the country, to excite an interest and develop a familiar friendship
with their bird neighbors. The birds can easily be coaxed to the piazza
or the window-shelf by the judicious offer of free lunch, and so a
speaking acquaintance, perhaps even a life-long friendship, with them
may be gained.
But with city children, especially those of the poorer classes, the
case is very different. The question how to teach them to know and care
for birds is by no means so easy.
Look at their case: they have seen no birds but English Sparrows
and caged Canaries and Parrots; few of them know the Robin; they
practically never go to the country, and many of them never even go to
the parks. How shall they be taught about birds? Observing the rule
of advancing from known to unknown, would suggest Dick the Canary,
as the obvious point of departure from a tenement into the world of
birds; then, perhaps, the Summer Yellow-bird in the park, commonly
known as the 'Wild Canary,' and then Mr. Goldfinch and his little
olive-brown spouse, who would make a natural transition to the brown
Sparrow family, and so on. The difficulty here is that it is so nearly
impossible to get city children up to the park to see the Yellow-bird.
So another method, involving no country walks and no live birds, has
to be resorted to. We may use pictures,--drawn before the class and
colored, if possible,--and, trusting to the children's powers of
imagination and idealization, may connect with their experience at some
other point. After studying about the carpenter, in kindergarten or
primary school, for instance, it is easy to interest children in the
Woodpecker by proposing to tell them about a "little carpenter bird;"
after talking of the fisherman, a promise to tell them of a bird who
is a fisherman is sure to stir their imaginations of the doings of the
Kingfisher, and so with the weaver (Oriole), mason (Robin) and others.
When several birds have been learned, the best kind of review for
little people is probably some game like the following, which has been
played with most tumultuous enthusiasm and eager interest in a certain
New York school of poor children. The teacher says:
"Let's play 'I'm thinking of a bird.' All shut your eyes tight and
think. Now, I'm thinking of a bird nearly as large as a Pigeon; he
is brownish, with black barring on the back, black spots all over
the breast," etc., etc., giving a description of the Yellow Hammer,
or Flicker, but leaving the characteristic marks until the end of
the description. Before the teacher has gone far, a dozen hands are
waving wildly and several vociferous whispers are heard, proclaiming
in furious pianissimo: "_I_ know," "_I_ know what it is." Then the
child who gets it right is allowed to describe a bird for the class to
guess, and if the description fails in any point the class may offer
corrections.
This appeal to the play instinct excites great interest, which is the
thing chiefly to be desired.
When a number of birds have been learned in this way, a trip to the
Natural History Museum would be of very great value, especially
noticing the wonderful reproductions of actual scenes from bird-life
there displayed. In this way city children could see in a single day
more real bird-life than they could otherwise get in a year, as their
few country days are generally populous picnics, from which the birds
flee aghast.
The children should take their kindergarten principles of observation
and conversational description to the Museum with them, and, on
returning to school, should draw and color some bird they have seen.
To observe and describe and, perhaps, draw each new bird whose picture
is shown in the classroom is also a good thing. The writer passed a
mounted Flicker through a class of fifty children of kindergarten
age, let them look and carefully handle, and then asked for "stories"
about it. One child said: "I know--Oh--I know seven stories--no,
eight--_nine_ stories about Mr. Yellow Hammer," and she really did know
her nine "stories."
When they have gone as far as this, most bird stories will interest
them, especially if the birds are humanized for them by the teller of
the tale.
To sum up, it may be said that the best way to begin is to teach a few
birds well,--a dozen or so,--by connecting with the child's experience,
in some way, the information to be given, and then employing the play
instinct by having bird games of various kinds, both kindergarten bird
games and others; observation, description and drawing of birds may
follow, and first and last, and all the time, all descriptions and
stories given to children should be in terms of human nature.
Winter Bird Studies
[Illustration]
Although we have fewer birds during the winter than at any other
season, at no other time during the year do the comparative advantages
of ornithology as a field study seem so evident. The botanist and
entomologist now find little out of doors to attract them, and, if we
except a stray squirrel or rabbit, birds are the only living things we
may see from December to March. Winter, therefore, is a good time to
begin the study of birds, not only because flowers and insects do not
then claim our attention, but also because the small number of birds
then present is a most encouraging circumstance to the opera-glass
student, who, in identifying birds, is at the mercy of a 'key.'
