kind of bird has its own kind of eggs. The wood-pigeon has a pure
white egg; the blackbird’s egg is a bluish green, with russet spots;
the cuckoo’s egg is of a yellowish tint with red and brown marks; the
kingfisher’s egg is yellow with orange spots; the robin’s egg is a
lovely greenish blue. Some eggs have purple spots, some are brown with
red spots.
Each bird knows its own eggs. Sometimes a lazy cow-bird puts her eggs
in the nest of a wren or bluebird, while that bird is away looking for
food. When the bird comes home, she knows at once the strange egg in
her nest. She scolds and cries. But, in the end, she takes care of it.
When eggs are put into a nest in this way, it is the strange egg which
thrives. The cow-bird hatches before the eggs among which it lies. Then
the mother-bird at once begins to feed her adopted child, and her own
eggs are left and do not hatch.
The young cuckoo is so big and strong that it pushes its foster
brothers and sisters out of the nest, and lives there alone. The good
mother-bird, perhaps only a little sparrow, tires herself out bringing
insects for the wide-open beak of her big, greedy child.
The mother-bird is very patient all the long days, or weeks, while she
must sit brooding her eggs. If you go near her, she may fly off, or she
may cower close over her eggs, and look at you in a very timid way. I
am sure you will hurry past, and not terrify the dear little thing.
When the mother-bird must go away, to stretch her wings in flight, or
to get food, the father-bird takes her place. While she is on the nest,
he often brings her something good to eat. He sits on some branch near
and sings to her. He watches to see if any snake or squirrel, or other
enemy, is coming near. Then he often flies down, and scolds, or pecks
at the foe to drive it off.
I am sorry to tell you that the handsome blue jay is very cruel to
other birds. He often tears up their nests, breaks their eggs, or kills
their little ones, for the mere sake of doing it. The eggs of smaller
birds, he carries to his own nestlings for food. I knew a lady who saw
a jay bring three small eggs to his nest. He carried them in his bill.
One summer, a pair of woodpeckers built in a tall flag-pole near my
house. They had cut out a nice round hole in the pole, and dug a deep
place for a nest. Several times each day the father-bird took his turn
on the nest, while the mother-bird went off to a swamp to get food.
It was curious to watch the nest-cleaning each night. The birds took up
refuse from the nest in their claws, and flew off some distance before
they dropped it.
When the little birds came from the shell, the old ones were very
busy, going and coming several times each hour, with food.
It was funny to see them at night-fall. The father-bird took his place,
clinging high up on the pole, like a watchman on a tower, to take a
final look, and see if all was right. The mother-bird, at the same
time, put her handsome head out of the hole, and stretched her neck, as
if to take a look from her window before she went to bed.
When the birds were fledged, there was a grand time teaching them to
fly. They were taken to a roof near by, where they sprawled about. Then
they would be coaxed to make a little flight. The parents flew low and
slowly before them. Great was the joy, if one of the little things flew
a few yards. The old birds seemed to think that they had never before
seen quite such nice flying! Then the father-bird stood proudly before
them, to give them a lesson in drumming, that is, in pecking at wood,
to break it up, to find grubs or insects hidden in it. He seemed to
say, “Look at me!” Then he braced his feet and tail,[28] held his head
on one side, and gave a number of swift, strong blows on my porch
roof. He would drum, and then look at the little ones to imitate him.
Then they flew over the way, and the father seemed to say, “Now for
another lesson in drumming!” At it he went. But that house had a _tin
roof_. He could not make the splinters fly!
He tried again. It was of no use. Then he looked much surprised. He
eyed the roof, and tried once more. The little birds looked on.
But the father-bird failed again. Instead of a long, deep roll of
sound, there was only a sharp rattle; no chips, no grubs! He seemed
much ashamed. His wings and his tail drooped. Away he flew to the pole,
and sat there very sad. He seemed to be thinking how much better houses
grew when he was young!
The hole of these birds, in the pole, was tinned over after they left.
They returned next year, and cut a hole lower down. That was covered
with tin in the fall. Next spring, they came back, and cut a hole
higher up. They did this for five years.
Finally the pole had to be taken down as dangerous, it was so cut up.
Woodpeckers are not the only good bird parents. You can see how kind
and careful mother-birds are, if you watch the hens in the farm-yard.
