(_Habia ludoviciana_) Finch family
(Illustrations facing pp. 55 and 59)
_Length_--7.75 to 8.5 inches. About one-fifth smaller than the
robin.
_Male_--Head and upper parts black. Breast has rose-carmine
shield-shaped patch, often extending downward to the centre of
the abdomen. Underneath, tail quills, and two spots on wings
white. Conspicuous yellow, blunt beak.
_Female_--Brownish, with dark streakings, like a sparrow. No
rose-color. Light sulphur yellow under wings. Dark brown,
heavy beak.
_Range_--Eastern North America, from southern Canada to
Panama.
_Migrations_--Early May. September. Summer resident.
A certain ornithologist tells with complacent pride of having shot
over fifty-eight rose-breasted grosbeaks in less than three weeks
(during the breeding season) to learn what kind of food they had in
their crops. This kind of devotion to science may have quite as much
to do with the growing scarcity of this bird in some localities as the
demands of the milliners, who, however, receive all of the blame for
the slaughter of our beautiful songsters. The farmers in Pennsylvania,
who, with more truth than poetry, call this the potato-bug bird, are
taking active measures, however, to protect the neighbor that is more
useful to their crop than all the insecticides known. It also eats
flies, wasps, and grubs.
Seen upon the ground, the dark bird is scarcely attractive with his
clumsy beak overbalancing a head that protrudes with stupid-looking
awkwardness; but as he rises into the trees his lovely rose-colored
breast and under-wing feathers are seen, and before he has had time to
repeat his delicious, rich-voiced warble you are already in love with
him. Vibrating his wings after the manner of the mocking-bird, he
pours forth a marvellously sweet, clear, mellow song (with something
of the quality of the oriole's, robin's, and thrush's notes), making
the day on which you first hear it memorable. This is one of the few
birds that sing at night. A soft, sweet, rolling warble, heard when
the moon is at its full on a midsummer night, is more than likely to
come from the rose-breasted grosbeak.
It is not that his quiet little sparrow-like wife has advanced notions
of feminine independence that he takes his turn at sitting upon the
nest, but that he is one of the most unselfish and devoted of mates.
With their combined efforts they construct only a coarse, unlovely
cradle in a thorn-bush or low tree near an old, overgrown pasture lot.
The father may be the poorest of architects, but as he patiently sits
brooding over the green, speckled eggs, his beautiful rosy breast just
showing above the grassy rim, he is a sufficient adornment for any
bird's home.