Indeed, the difficulty now lies not in identification, but in
discovery; unless one is thoroughly familiar with a given locality
and its bird-life, one may walk for miles and not see a feather--a
particularly unfortunate state of affairs if one has a bird-class
in charge. This dilemma, however, may be avoided by catering to the
dominant demand of bird-life at this season, the demand for food.
Given a supply of the proper kind of food, and birds in the winter may
nearly always be found near it. Bird seed and grain may be used, but a
less expensive diet, and one which will doubtless be more appreciated,
consists of sweepings from the hay-loft containing the seeds to which
our birds are accustomed. This may be scattered by the bushel or in a
sufficient quantity to insure a hearty meal for all visiting Juncos and
Tree Sparrows, with perhaps less common winter seed-eaters.
The bark-hunting Woodpeckers, Nuthatches, and Chickadees will require
different fare, and meat-bones, suet, bacon-rinds and the like have
been found to be acceptable substitutes for their usual repast of
insects' eggs and larvæ.
Winter, strange as it may seem, is an excellent season for
bird-nesting. The trees and bushes now give up the secrets they guarded
from us so successfully during the summer, and we examine them with
as much interest as we pore over the 'Answers to Puzzles in Preceding
Number' department of a favorite magazine.
Immediately after a snow storm is the best time in which to hunt for
birds' nests in the winter. Then all tree and bush nests have a white
cap, which renders them more conspicuous.
When walking with children, the spirit of competition may be aroused
by saying "Who'll see the first nest," or "Who'll see the next nest
first," as the case may be, and the number discovered under this
impetus is often surprising.
=For Young Observers=
Boys and girls who study birds are invited to send short accounts of
their observations to this department.
Our Doorstep Sparrow
BY FLORENCE A. MERRIAM.
[Illustration]
Don't think that I mean the House, or English Sparrow, for he is quite
a different bird. Our little doorstep friend is the very smallest of
all the brown Sparrows you know, and wears a reddish brown cap, and a
gray vest so plain it hasn't a single button or stripe on it. He is a
dear, plump little bird, who sits in the sun and throws up his head and
chippers away so happily that people call him the Chipping Sparrow.
He comes to the doorstep and looks up at you as if he knew you wanted
to feed him, and if you scatter crumbs on the piazza he will pick them
up and hop about on the floor as if it were his piazza as well as yours.
One small Chippy, whom his friends called Dick, used to light on the
finger of the kind man who fed him, and use his hand for dining-room,
and sometimes when he had had a very nice breakfast, he would hop up on
a finger, perch, and sing a happy song!
Dick was so sure his friends were kind and good, that as soon as his
little birds were out of the nest, he brought them to be fed too. They
did not know what a nice dining-room a hand makes, so they wouldn't fly
up to it, but when the gentleman held their bread and seeds close to
the ground, they would come and help themselves.
CHIPPY'S NEST.
If you were a bird and were going to build a nest, where would you put
it? At the end of a row of your brothers' nests, as the Eave Swallows
do? Or would that be too much like living in a row of brick houses in
the city? Chipping Sparrows don't like to live too close to their next
door neighbors. They don't mind if a Robin is in the same tree, on
another bough, but they want their own branch all to themselves.
[Illustration: TAMING A CHIPPY
Photographed by Mr. George Wood at the home of Lieutenant Wirt
Robinson, in Virginia. Lieutenant Robinson writes that a pair of
Chipping Sparrows placed their nest in the climbing rose bush at the
end of the piazza. One of the pair, supposed to be the female, was
easily tamed with the aid of bread crumbs, and for three successive
years she returned to the piazza, always immediately resuming her
habits of familiarity.]
And they want it to be a branch, too. Other birds may build their nests
on the ground, or burrow in the ground, or dig holes in tree trunks,
or even hang their nests down inside dark chimneys if they like, but
Chippy doesn't think much of such places. He wants plenty of daylight
and fresh air.
