never take the trouble to construct, but is willing to use.
It is said that the Western Horned Owl will lay two or more sets of
eggs at short intervals if the nest and eggs are disturbed, and an
instance has been recorded where three sets of eggs have been taken
from the nest of a single pair at intervals of about four weeks. The
number of eggs laid is usually two or three, and infrequently four are
found and sets of five and six have been reported. The eggs are white,
showing, as a rule, but little gloss and are roughish. In form they are
rounded oval, about two and one-half inches long, and nearly two inches
in diameter. The period of incubation lasts about four weeks, and it
is said that only the female sets on the eggs, the male furnishing her
with food.
Like the Great Horned Owl this variety is quite solitary in its habits,
except during the breeding season, and is almost as destructive as that
bird which is considered the most destructive of all the Owls.
The Owl has long been an inspiration to the poets, due to its odd
appearance and uncanny actions during the daylight hours, the wise
expression of its face, and its quiet flight during the weird hours of
the night.
"The lark is but a bumpkin fowl;
He sleeps in his nest till morn;
But my blessing upon the jolly owl
That all night blows his horn."
THE OWL.
When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
When merry milkmaids click the latch,
And rarely smells the new-mown hay,
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
Twice or thrice his roundelay,
Twice or thrice his roundelay;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
--Alfred Tennyson.
[Illustration: LONG-CRESTED JAY.
(Cyanocitta stelleri macrolopha.)
Nearly Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
THE LONG-CRESTED JAY.
(_Cyanocitta stelleri macrolopha._)
The family (Corvidae) of birds to which the long-crested jay belongs
includes not only the jays but also the crows, the ravens, the magpies
and the rooks. It is a cosmopolitan family with the exception that no
representatives are found in New Zealand. It includes over two hundred
species of which about twenty-five are inhabitants of North America.
Strictly speaking, none of the species are migratory, excepting
those whose range carries them to regions of severe winters. Some of
the species are well protected by soft and thick coats of down and
feathers, and as they are generous in their selection of food, eating
varieties that may be procured at any season, they do not need to move
from place to place but may remain resident throughout the year.
The jays differ from the crows in their method of progression on the
ground, hopping instead of walking. They are distinctly arboreal in
their habits, and usually have a bright-colored plumage, blue being
the most common. Their heads are often crested. Though found nearly
throughout the world their highest development seems to have been
reached by those species that are resident in the warmer portions of
America.
The jays are noisy and quarrelsome, fretting apparently for the most
insignificant reasons. They are great mimics and exhibit a high degree
of intelligence. The jay possesses a variety of notes and calls,
and is a notable borrower of those of some other species of birds.
This versatility has given rise to the very appropriate name of the
sub-family in which they are included, the Garrulinae, from the Latin
word garrio, meaning to prattle.
Our illustration shows the color and markings of the long-crested jay.
Its home is in the wooded regions of the southern Rocky Mountains,
southern Arizona and the northwestern portion of Mexico. It breeds
throughout this range.
Dr. Coues has said regarding this bird that it is "a stranger to
modesty and forbearance, and the many qualities that charm us in some
little birds and endear them to us; he is a regular fillibuster,
ready for any sort of adventure that promises sport or spoil, even if
spiced with danger." In spite of these characteristics they are very
quiet during the nesting season and the female is very devoted to her
nest and will almost allow herself to be touched before flying from
her eggs. Their nests are bulky and usually placed in out-of-the-way
places, in low, bushy, cone-bearing trees. They seemingly will eat
anything of a nutritious nature. Flying insects, larvae, beetles,
flies, spiders, eggs, and even small birds, seem to be palatable to
their tastes. Yet they are principally vegetarians feeding upon seeds,
hard fruits and berries when these are obtainable.
The Steller's jay (Cyanocitta stelleri), of which the long-crested form
is a geographical variety, is a resident of the Northwestern portion of
North America ranging from northern California to southern Alaska and
eastward to the Cascade Mountains.
THE SUNRISE SERENADE.
"Ah walk out when de eas' am red
Among de timbehs tall;
Ah heah a mockeh oberhead,
De sweetest froat ob all.
