Wrens are friendly to man. The little house wren in summer, and the
Carolina wren in winter, give us a merry roundelay for all sorts of
weather. Bewick's wren, Mr. Torrey says, "greatly prefers the town to
woods and meadows," and even the winter wrenkin, dear little saucy
brownie that he is, vouchsafes us a glimpse of himself now and then in
the city. As for the bigger kinsfolk, the mocking-bird and catbird,
they love the shrubbery of our lawns, and gardens, and sing close at
hand. Nor are the thrushes, shy as they are in the breeding season,
hard to discover during the migrations. A Swainson's thrush will sit
for an hour or so, almost within touch, his big liquid eyes regarding
his human neighbors placidly.
Strange to say, I have seen but few swallows or sparrows in town,
except the chipping or "door-step" sparrow and the purple martin which
belongs to the swallow tribe, though the misnamed chimney swallow does
_not_. The song of the martin, "like musical laughter rippling through
the throat," and the "giggling twitter" of the chimney dweller, often
seem to drop to us out of the air as they dart overhead. Even pewees
and cuckoos visit us after their broods are reared, the wistful cry of
the first and the rattling call of the latter, sounding oddly from some
tall tree close by the crowded street. At this time too, the grackles
perch upon the roofs, and nighthawks and whippoor-wills are heard
overhead in the dusky twilights.
One would not naturally expect to find game birds or birds of prey in
a city, yet the Virginia quail frequently sends forth his ringing "bob
white!" from any low roof or fence in the spring or early fall; and
more than once long-billed water-birds have been caught by the street
lamps at night. The eerie, tremulous cry of the little screech-owl
sounds from the apple tree, and in winter he flies with a soft thud
against the window pane, attracted by the light shining through the
snow. Some owls choose a belfry tower as their favorite shelter, and
live there year after year.
Our most glorious bird-day is when the orioles appear in flashing
black and gold with ringing whistle, or their orchard cousins in ruddy
chestnut tints, alternately singing and scolding, _chack! chack!_
and little later, come the scarlet and summer tanagers to the parks
and public gardens, lighting up the tall trees with their splendid
color, and making the neighborhood ring with their _chip-chur_ and
_chicky-tuck!_ as if in call and answer. One day I saw these, and not
far away, the crested cardinal, glowing like a tropical flower, and
the red-headed woodpeckers close by, and some redstarts glittering and
flitting from bough to bough, truly a study in red!
As for the smaller birds, humming birds, kinglets, vireos, and
warblers, the trees of any city yard will be a frequented hostelry
for all during their wonderful journeys, and for many as a summer
home. Those that love the tree tops are seen all the better by human
inhabitants of upper stories, and some of our most charming bird-books
give us the experiences of a busy woman in a New York flat, or of
another in a Chicago back yard, and of more than one invalid, watching
these free, joyous lives with unenvious delight. A good glass,
either opera-glass or field-glass, will open many a pretty bit of
house-weaving, and brood-rearing to an observer shut in by walls and
pavements, and bring many a pleasant acquaintance. At this very moment,
a slender grey catbird glides through the boughs close by my upper
window, with a low _chuck, chuck!_ as I glance at him. He knows I am a
friend, but would fain enjoin silence, for a black cat prowls below.