But even if you have made up your mind to build on a branch, think how
many nice trees and bushes there are to choose from, and how hard it
must be to decide on one. You'd have to think a long time and look in
a great many places. You see you want the safest, best spot in all the
world in which to hide away your pretty eggs, and the precious birdies
that will hatch out of them. They must be tucked well out of sight, for
weasels and cats, and many other giants like eggs and nestlings for
breakfast.
If you could find a kind family fond of birds, don't you think it would
be a good thing to build near them? Perhaps they would drive away the
cats and help protect your brood. Then on hot summer days maybe some
little girl would think to put out a pan of water for a drink and a
cool bath. Some people, like Dick's friends, are so thoughtful they
throw out crumbs to save a tired mother bird the trouble of having
to hunt for every morsel she gets to give her brood. Just think what
work it is to find worms enough for four children who want food from
daylight to dark!
The vines of a piazza make a safe, good place for a nest if you are
sure the people haven't a cat, and love birds. I once saw a Chippy's
nest in the vines of a dear old lady's house, and when she would come
out to see how the eggs were getting on she would talk so kindly to
the old birds it was very pleasant to live there. In such a place your
children are protected, they have a roof over their little heads so the
rains won't beat down on them, and the vines shade them nicely from the
hot sun.
When you are building your house everything you want to use will be
close by. On the lawn you will find the soft grasses you want for the
outside, and in the barnyard you can get the long horse hairs that all
Chipping Sparrows think they must have for a dry, cool nest-lining.
Hair-birds, you know Chippies are called, they use so much hair. The
question is how can they ever find it unless they do live near a barn?
You go to look for it, someday, out on a country road or in a pasture.
It takes sharp eyes and a great deal of patience, I guess you'll find
them. But if you live on the piazza of a house, with a barn in the
back yard, you can find so many nice long hairs that you can sometimes
make your whole nest of them. I have seen a Chippy's nest that hadn't
another thing in it--that was just a coil of black horse hair.
After you have built your nest and are looking for food for your young
it is most convenient to be near a house. The worms you want for your
nestlings are in the garden, and the seeds you like for a lunch for
yourself are on the weeds mixed up with the lawn grass. You needn't
mind taking them, either, for the people you live with will be only too
glad to get rid of them, because their flowers are killed by the worms,
and their lawns look badly when weeds grow in the grass, so you will
only be helping the kind friends who have already helped you. Don't you
think that will be nice?
CHIPPY'S FAMILY.
Did you ever look into a Chippy's nest? The eggs are a pretty blue and
have black dots on the larger end.
When the little birds first come out of the shell their eyes are shut
tight, like those of little kittens when they are first born.
If you are very gentle you can stroke the backs of the little ones as
they sit waiting for the old birds to feed them.
I remember one plum tree nest on a branch so low that a little girl
could look into it. One day when the mother bird was brooding the eggs
the little girl crept close up to the tree, so close she could look
into Mother Chippy's eyes, and the trustful bird never stirred, but
just sat and looked back at her. "Isn't she tame?" the child cried, she
was so happy over it.
There was another Chippy's nest in an evergreen by the house, and when
the old birds were hunting for worms we used to feed the nestlings
bread crumbs. They didn't mind the bread not being worms so long as it
was something to eat. It would have made you laugh to see how wide they
opened their bills! It seemed as if the crumbs could drop clear down
to their boots! Wouldn't you like to feed a little family like that
sometime?
A Prize Offered
We want the boys and girls who read Bird-Lore to feel that they have a
share in making the journal interesting. Young eyes are keen and eager
when their owner's attention is aroused; so we ask the attention of
every reader of Bird-Lore of fourteen years or under to the following
offer: To the one sending us the best account of a February walk we
will give a year's subscription to this journal. The account should
contain 250 to 300 words, and should describe the experiences of a walk
in the country or some large park, with particular reference to the
birds observed.
=Notes from Field and Study=
An Accomplished House Sparrow
In June, six or seven years ago, my daughters found in the courtyard
of our home, a young House or English Sparrow who had evidently fallen
from the nest, and had broken its leg in the fall. They took it in and
cared for it, binding up the injured limb and feeding it as experience
with other birds of the same family had taught them to do. Happily, the
bird recovered, and in a short time became quite a pet of the household.