'Why do yo' sing?' Ah stop en ask,
En den Ah heah her say;
'Dis am mah daily sunup task,
A sahanade to Day.'
"Songs ob sunrise joy when de darkness fades away,
De mockeh in de treetop sing a welcum song to Day.
"Ah brush among de meddeh lan's
Wheh yelleh-jackets hum;
Ah look up wheh det dogwood spans,
En heah det solemn drum.
Oh. Misteh Gol' Wing, why yo' drum
Up yandah in de tree?
'Ah drum jes' kase de day hab cum,'
Is how he answeh me.
"Drum! drum! drum! Yo' see his movin' haid,
De peckeh drum a welcum when de eas' am fiah red.
"Ah thrash among de bramble vines,
A-brushin' off de dew;
A jaybird callin' fum de pines,
A catbird chimes in, too,
'What's all dis racket fum yo' two?'
En den Ah heah dem say:
'We's callin' kase de sun am new,
En de night hab gone away.'
"De jaybird en de catbird, dey call en welcum day,
Dey's happy when de sun cum up en bathe with sumac spray.
"En all aroun' de timbeh lan'
Deh watch foh cummin' day;
En Night she shake Mis' Mawnin's han,'
En den she fade away.
Den ebehy songsteh break de hush,
De hummin' bird he hum;
Mis' Quail she wistle in de brush,
De gol' wing peckeh drum.
"En all bus' out in melody det echo fro' de haze,
When de sun he smile in crimson en de dewdrops tuhn a-blaze."
--Victor A. Hermann, in The Chicago Daily News.
A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES.
Once there had been six little brothers and sisters, six little fluffy,
plush-covered creatures with tiny silken ears of which Madam Field
Mouse had been so proud it had been only a delight to take long trips
over the farm for dainty tidbits, if only for the pleasure of seeing
their bright black eyes sparkle as they speedily devoured them.
Once there had been six but now there were only three. Yesterday
morning there had been four, and the morning before, five. Each night
found one less to snuggle down in the fluffy bed of corn stalks,
which Madam, their mother, had carefully shredded lest there be found
something which should hurt their tender little limbs.
She looked about searchingly. Perhaps they had not all yet arisen,
and she poked the nest over carefully; but her search was unrewarded
and she looked sadly at Fluffy and Flossy and Flutter as she prepared
to depart on her daily journey, wondering which one she should never
see again. Finally she turned to Mr. Field Mouse, who was daintily
combing his long whiskers with his hind foot. Mr. Field Mouse was very
particular as to his appearance, and never ventured abroad unless his
toilet had been properly made.
"I think, my dear, we must find a new dwelling place," she said. "This
corn shock, although snug and having the advantage of containing an
abundance of homely food, is yet in danger of being disturbed. I saw
yesterday there were boys at the other side of the field, tearing down
the shocks and pulling off the ears of corn, and I greatly fear they
will continue until our home will be destroyed and our darling children
eaten by the cruel dog that sits by them, watching intently. I am sure
he can be looking for nothing but baby mice," and she looked tenderly
at Fluffy, who was listening interestedly.
But Mr. Field Mouse only continued to comb, as if her remarks were not
worthy of consideration.
She looked indignantly at him for a moment, and continued in a louder,
more emphatic tone of voice: "Have you noticed, Mr. Field Mouse, that
only three of our precious darlings are here? Perhaps you can tell me
where Fatty has gone; he was here yesterday morning. You will remember
I left them in your charge while I went to fetch some buckwheat from
the bin."
He looked inquiringly about. "I have not missed any of them, my dear.
You know I am not very good at arithmetic. I only left them for a few
moments, a very few, while I went to fetch a bit of that sugar-cane
stacked up by the fence. The juice is excellent and I felt faint," he
said, apologetically. "If you are not going out this morning I think I
should relish a little more." He smacked his lips appreciatively.
"You are a gourmand, Mr. Field Mouse," she said, severely, turning away
in disgust as he scampered off over the stubble.
"It is fortunate that I am able to take care of myself and our
children, too," she mused, digging her way to the ground and beginning
to throw out the dirt with her tiny paws.
Soon a neat underground channel was dug which led out into the open
air, and then Mrs. Field Mouse rested from her labors and hungrily
nibbled a bit of corn.