Do you see them lead their little chicks out? They scratch the earth,
and call the chicks to come and pick up food. When a hawk appears, the
hen cries out, and spreads her wings wide, to shelter her chicks.
When it rains, or when the little ones are tired, or at night, the hen
calls them to rest under her wide, warm wings.
If you watch a pair of robins raising a brood, you will wonder to see
how many times in an hour they go and come, bringing food. When the
little ones are fledged, notice how they are taught to fly. You may,
also, see the father bird giving his little ones a lesson in singing.
When one of the young birds is weaker than the rest, one of the parents
will leave the others, and give all the time to teaching and helping
that weak one.
A bluebird in my garden, lost, by one trouble and another, all her
brood but one. That one the parent birds were teaching to fly. It
rested on the gravel walk, while the old birds sat on the fence, and
called it.
A boy of three years, seeing the young bird, went up close to look at
it. The father bluebird flew close over the child’s head scolding. As
the child got near the young bird, the old bird flew upon the child’s
head and pulled his hair with its beak!
The little boy ran screaming back to me. The young bluebird lifted
his wings, and flew with his parents into a bush. Was not the father
bluebird brave? The child, though only three years old, was many times
bigger than the bird.
I told you how the birds cleaned their nests. Birds are neat creatures.
You notice that their feathers are bright and clean. Have you seen how
much they prune or dress them?
Birds are very fond of a bath. If you set a basin or pan of clean,
fresh water, on the grass, among shrubs or trees, you will see many
birds going to it to take a bath. They splash the water about in fine
style. When the young birds are fledged, they will be brought to your
basin to have a wash.
When birds roll or whirl in dust or sand, it is not that they like
dirt; they are having a sand bath. The sand flirted in and out among
their plumage takes out grease and little insects and dirt. Then they
shake off all the sand.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] Notice that the woodpecker uses its stiff pointed tail feathers to
brace its body when it rises to the full length of its legs to aid it
in giving a heavy blow, as it draws down its legs and dashes its beak
into the tree with the force of all its weight.
LESSON XXXIV.
THE BIRDS OF SONG.
The woods and the fields would be very dull and silent without the song
of the birds. Even the shrill chirp of the sparrow is a pleasant sound
to hear. It gives us an idea of happy life.
[Illustration: A JOYFUL SONG.]
We will now talk a little about our best song birds. Let us take the
catbird first, as that is common in all parts of the country. It is a
pretty drab and black bird, about nine inches long.
Tom said to me, “A catbird cannot sing; it gets its name because it
squalls like a cat.” True, Tom, the bird has that harsh note for you,
and to frighten off snakes and other enemies. But you listen to him
when he sits in the shade, and sings to himself, or makes his best song
for Mrs. Catbird.
Ah, there is a song for you! Mellow and full, and rich as the tones of
a mocking-bird! Now he trills, now he whistles, now he imitates the
songs of all the sweetest singers of the wood. He can almost outdo the
mocking-bird. He sits in his shady covert, and seems to be laughing at
all the other singers, as he borrows their music.
First, he breaks out into the oriole’s song; then he calls like a jay;
next he chatters like a sparrow; then he whistles like a thrush; then
he gives you a little warble from the bluebird’s music-book. In every
song he gives exactly the notes he copies.
A pair of catbirds built in a honeysuckle by my window. I found they
were very loving birds. At a cry of pain from Mrs. Catbird or the
little ones, the father-bird would come flying back, almost in fits
with distress.
He would fly round and round to seek the cause of their trouble. If he
found any enemy, which he could not drive away, he called so loudly
and sadly that all the birds near came in haste to help him.
The catbird is one of the bravest of the feathered race. He will fight
and drive off a snake. I have seen him defend his home against a jay, a
crow, or a squirrel.
A near relative of the catbird is the blackbird. This is a gay and
happy creature. All the warm weather it pipes sweetly, as it flies here
and there. The red-wing, or colonel blackbird, lives in swamps. The
green-breasted blackbird likes a drier home.
Blackbirds are social in their habits. You seldom see one or two alone.
If you see one near your home, you will soon see or hear more. They
build their nests early in the spring. Young blackbirds are among the
first birds fledged in a season.
The nest is large, and often lined with mud. When the mud dries, the
nest is like a rude cup. Then a soft lining is put in for a bed. In
this nest are laid five eggs of a blue-gray color, dashed with red or
brown.