At that time we had two Canary Birds, both beautiful singers, and in
almost constant song. The Sparrow was in the same room with them, and
very soon (making use of its imitative power, which we have observed is
a strong characteristic of the Sparrow) acquired the full and complete
song of the Canaries. We followed with much pleasure the unfolding of
his musical ability, which was gradual, and found that he had surpassed
his teachers, producing melodies much richer and stronger, as all who
had the pleasure of listening to him freely admitted.
The bird retained his song to the last, although as age came upon him,
as with all other pet birds, his singing was less and less frequent
till he passed away, some few months ago. Besides imitating the song
of the Canary, he acquired the song of a bird in our collection known
as the 'Strawberry Finch,' which he gave perfectly. His plumage was
greatly improved by his confinement and the very great care given him,
so much so, that one almost doubted his being an English Sparrow till
convinced upon closer examination.
We have had a large experience with these birds; they become very
affectionate with petting, and show a wonderful degree of intelligence.
I would further say that our Sparrow had all the notes common to the
English Sparrow, beside his acquired accomplishments, and there was
sadness in our home when his little life went out.--John L. Royael,
_Brooklyn, N. Y._
A Nut-hatching Nuthatch
On October 14, 1898, while on a short visit to my old home, at New
Baltimore, New York, I sat down near a clump of trees and shrubs to
enjoy the bird-life so abundant there.
[Illustration: ACORN WEDGED IN BARK BY WHITE-BREASTED NUTHATCH
Photographed from Nature, by E. B. Southwick]
Here I saw the Chickadee carefully examining the fruit-heads of the
smooth sumach, and twice take from them a mass of spider-web; then,
flying to a limb, dissect it and obtain from it the mass of young or
eggs. It was with difficulty that the food was disentangled from the
silk, and I found on examination that much of it had been so crushed,
that it was impossible to determine whether the web contained eggs or
young.
While thus engaged, I saw a White-breasted Nuthatch, with something in
its beak, alight on the trunk of a wild cherry tree. While running
about over the bark, the bird dropped what proved to be an acorn, but
immediately flew down and picked it from the long grass, and returned
to the tree. A second time it dropped it, and then, after carrying
it again to the tree, thrust it into a crevice in the bark with
considerable force, and began to peck at it vigorously. This it did for
a few seconds, when I jumped up quickly and, with wild gesticulations,
frightened it away. It proved to be the acorn of the pin Oak (_Quercus
palustris_), and as no fruiting tree of this species was nearer than
the Island, in the river opposite, I concluded that the bird had
carried it across the water from that point.
After photographing the acorn on the tree, I cut the section of bark
off, glued the acorn in its cavity, and the photograph shows the
result.--E. B. Southwick, _New York City_.
A Cover Design
[Illustration]
This interesting sketch was contributed by a prominent ornithologist
as an appropriate cover design for this magazine at a time when it
was proposed to call it "The Bird World." The appearance of a book
bearing this title renders it necessary for us to abandon its use, but
we do not, for the same reason, feel justified in depriving the world
of this remarkably artistic effort, and therefore present it for the
edification of our readers, and we trust, to the delight of its author!
Collecting a Brown Thrasher's Song
Rustler, my pet Brown Thrasher, was pouring out his loud, long, spring
song. A phonograph, or rather a graphophone, had been left on a table
by the cage. Everything seemed to favor the collection of a bird song.
I placed the instrument so that the open funnel of the horn came within
less than a foot of the Thrasher's swelling throat, and touching a
lever, set the wax cylinder revolving below a sapphire-tipped style,
which cut the bird notes into the wax. Just as the medley changed
from that of a Catbird to that of a Wood Thrush, a Robin flew past
the window. Rustler stopped short, but the style continued to cut and
ruin the wax cylinder. When Rustler started in again he hopped to the
opposite side of the cage, rudely turning his back upon the graphophone.