"We can escape if worst comes to worst, darlings," she said,
reassuringly.
When Mr. Field Mouse returned he looked discontentedly over the supper
table where his family were contentedly nibbling at an ear of nice
yellow corn. "Nothing but corn for supper," he grumbled.
Mrs. Field Mouse resolutely kept her temper and went on placidly
eating. "Well, have you decided to move?" she asked, pleasantly. "I
have discovered a barrel of broomcorn seed setting up in the granary
that will make a snug home for the winter. No one will be likely to
disturb us, and on the whole I think it will be a desirable change,"
she said.
"It is too far away from the pile of sugar cane to suit me, I fear,"
he said, curling up in the softest part of the nest, and covering his
nose with his paws was soon snoring heavily.
"I think this is the shock, Sam. I am sure I heard a mouse squeal when
I went by this morning. Now, Fido!"
There was a great rattling of stalks, a sharp bark, a rush and Fido
licked his chops and nosed about the place where Mr. Field Mouse had
been contentedly snoozing but a few moments before, but he did not find
any more dainty tidbits, for Mrs. Field Mouse and her children were
safely skurrying away over the stubble in the direction of the granary.
Mary Morrison.
THE FULVOUS TREE-DUCK.
(_Dendrocygna fulva._)
The Tree Ducks are natives of tropical or semi-tropical countries. Two
species are found in the United States, the bird of our illustration
and the Black-bellied Tree-duck (Dendrocygna autumnalis). The range
of the fulvous species extends from the southern border of the United
States, and in Nevada and California, southward through Mexico, and
reappears in the southern portion of Brazil and in the Argentine
Republic. It has also been reported as a visitor to the states of North
Carolina and Missouri.
Mr. Frank M. Woodruff, in speaking of his experience while on a
collecting tour in Texas, says, "I found the Fulvous Tree-Duck in small
numbers resident on Galveston Island, but found them abundant and
nesting in the heavy timber along the Brazos river, sixty miles from
Galveston. In the early morning, as we would leave our boat and make
our way to our blinds, on some small inland pond where we had prepared
for collecting, we would flush immense flocks of this duck, which would
fly over our heads at rather a low altitude and continuously calling.
On several occasions we obtained specimens by firing into a flock
while it was still so dark that we could scarcely define the outlines
of the individual birds. The Fulvous Tree-Duck generally feeds in the
night and usually at a place several miles from the nesting site. They
leave the feeding grounds on the first sign of approaching day. During
my stay of three months in the Brazos river region only on one or two
occasions did I have an opportunity to observe this bird by the light
of day. In form it resembles a miniature swan. It stands very high on
its legs and presents a wonderfully curious and graceful appearance as
it walks along the shore feeding on shellfish and decaying matter."
[Illustration: FULVOUS TREE-DUCK.
(Dendrocygna fulva.)
Nearly 1/2 Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
HOW THE SWIFTS CAME TO BUILD IN AUNT DOROTHY'S CHIMNEY.
Once upon a time there was a family of Humming Birds who always spent
the winter in Mexico. In this family, besides the father and mother,
there was a grandfather and grandmother, and also a great-grandfather
and great-grandmother, and ever so many children. It was the custom
of the Humming Bird family to spend Christmas day together, and they
assembled early in the morning in a beautiful live oak tree, the leaves
of which were so much like holly leaves that no Christmas wreaths were
needed. The tree was a handsome one and suitable in every way for a
Christmas Humming Bird party. At last every one had come except young
Master Topaza Humming Bird, who could not resist the temptation of
flying from place to place along the way, thrusting his long bill, of
which he was very proud, into the beautiful blossoms which he found,
and taking a little sip of honey from each one. Great-grandfather
Humming Bird missed Master Topaza and called to his little brother
Iris to go and find him and bring him immediately to the oak tree.
Iris promptly obeyed and soon returned with his brother. Then
great-grandfather, who always was given first place on such occasions,
fluttered his wings and said: "Dear children, were our cousins, the
Swifts, invited to take part with us in our concert this afternoon?"
