migratory instinct prevailed over ease, indulgence, friendship, and
the Cardinal with his brood left the house where he had been so well
entertained, to return no more. No more? Who shall say of any novel
that it can have no sequel? Massachusetts may yet become the permanent
home of the Kentucky Cardinal, the descendant to the third and fourth
generation of Louis and his mate.
A Catbird Study
BY DR. THOS. S. ROBERTS
Director Department of Birds, Natural History Survey of Minnesota.
With Photographs from nature by the Author.
[Illustration: CATBIRD AND NEST]
The subjects of this sketch had located their bark- and
root-lined nest of coarse sticks, four feet from the ground, in a
little oak bush surrounded by brakes, sunflowers, and hazel. Instead
of being, as usual, in the midst of a dense, and, therefore, dark
thicket, this nest was quite in the open, shaded by only a few
overhanging, leafy branches of small size. Its exceptionally favorable
location and the apparent tameness of the birds suggested an attempt
at avian photography, and the undertaking was entered upon at once, a
very considerable fund of interest and enthusiasm having to take the
place of any special previous experience in this line of work. After
clearing away a little of the overhanging and intervening vegetation,
the camera was placed with the lens not more than two feet from the
nest, this being necessary in order to secure an image of the desired
size with the short focus lens at hand (a B. and L. Zeiss Anastigmat,
Series II A, 6-1/2 × 4-1/4, focal length 5-3/8 inches). Fifty feet
of rubber tubing, a large bulb, and a field-glass made it possible
to watch developments and carry on operations from a safe distance.
But, although the camera was nearly concealed with ferns and leaves,
this day's proceedings were not rewarded with much success. The birds
proved exasperatingly timid, and returned only after prolonged waits,
to disappear instanter on the click of the shutter (a B. and L.
iris diaphragm shutter). So we left the field, not disheartened but
bent upon improving our paraphernalia. A day or two later found the
camera again in position, but this time with tripod green-painted and
the whole unsightly top enveloped in a green hood with only a small
aperture for the lens. This ruse succeeded fairly well, and during the
three or four hours that the light was good on this day, and during a
like period on a subsequent day, a number of exposures were made that
resulted in an interesting series of negatives, giving good prints and
still better lantern slides.
[Illustration: CATBIRD ON NEST]
Only one of several time-exposures turned out perfect. It is here
presented, not only as the prize picture of some three hundred
negatives made during the summer of 1898, but as the sole and only
entirely satisfactory outcome of some twelve or fourteen hours' work.
=For Teachers and Students=
On the Ethics of Caging Birds
BY OLIVE THORNE MILLER
[Illustration]
Before saying a few words on this subject, I should like to define my
position. With all my heart do I disapprove of caging wild birds. I
never had, and never shall have, the liberty of one bird interfered
with for my pleasure or study, and if I had the power to prevent it,
not one should ever be caged. Especially do I regard it as cruel in the
extreme to confine an adult bird, accustomed to freedom and able to
take care of himself.
The question of "rights" we will not enter upon here, further than to
say that our moral right to capture wild creatures for our own use or
pleasure is the same in the case of birds as of other animals--horses,
for example.
But birds _are_ caged, and we must deal with circumstances as we find
them. If a bird-lover should worry and fret himself to death, he could
not put an end to their captivity. So it would appear to be the part
of wisdom to see if there are not mitigating circumstances, which may
comfort, and perhaps, in a slight degree, even reconcile one to their
imprisonment.
The case of Canaries is different from that of all others. Hatched in
cages, descended from caged ancestry, and accustomed to be cared for by
people, they know no other life, and are utterly unfitted for freedom.
So far from being a kindness to set one of these birds free, it is
absolute cruelty. It is like turning a child, accustomed to a luxurious
life, into the streets, to pick up a living for himself.
But a young bird, taken from the nest before he has learned the use of
his wings, I believe, can be made perfectly contented and happy in a
house--_if he is properly cared for!_
It is unfortunately true that not one in a thousand _is_ properly cared
for, but we are not considering the shortcomings of people. At this
moment we are considering the possibility of making a bird's life happy.