The blackbird is very brave, and will drive a cat or a snake from his
home. I have seen him chase a squirrel from his tree.
Pleasant as is the blackbird’s note, he cannot rival the thrush. Among
all our birds of song, I think the thrush is best known and best loved.
This is a small bird, of dusky brown and white, the under part of its
body being yellowish white, with black spots. These birds are fond of
woody places, and live alone or in pairs. During the middle of the day
they are silent.
If you wish to hear the thrush at his best, listen to him in the early
morning, or about sundown, when he takes his place on the top twig of
the tallest tree he can find. He begins with a clear, sweet sound, like
a German flute. Next he trills some notes like the tinkle of a chime
of silver bells. Then he pours out a full, rich song, and repeats it
several times.
Soon you will hear some other thrush, from another tall tree, answer
him. They seem to try which can sing the best. They keep up the concert
until the stars come out, and the fireflies flit among the grasses.
The food of the thrush is insects and berries. While he chooses a
high place to sing from, he builds low. He finds a laurel or alder
bush which is hung with some kind of wild vine, as the Virginia
creeper. There he piles up a quantity of withered beech-leaves. On
these he makes a nest of grass, plastered with mud. It is lined with
fine root-fibres. In this nest are laid four or five light-blue eggs,
without spots or marks.
Often, if you follow the windings of a shaded brook, you may see the
thrush playing along above the waters.
When the thrush migrates, he travels by day, and rests at night. When
he alights to sleep, he erects his tail-feathers, and ruffles up the
feathers on his head. Then he gives a few low calls, hops along the
branches, and bends his head down to peep below, and see if all is safe
for the night. In fact, from first to last, the song-thrush is a dear
and well-behaved little bird.
LESSON XXXV.
THE OTHER PARTNER.
You know I told you that the flowers had gone into business, and taken
the birds and insects for their partners. Now these partners are not
good friends to each other. In fact, the bird partner is given to
eating up the insect partner.
We will now look at some birds that prefer insects to any other food.
But these, like all birds, will change their diet and eat almost
anything if very hungry.
Our first bird shall be the “nuthatch.” It has been given this name
because people think it can crack nuts. No doubt it can crack beech and
hazel nuts, and chestnuts. Its object is not to get the meat of the
nut, but the grubs that lie in it.
The nuthatch is of a light bluish-gray color, with some white and black
in its feathers. It is not much larger than a thrush.
Early in April, the nuthatch finds a hole in a tree, or in a fence rail
or an old roof. There he makes a nest by piling up dead leaves and any
soft wool or hairs he can find.
In this nest are laid five white eggs, with brown spots on one end.
While the mother bird sits on these eggs, the mate spends all his time
near her. If any danger comes, he flies to the nest. He hunts for nice
fat grubs and worms, and takes them to the sitting bird to eat.
He searches for insects and larvæ, and little can escape his big bright
eyes. When he takes something to his mate, he gives a soft, low, glad
chirp. He never passes the door of the nest-hole without putting in
his head, to make a few cheerful remarks. He seems to be telling the
news.
When the mother-bird flies out, to have a chance to find food for
herself, her mate keeps calling her, as if to say, “Are you quite
safe?” “Are you there?” And she replies with a little note of joy.
The nuthatch finds most of his food under the bark of trees. He flies
round and round the tree and strips off pieces of bark. Hidden there,
he finds worms, spiders, caterpillars, eggs and larvæ of insects. He
seems very curious, and pries into every crack and hole.
The nuthatch seldom migrates. If food is scarce, he will fly to the
barns, and even pick up seeds with the fowls. But he does not like that
food. He prefers insects.
Another bird that feeds chiefly on insects, is, in many respects, the
loveliest and dearest of birds. Can you not guess that I mean the
bluebird? This bird, with its blue back and wings, and ruddy breast is
the first to tell us of the return of spring.
On warm days in February, or early March, we see him flitting above the
last melting wreaths of snow, or sitting on the top rail of the fence.
If a few cold snowy days come, he vanishes. But back he flies with his
mate, and they skim low over the ground to pick up the first beetles,
worms, and spiders that venture out.
For a few days the two are very busy eating insects. If Mr. Bluebird
finds a very nice, fat bug, he does not keep it for himself, but flies
with it to his mate. He gives a glad cry, spreads his wings wide, and
drops it into her mouth.
But soon the pair set about cleaning and rebuilding last year’s nest.