"Oh, yes," said Mamma Humming Bird, "I met papa Swift one day while
I was getting honey from the beautiful red blossoms of a shrub which
grows in the southern end of this valley. I invited him to come to-day
and bring all his family, and he said he would, and also that he would
come early, for he wished to have us tell him about the lovely place
where we spent last summer."
Little Coquette Humming Bird sat watching her brother Helenae--what
a queer name for a boy Humming Bird, you think--but probably his
parents gave it to him because he was always prinking and preening
his feathers. "Just like a girl," his brothers said. But however much
Coquette might preen her feathers, she never looked as beautiful
as her brother Helenae, and that was what she was thinking about
as she watched him. He carefully arranged the three long, slender,
greenish-black feathers which grew on either side of his head, and
the metallic green feathers of his throat were so glistening and
bright that little Coquette imagined she could see herself in them as
she could in a little spring where she often went for a drink. After
Helenae had finished his toilet he moved his wings very rapidly a few
times, and raised himself up as high as he could on his feet without
taking them off the limb on which he sat, then he settled down, closing
his eyes for a moment. Just then Coquette cried out: "The Swifts are
coming! Look, no one else could fly so fast! There they are near those
old mahogany trees on the bank of the river." There was a grand rustle
of preparation that everything might be in order and every one look
his best when the cousins arrived. In a few moments mamma Swift and
her daughter Cyprelus came, alighting on the same branch together.
Then there was a whir of wings that sounded like the wind flapping the
sails on a sail-boat, and there was an excited chirping of welcomes and
"Merry Christmas" on both sides.
Grandfather Humming Bird was a good story-teller, and his wife,
who was the dearest old lady Humming Bird in the world, had often
advised him to write a book of his travels on the leaves of the lovely
rose-laurel bush, but Grandfather Humming Bird told her that writing
books of travel was too humdrum for a Humming Bird; that such work was
only for that queer creature called man. Several Humming Birds then
said that they felt very friendly toward man, because he loved flowers
and took such pains to plant them every spring. And the Swifts, with
one accord, said they were much indebted to man for his chimneys, for
they made the best building places possible. "Before the white man came
to this country," said grandfather Swift, "our ancestors had to build
their nests in old hollow trees." "The red man was an admirer of ours,"
said uncle Tarsi Swift, who was an old bachelor and a little cross
sometimes. "I could get along very well without the white man and his
chimneys. He has driven the red man away, and cut down the grand old
forests. When I was a child nothing pleased me better than to see an
Indian chief, with his high moccasins trimmed with feathers. I know he
trimmed them that way to make his legs look like ours." "But he could
not make his feet look like yours if he tried," spoke up a pert young
Humming Bird, who, with a group of others, was looking and listening in
a quiet corner, and he glanced down at uncle Tarsi Swift's first toe,
which was turned forwards and he counted the phalanges in uncle Tarsi's
toes and compared them with his own. Three of Uncle Tarsi's toes were
alike, but all of the pert Humming Bird's were different.
"No," said several Swifts in chorus, "only the penguins and cormorants
have toes like ours, and they are birds we seldom meet. We are glad
there are so few feet exactly like ours. We can tell each other
everywhere by our feet and our ten tail feathers.
"I knew a swallow once who had lost two tail feathers," said one of the
Swift cousins, "and he tried to pass himself off as a Swift. But he
could not change his feet and so he deceived nobody.
"Well, as for me," said the pert Humming Bird, "I would rather have
feet that were not so peculiar as to attract everybody's attention."
"Indeed," said cousin Swift, "and what do you think of having a bill
three or four times as long as any of your neighbors?" "At least my
bill does not open away under my eyes like yours does, cousin Swift!"
Grandmamma Humming Bird knew very well that the Humming Bird family
was thought to be quarrelsome by almost every one, and was very much
mortified by hearing this conversation. "Children," she said, "you
know it is not right to hurt people's feelings by talking about their
peculiarities, and I hope none of my dear little Humming Birds will
offend their Christmas guests." After this there was no more cross talk
in the pert Humming Bird's corner, for all loved grandmother Humming
Bird and tried to do as she wished to have them.
