The last winter was one of unusual severity in the south, as well as
elsewhere. The cold continued until rather late in the spring and
caused the death of numbers of birds that came north too soon. One
day the last of March a sycamore warbler flew in at the open door
of a cottage in the Indian Territory. It settled familiarly on the
dining-table, picking up crumbs from the cloth. It seemed cold and
almost famished, having arrived too early from its winter haunts in
Mexico or Guatemala. After satisfying its hunger it flew about the
room, and presently, instead of flying out, it dashed its breast
against a mirror and dropped to the floor, quite dead. The blow could
scarcely have caused death except for the bird's exhausted condition.
I picked up the wee creature to examine its pretty coat. How dainty
each ash-gray feather! Some were tipped and some marked with white. The
throat had a tinge of yellow; then two colors giving the extra names
of "white-browed" and "yellow-throated" warbler. This bird frequents
marshy lands where sycamore trees flourish. It loves to build its nest
in the topmost boughs, safe from all enemies. Here the male, screened
from view, sings his song, which resembles that of the indigo bunting,
but with a different modulation. When the days became warm I often saw
a happy pair of them, busy, I supposed, in building, but the nests were
too high for inspection.
[Illustration: RUDDY DUCK.
1/2 Life-size.
FROM COL. F. NUSSBAUMER & SON.
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]