If there is a box on a tree in your garden or orchard, or a hole in a
branch, they will build there year after year.
While the bluebirds are busy setting their house in order, Mrs.
House-Wren gets back from her winter trip. She peeps in, and seems much
vexed that such a nice house was let before she arrived. As soon as the
bluebirds go off, for some more grass, or hairs, Mrs. Wren steps in,
and pulls a few twigs out of the new nest. She does this to show her
feelings. But she hurries away, before the blue owners return.
Mrs. Bluebird puts five or six pale blue eggs in her nest. She raises
two, or even three, broods in a summer. While she is sitting on the
second eggs, the father bird watches over the young of the first brood.
He feeds them, and takes great care of them, and lets them perch by him
at night.
Now and then, in the autumn, you will see a pair of old bluebirds with
ten or twelve young ones, of their various broods. Then they may be
feeding on gum-tree or smilax berries. But spiders and beetles are
their chosen food.
The note of the bluebird is a soft, sweet warble. He loves sunshine and
springtime. In the fall his note becomes sad and low, as if he mourns
because winter is coming.
When the cold winds, and frosts, and bare trees, make the country
desolate, the bluebird migrates. He goes to the Southern States, the
West Indies, and Mexico. We are all glad to welcome him back. He is the
prophet of fine weather. The farmers like him because he eats so many
harmful insects.
Of all the insect-eating birds, none is more famous than the
flycatcher, or kingbird. In some places he is called the field-martin,
and the tyrant. The name flycatcher comes from his food. He catches
living, full-grown insects, such as flies, gnats, wasps, and some bees.
I am sorry that he is accused of picking up bees.
The name king, or tyrant, bird comes to this brisk little fellow from
his manners. He is very strong, very swift on the wing, and very bold.
He is fond of his brood and mate, and bold in their defence. He
watches to drive off birds which might harm them.
The big blue jay dares not rob a kingbird’s nest. The kingbird will
chase a jay, a crow, even an eagle, or a hawk. His bill is sharp and
strong, and as he flies under or over his enemy, he darts at him, and
drives his bill into him with a peck.
He is so fierce only when he has a young brood to defend. At other
times he is quiet enough. When his young brood is in the nest, he feels
so proud that he seems to think himself the lord of all birds.
The purple martin can fly faster than the kingbird and likes to tease
him. It is also very funny to see a big woodpecker and a kingbird
having a conflict on a fence rail. The woodpecker whirls round and
round like a boy turning springs over a bar. The kingbird flies from
side to side and tries to get a peck at him but cannot.
The kingbird is not a singer. He is a silent, dark bird. His plumes are
brown, black, and white. On his head he has a crest, or crown of raised
feathers. He seems very particular about his food. It is not every
insect that he will eat.
Many farmers, who have watched him carefully, say that he does not pick
up worker-bees, but takes only the drones. He also eats many gad-flies
that trouble and bite the horses. He devours hundreds of insects and
worms which eat fruit, cucumbers, and pumpkins.
In fact, even if the kingbird does eat a few bees, he more than pays
for that damage by the good he does in destroying harmful insects.
When a farmer shoots a kingbird he shoots one of his best friends.
Besides all this, as we are not quite sure that the kingbird does eat
worker-bees, I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt and
let him live.
LESSON XXXVI.
A BRIGADE OF BIRDS.
In some of the lessons in these Nature Readers, you have been told of
crabs that are street-cleaners of the sea. You have also been told of
insects that are cleaners of the air. I shall now tell you of some
birds that are cleaners of fields and woods.
This lesson will be about a brigade of birds that do street-cleaning
work. I shall head the list with the crow. You have seen that big,
black bird standing all alone on a dead tree, looking the country
over. You have seen him following the farmer’s rake and plough in the
spring.
You have seen hundreds of crows come together in the fall, to discuss
their migration. You know their loud, harsh note. You have seen them in
their sleek, black coats, stepping over the snow in winter time. You
know in cold weather they become very tame, and draw near the houses
for food.
One day I heard a loud cawing of crows, and looking out saw about
twenty of them flying in a long, low line over some bushes, in a field.
Every now and then they stooped to the earth. I watched. They were
chasing a cat. The cat hid in the bushes. He was trying to escape from
the crows.