There was a sudden lull in the conversation and great-grandfather
Humming Bird asked grandfather Humming Bird to describe the place where
his family had spent the summer just passed. "It was a lovely place
near a lake in Southern Wisconsin," said he. "Many honeysuckle and
dogwood bushes grew there, and wild rose bushes, and wild grape vines,
and clematis, and large purple vetches. Grandmother and I built our
nest in a grapevine angle, and often in the warm summer evenings the
wind would rock our babies to sleep. There was a place not far away,
which I know you would find a pleasant home for next summer. It is
up on a hill, not far from the lake. There is a house there with one
chimney from which the smoke never comes all summer long. In the big
yard there are beautiful trees and fragrant flowering shrubs and beds
filled with flowers. A lady lives there who is loved by all the birds,
for she never frightens them, and every day she feeds them and talks to
them. So they build nests in her trees and sing for her.
"This summer, in a beautiful shady place, near a syringa thicket,
she made a house out of a big box for a mother hen who had fifteen
little downy chicks, and every day when she fed the chickens she left
enough food so that the birds could have some, too. And all, even the
little yellow canaries, used to help themselves. This did not please
the old mother hen very well, and if she could have gotten out of her
box-house, I think she would have chased the birds away. One day a
bold blackbird walked into her house to get some grains of corn, when
he thought she was not looking. But before he could get out again she
pulled three feathers out of his tail and laid them down, as a warning,
where all the other birds could see them. I heard the lady afterwards
telling the mother hen that she must not be so selfish, and the next
time she fed the chickens she put several handfuls of corn where the
blackbirds could get it, without having their tail-feathers pulled
out. I have seen the lady put pieces of string and bits of soft cotton
cloth and old rope where the birds could get them, to help make their
nests. And I saw her feeding a little orphan owl with angle worms. The
little owl was very fond of her and sat on her fingers and twisted his
neck and winked his great eyes. Whenever he heard her talking he gave
a queer little screech, for he knew her voice. He was a great eater
and he expected her to give him something to eat every time she went
where he was. One day that lady was sitting on her porch listening to
the birds singing. At one end of the porch was a large lilac bush in
full bloom, and I was enjoying myself among the blossoms. Once in a
while I would fly to a flower bed not far from the opposite end of the
porch, where there was a big bunch of belladonna with its lovely blue
and mauve blossoms. The lady seemed to like lilacs best, for she had
fastened a large bunch in her belt, and sat with her hands folded in
her lap, dreaming a day dream, I suppose.
Once, on my way from the flower-bed to the lilac bush, I flew up to the
bunch of blossoms which the lady had in her belt. You know I am seldom
afraid of anything and I knew the dear lady would not harm me. But she
seemed very much surprised when I stopped at her bunch of blossoms.
'O-o-h!' she said, but very softly, and unclasped her hands in her
surprise. I flew away quickly to the lilac bush, and after a while I
looked at the lady and she was smiling pleasantly and watching me."
When grandfather Humming Bird had said all this, he flew away to
another branch of the oak tree and moved his wings so fast that one
could not see how he did it. Papa Swift thanked him for the pleasure he
had given by his stories of his last summer's home, and it was finally
agreed that the Swifts and Humming Birds should start together for the
north in the spring.
The young birds of both families were anxious for the concert to begin.
Papa Swift, who was considered the best singer by everybody, flew to
the very top of the oak tree and began his prettiest song. It was not
long before several Swifts and Humming Birds had joined him. They all
sang and flew from branch to branch. A bird concert is not like one
given by children. The children all sing the same song and sing it
together, but in a bird concert everyone sings to please himself. He
begins just when he feels like it, and sings his own song. But for all
that, a bird concert is very pretty music. Some proud birds, who were
spending the afternoon near by, and who had better voices than the ones
in the oak tree, pretended that they did not like such a "noise," as
they called it, and flew away across the river. But this did not keep
the Swifts and Humming Birds from enjoying themselves.
Before the time for good-byes came they promised to see each other
often, and everyone promised to be ready to go away in the spring.
Little Cyprelus dreamed that night of the pleasant times she would have
the next summer in the pretty place grandfather Humming Bird had told
about, and Coquette and Topaza said they wondered if the lady who lived
by the beautiful lake would have as many flower-beds this summer as she
had last.