More than a little vexed at the perversity of dumb animals, I quickly
covered over the end of the cage farthest from the graphophone; then
Rustler sulked beneath the cloth in silence. Next I removed the perch
from that side and then Rustler absolutely refused to sing any more.
Some hours later, however, I made another attempt, but each time the
graphophone was started the whir of the revolving cylinder cut short
my Thrasher's rich, rippling notes, so that the only thing to do was
to remove the recording style and accustom him to the noise of the
cylinder, and when this had been accomplished, I replaced the recording
style. I found that by shutting off the graphophone the instant
Rustler's notes became weak or stopped, I could catch a continuous
series of notes. I succeeded the following morning in getting a pretty
fair song. It was not so loud as it might have been, but in pitch and
timbre it was perfect.
In September dear old Rustler died. For nine long years he had
enlivened my northern New Jersey home with his cheery music. In
November, at a meeting of the American Ornithologists' Union, the notes
of Rustler's love song fell sweetly upon sympathetic ears.--Sylvester
D. Judd, Ph. D., _Washington, D. C._
=Book News and Reviews=
With Nature and a Camera. By Richard Kearton, F. Z. S. Illustrated by
180 Pictures from Photographs by Cherry Kearton. Cassell & Co.,
London, Paris and Melbourne [New York, East 18th St.], 1898. 8vo.
Pages xvi + 368. Price, $5.
Authors may or may not be indebted to reviewers of their works, but it
is not often that reviewers are under obligations to the authors of
the works they review. In the present instance, however, we feel that
we must express our gratitude to the Messrs. Kearton for furnishing us
with such an admirable demonstration of the kind of ornithology for
which this journal stands. If, following the same lines, we can bring
Bird-Lore to the high standard reached in 'With Nature and a Camera,'
we shall have nearly approached our ideal.
Briefly, this book is a record of observation and photography by two
ornithologists in Great Britain. Doubtless, no birds in the world
have been more written about than the birds of this region, and still
this book is filled with fresh and original matter, which is always
interesting, and often of real scientific value.
Asked to explain how it was that in such a well-worked field the
author of this volume had succeeded in securing so much new material,
we should reply that we believed it was because he was an observer
rather than a collector. Apparently realizing that to collect specimens
of British birds would add but little to the store of our knowledge
concerning them, he has devoted his time to a study of their habits,
and in presenting the results of his labors, he has been most ably
seconded by his brother, whose photographs of birds in nature have not,
so far as we know, been excelled.
Perhaps the most forcible lesson taught by this book is the pleasure
to be derived from photographing wild birds in nature, and the
surprisingly good results which may be achieved by patient, intelligent
effort. We do not recall a more adequately illustrated nature book, and
its pictures not only claim our admiration because of their beauty, but
also because they carry with them an assurance of fidelity to nature
which no artist's pencil can inspire.
Bird Gods. By Charles de Kay. With decorations by George Wharton
Edwards. A. S. Barnes & Co., New York. 12mo, pages xix + 249.
Price, $2.
So singular a combination of ornithologist and mythologist is the
author of 'Bird Gods' that students of birds, as well as of myths, will
find his pages of interest. "Why," he asks himself, "should certain
birds have been allotted to certain gods and goddesses in the Greek and
Roman mythology? Why should the Eagle go with Zeus, the Peacock with
Hera, the Dove with Venus, the Swan with Apollo, the Woodpecker with
Ares, the Owl with Pallas Athené?" And his search for a reply to these
questions has led him into many little-frequented by-paths of early
European literature, in which he has found much curious information
concerning the influence of birds on primitive religions. Impressed by
the "share birds have had in the making of myth, religion, poetry and
legend" he wonders at their wholesale destruction to-day, and ventures
the hope that "recollection of what our ancestors thought of birds and
beasts, of how at one time they prized and idealized them, may induce
in us, their descendants, some shame at the extermination to which we
are consigning these lovable but helpless creatures, for temporary
gains or sheer brutal love of slaughter."
Birds of Washington and Vicinity. By Mrs. L. W. Maynard, with
Introduction by Florence A. Merriam. Washington, D. C., 1898. 12
mo, pages 204. Cuts in the text, 18. Price, 85 cents.