They flew over the bushes and scolded. Then, as he ran from one shelter
to the next, they stooped and pecked him. They chased the poor cat all
across a big field. I think he was very glad when he got under a barn.
I suppose the crows saw that he was watching them, and so they drove
him away.
When a number of crows are in a field, they keep one crow on a high
place, to warn them if danger is near. They seem to be very wise birds.
They know a man with a gun, as far as they can see him.
Crows do some harm by pulling up and eating the planted corn and sown
grain. But they are of use, as they eat many worms and insects which
destroy crops. You often see crows following a farmer as he ploughs.
They are after the grubs and worms in the new furrow.
Crows eat lizards, mice, toads, and moles. They also feed on any dead
and decaying flesh which they can find. A company of crows will pluck
off all the flesh from a decaying animal, and leave the bones white and
clean.
The crow is about as large as a large pigeon. It is jet black, and not
handsome. Like all flesh-eating birds it has a large strong beak and
large strong feet. These are for tearing their prey.
As crows kill young chicks and pull up grain, farmers dislike them.
Have you not seen images placed in fields, to scare the crows from the
crops?
Crows are very noisy except when they are rearing a young brood. Then
they are quiet. They do not wish the nest to be found. The nest is
large and made of moss, sticks, leaves, bark, and hairs. It is built in
a high tree. In it are four pale-green eggs, with olive spots.
Mr. Crow helps brood the eggs. He keeps a sharp lookout for danger for
half a mile about his nest. He hunts for food and brings some to Mrs.
Crow as she sits on her eggs.
Toward the end of summer, the young crows can fly well. Then many
families of crows go to pass the night together in some place that they
have chosen. I used to like to watch great flocks of crows going at
sunset towards their roost. In the morning they returned.
Crows like to live near the sea. They catch small fish. They carry
shell-fish high up in the air in their claws, and let them drop on a
rock. The fall breaks the shells and the crows fly down and pick out
what is inside.
The jackdaw and the magpie are cousins of the crow. They also eat
flesh. They are larger than the crow, and have some white in their
plumage. They can both be taught to speak.
The jackdaw likes to carry off and hide things. I knew one that lived
in a garden, where some swans were kept on a pond. The naughty jackdaw
would go and carry off all the swans’ food and hide it.
If we walked near his hiding-places, he would run after us and peck our
shoes. The gardener had to put a wire fence all around the pond, and
clip the daw’s wings so that he could not fly over the fence to rob the
swans.
A much larger bird than these is the turkey buzzard. He is about the
size of a small turkey, and is of a faded black color. His head and
neck are bare of feathers. The skin of the head and neck is reddish and
wrinkled. It has a little black hair and down on it. The bill is very
large and hooked. The feet are also very large.
This is the least handsome of all our birds, and no one likes it. The
reason of the dislike is, the bad odor the bird has. This odor comes
from the decayed animal food which the buzzard eats. But it is this
very habit of eating spoiled food which makes the poor bird so useful
to us.
The buzzard has a swift flight and a keen eye. It can see its dead food
far off. When you see three or four buzzards wheeling in the air, you
may be sure that some dead animal lies on the ground below them.
Any one who knows how the carcass of a sheep, cow, dog, or cat will
infect the air for miles about, will feel glad that the buzzards like
to eat such things. The buzzards strip off all the ill-smelling flesh,
and leave only clean white bones.
The buzzard is a very mild, quiet bird. It never fights, and never eats
any live prey. It tears up no corn, and carries off no little chicks.
In most States there is a law against killing a buzzard.
The buzzard makes no nest. It finds a hollow stump, or a broken tree,
and lays two or four eggs on the decayed wood. The eggs are about the
size of goose eggs. They have brown spots on them. The young ones are
covered with down like young goslings. Buzzards are American birds.
The large carrion crow, or black vulture, is a bird much like the
buzzard in its habits. But it lives farther south, is seen in greater
numbers, and is not so shy. They are often tamed, and kept near the
markets to clean up offal. They like to sit on the chimney tops to
enjoy the warm air that rises.
Dogs and black vultures will feed together on a carcass. But if the
dogs crowd the birds too much, the vultures will hiss at them. These
black vultures do good service by eating up alligators’ eggs.
Another of our brigade of flesh-eating birds is the raven. The raven is
a handsomer bird than the others. His glossy black feathers have blue
and green tints on them. Ravens are often found in sea-side cliffs and
trees. They feed on dead fish.