Now this lady, whom grandfather Humming Bird had been telling about,
was Aunt Dorothy. She was a great bird lover, and it made her happy to
find that she could number the Swifts among her particular bird friends
when they came the next summer to live in her yard.
One morning Aunt Dorothy waked up very early. She looked out of her
eastern window and saw that the sky beyond the lake was a beautiful
rose color, but the sun was not yet risen. Aunt Dorothy was sleepy, so
she closed her eyes again, but just as she did so she heard a strange
twittering noise and wondered where it came from. Her curiosity was so
great that she could not go to sleep again, so she rose and dressed
herself and, after saying a little prayer to the great All-Father to
keep her through the day, she went to find out what the noise was.
But she had already thought that it must be birds in the chimney. She
climbed up on a chair and listened near the chimney hole. Soon she
heard a fluttering of wings and a chirping. Mamma Swift was coming with
some worms for her babies' breakfast. Her babies, like a great many
girl and boy babies, waked up very early in the morning and were quite
troublesome. In order to quiet them, Mamma Swift was forced to find
some worms before sunrise. Aunt Dorothy was delighted. If she made a
little noise near the chimney hole the baby birds thought it was their
mother coming with food for them, and they stretched their heads up
out of the nest, so Aunt Dorothy could see them. Often, when she was
writing or reading in her room she could hear the birds in the chimney.
She knew the papa and mamma bird had to work very hard, for they came
many, many times a day with food for the baby Swifts. But there came a
day when the nest in the chimney was empty, for the little birds had
gone away with their parents and were learning to fly through the trees
and to catch insects to eat. It made Aunt Dorothy lonesome to sit in
her room after that, and instead she used to go out of doors where she
could watch the birds.
One day she took a fire-shovel and with it managed to loosen the nest
and take it out of the chimney without breaking it. The shape of it was
like half of a deep saucer, and it was made principally of the petioles
or stems of grapevine leaves laid across each other as the logs are in
building log houses. The big ends of the leaf stems alternated with
the small ones and stuck out, making a bristling outside wall for the
nest. There were two or three very slender cedar twigs no bigger than a
darning-needle used in making the nest, and these the birds had brought
from a long distance. The nest looked as if it had been covered with
glue, and this was because the birds had covered it with their saliva
and that held the leaf stems together just as glue would. Aunt Dorothy
knew a man who went to some islands in the Pacific ocean, where the
Pigmy Swifts live. Pigmy means little, and these Swifts are smaller
than the ones who built in Aunt Dorothy's chimney. The Pigmy Swifts
build their nests in caves. Some of them build very far in the caves,
where it is entirely dark. Aunt Dorothy's friend went one day with
another man to a cave to get some bird's nests.
These men had a ladder made of rattan, on which they had to climb
in order to reach the nests. The man who climbed highest had a long
four-pronged spear, with a lighted candle fixed on it a few inches
below the prongs. By the aid of the light he found some nests. With the
spear he took them unbroken from the rock. When he had gotten a nest
between the prongs of the spear, he held it so the man lower down on
the ladder could reach the end of it, and let it down through his hands
until he could take the bird's nest from between the prongs of the
spear and put it in his pocket.
When Aunt Dorothy's friend came back to America he brought some of
these bird's nests with him and gave one to her.
The Chinese people think these bird's nests are very good to eat, and
make soup of them. Aunt Dorothy put the nest, which she had taken from
the chimney, into her cabinet with the one from the island in the
Pacific ocean. One day in the fall she took some of her little friends
for a walk and they picked up a basketful of leaf stems under the elm
and linden trees, and with them they made some bird's nests which they
covered with glue and which looked very much like the one Aunt Dorothy
found in her chimney.
Mary Grant O'Sheridan.
[Illustration: RED-BREASTED SAPSUCKER.
(_Sphyrapicus ruber._)
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
THE RED-BREASTED SAPSUCKER.
(_Sphyrapicus ruber._)
The Red-breasted Sapsucker is a resident of the Pacific Coast, ranging
from northern Lower California northward to Southern Alaska. It extends
its flight and breeds as far east as the Sierra Nevada and Cascade
Mountains. It belongs to the family of Woodpeckers (Picidae). The
generic name, Sphyrapicus, is taken from two Greek words that refer to
the habits of these birds--sphura, a hammer and pikos, a woodpecker.
The specific name, ruber, means red.
Like its eastern relative, the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker (Sphyrapicus
varius), it punctures trees possibly in order to feed upon the exuding
sap or the insects attracted by its flow, yet this bird does not
develop this habit to so great an extent as the eastern species, for
it will completely girdle a tree with punctures, which at times will
cause its death. A direct evidence of this is found in the fact that
in localities where the Red-breasted Sapsucker is abundant indications
of their work are not usually common. The adult birds are beautifully
marked with crimson on the head and breast, while in the young the
color is brownish and the yellow of the belly is wanting.
These birds seem to prefer aspen trees for their homes, selecting one
which is a foot or more in diameter near the ground. They excavate a
cavity in the trunk several feet from the ground, the door of which, a
small round hole, less than two inches in diameter, seems far too small
for the parent birds to enter. "The gourd-shaped excavation varies in
depth from six to ten inches, and it is from three inches near the top
to four or five inches wide at the bottom. The finer chips are allowed
to remain in the bottom, forming the nest proper, on which the eggs
are deposited. The interior of the entire excavation is most carefully
smoothed off, which must consume considerable time, considering the
tough, stringy and elastic nature of the wood when filled with sap,
making it even more difficult to work when partly decayed, which
seems to be the case with nearly all aspens of any size." The larger
chips are dropped from the nest and their presence on the ground at
the base of the tree is quite a sure indication of the proximity of
the nest of this or some related species. The period of incubation
probably lasts twelve or more days, and its labors seem to be shared by
both sexes. During this period, if the birds are disturbed by a close
approach to their nest, they fly away for a short distance uttering
sounds of a soft, plaintive character, that are variable and difficult
of description. These Sapsuckers are watchful and devoted parents and
cases have been reported where the mother bird has been easily captured
because of her refusal to leave her young.
As a rule, but a single brood is raised each season. There are five or
six eggs and occasionally seven in each set, which vary in form though
they are always of the ovate type. At times they are quite elongated.
When fresh, the yolk may be seen through the thin shell, giving a
pinkish shade to the egg. When the contents are removed the shell is
white, showing some lustre.
The food of this species, in addition to the sap and inner bark of the
trees they puncture, if it is true that they use this as food, consists
of ants, insect larvae, moths and butterflies, many of which are caught
on the wing, and small fruits.
Like all the Sapsuckers and the other woodpeckers, the sense of hearing
is well developed and it is usually very difficult to approach them
without detection.
A sister species of the Sapsucker of our illustration is the beautiful
Williamson's Sapsucker (Sphyrapicus thyroideus), an inhabitant of the
Pacific coast. This bird differs from all of the woodpeckers in that
the two sexes show a great difference in coloration. So marked is
this difference that for a long time they were described as distinct
species.
A WHITE TABLE IN THE WOODS.
This is not a tale of far away and long ago--in the Black Forest,
for instance--but a true story of the summer just past, and it comes
from under the shadow of our own White Mountains, where two boys made
discoveries in the great out of doors. The boys let me into many of
their secrets, and now the summer is gone I am allowed to tell this
one, because, if you have never happened to find a big table spread
not under the trees for picnic people, but high up in a tree for woods
people, you will want to look for one next summer.
This was, of course, a wooden table, its cover both snowy and glossy;
the plates, which were round, and all the same size, were of wood and
placed in straight, regular rows, six hundred and fifty of them--that
is true, for the boys counted and computed--a hospitable board, you
think, and you will be sure of it when you know the whole story! The
butler--who was also host--not only arranged but carved the plates,
and wore a business suit of black and white, with a bright red cap and
necktie of the same cheerful hue over a buff shirt.
The feast at this table was continuous, consisting of choice game, and
the sweetest of sweets. The guests, who came and went during all the
sunshine hours, were so various in dress and manners that they could
not be compared with those at any public or private banquet ever known,
so the puzzle must stop here and the plain facts be told.
The table was twenty feet from the ground, and set on one side of
a tree, so, though of wood, and as round as the tree, you see it
differed from your dining-table--and King Arthur's--in being tipped
perpendicularly so as to arrange the plates in straight rows, close
together, thus accommodating more guests. The table cover was of the
best quality of birch bark. The butler host--or perhaps we might call
him the architect of the feast--was the Yellow-breasted Sapsucker;
if you didn't know him well you would call him just one of the
woodpeckers; he had all their peculiarities, crawled around up and down
the tree trunk, bracing himself with his tail, pecking, pounding and
boring, he excavated the hundreds of round holes, each one a soup plate
to catch and hold the ascending sap. This is what the Sapsucker seeks,
and upon this alone he can live all summer, as proved by Mr. Frank
Bolles, who tells us how he caught and kept young Sapsuckers alive till
October, feeding them only on diluted maple syrup. But tiny insects are
fond of sweets, too; they swarmed around and lost themselves in our
woodpecker's full soup plates, thus furnishing him with the animal food
needed by such a worker.
There was always a buzz of bees and big flies about the tree table,
who seemed to feast and get away safely. These first attracted our
attention, but if we stayed five minutes we were sure to hear the dear,
familiar sound announcing the most charming of all guests--humming
birds--you know they are brave, brave as they are beautiful, but we
found them shy about coming too near a Sapsucker; they hovered over
his table as over a flower bed, often lighting on twigs to watch their
chance at the freshest and fullest dishes.
With the ruby throats, and on the best of terms with them, came
gorgeous butterflies; the red admiral, the tiger swallow tail, and the
antiopa were always there, and how bright they were seen against the
snowy birch tree, in dazzling morning sunshine!
The biggest and boldest of all the free feeders is on record as having
come and gone fifteen times in fifteen minutes, a fat red squirrel,
hair brushed and tail curled, not scolding or chattering here, he
seemed to suspect himself out of place, for, taking a side seat on an
outreaching branch, he would frisk off when bidden to go, but back
again and again till he had his fill.
Of course the last bird to leave the tree at night was the Sapsucker,
but when he and all his family were gone, and the sun out of sight, we
found a swarm of big yellow bees bustling about the high seats, and
fancied that when at last their work was done the night moths and bats
would have their turn, and perhaps some brisk little owl would take
the squirrel's perch for a night lunch, getting away just before the
sunrise concert opened another day of eating, drinking, and being merry
at the white tree table.
Elizabeth Reed Brownell.
(The Yellow-breasted Sapsucker mentioned in the story is the eastern
relative of the Red-breasted Sapsucker of our illustration.--Editor.)
THE MOON-BABY.
There's a beautiful golden cradle
That rocks in the rose-red sky;
I have seen it there in the evening air
Where the bats and beetles fly,
With little white clouds for curtains
And pillows of fleecy wool,
And a dear little bed for the moon-baby's head,
So tiny and beautiful.
There are tender young stars around it,
That wait for their bath of dew
In the purple tints that the sun's warm prints
Have left on the mountain blue;
There are good little gentle planets,
That want to be nursed and kissed,
And laid to sleep in the ocean deep,
Under silvery folds of mist.
But the moon-baby first must slumber,
For he is their proud young king;
So, hand in hand, round his bed they stand,
And lullabies low they sing.
And the beautiful golden cradle
Is rocked by the winds that stray,
With pinions soft, from the halls aloft,
Where the moon-baby lives to-day.
--Pall Mall Gazette.
THE CECROPIA AND PROMETHEA MOTHS.
In the study of Natural History it is the habits and life-histories of
the living animals which appeal most strongly to young people. A large
part of the leading Botanists and Zoologists of this country began,
as young people, their studies of Nature by collecting animals and
plants and studying their life-history and habits. It is this dynamical
side, the relation of the animal to its surroundings, which arouses
our interest. Since this has been the most natural method by which the
interest in nature has been developed, it is surprising how little this
side of Zoology has been encouraged by many of our better colleges and
universities.
From the standpoint of the teacher, insects as a rule, stand very
high with regard to the interest which they arouse in scholars for
nature-study. This is quite natural, since the great abundance and
interesting habits of these animals make them comparatively easy to
study.
The two insects which we figure this month are very common and widely
distributed, and thus have become very generally known. When we once
become familiar with them, these beautiful moths are of perennial
interest, and each season one is pleased to renew his acquaintance with
them.