For several years I kept birds in captivity, and closely studied their
ways and their characters, and I say, without hesitation, that most
birds can be made so contented and happy that they will prefer their
captivity, with its several advantages, to freedom without them. The
advantages of captivity to a bird are three; viz., abundant food
supply, protection from enemies, ease of life--without labor or concern
about weather.
The conditions, therefore, necessary to his happiness are:
Never-failing care as to his physical comforts--such as a proper
situation of the cage,--neither in the hot sunshine nor in a draught;
fresh and perfect food, with variety; plenty of fresh water; suitable
and regular bath, etc. And secondly--though perhaps it should be first,
as it is most important--treatment as if he were a sentient being,
instead of a piece of furniture; talking to him, taking notice of him,
making a companion and friend of him. And thirdly, the freedom of a
room, at least part of every day.
Under these conditions, as I know from close and sympathetic
observation, our little brothers can be made so happy, that, as I
said, many of them will not accept their liberty. They choose between
freedom, with hard labor and many anxieties, and comfortable captivity,
with ease and security, and many decide--as do many of the human
family--for the former.
There is another reason why I have become partially tolerant of the
caging of birds. What first influenced me was the fact that every
individual rescued from the discomforts of a bird store, where they are
seldom well cared for and never cherished, is greatly benefitted, and I
felt that to be a work of charity.
But there is one strong argument in favor of the custom. That is,
their great value as a means of educating children. Nothing is more
important than the training of our youth in humanity and respect for
the rights of others. And in no way can this be so well accomplished
as by giving to them the care of pets. By investigation of prisons and
reform schools, it has been amply proved that nothing so surely keeps
a boy from falling into a criminal life as the care of and kindness to
the lower orders. The daily care of a pet bird is a daily lesson in
altruism which never fails to bear fruit.
In those precious first years of the child's life, when the mother
has the power of instilling lessons that will be a part of him,--the
most indelible he will ever receive,--if she takes a little pains to
do so she can implant, with the love of creatures dependent upon him,
qualities that will go far to make him a true, manly man.
While these considerations do not, perhaps, make it right to deprive a
fellow creature of his liberty, they do furnish a little consolation
to those who love humanity as well as birds. At the same time I must
admit, that of all pitiful sights on earth, that of a neglected captive
is one of the most heartrending.
A May Morning
BY FRED. H. KENNARD
[Illustration]
There is a bird pasture, as I call it, about a half hour's ride from
Boston, and thither I went on May 30, 1898, to see if I could find the
nest of a White-eyed Vireo that I had often hunted for in years gone
by, but never yet succeeded in finding.
This bird pasture, on one side of which runs the road, consists of
eight or ten acres of old, wet pasture land on a hillside surrounded
on two other sides by fields and an orchard, and immediately above a
marsh in which the sedges and grasses grow luxuriantly, and which is
bordered by alders, birches and other swamp-loving trees. The pasture
itself is very wet in one portion, and has been overgrown with birch,
alders, oak and tangles of grapevines, wait-a-bits, poison ivy, etc.
In another part it is more open, and is more sparsely covered with red
cedars and white pines, while the ground is dotted with wild roses and
hard-hack, interspersed with clumps of alders. This combination of hill
and marsh, field and orchard, cover and open, as well as evergreen and
deciduous growth, makes it an ideal place for birds and their breeding;
and one that is hard to duplicate in any locality, combining also woods
and civilization as it does, for there are houses and barns in the
immediate vicinity. You probably cannot duplicate this pasture, but
those of you who love birds, and who can find any spot approximating
this in conditions, would do well to appropriate it, metaphorically
speaking, as I have this.
But to return to the birds--I thought I would carefully note all those
I saw or heard in the course of a short hour I had to spare, and with
the following results: As I took down the bars in order to take my
bicycle into the pasture, a Baltimore Oriole was singing on top of an
elm close by, and I have no doubt that its mate was sitting on the nest
that hung pendent from the next tree. A Catbird slunk off into the
bushes to the right of me, from a thicket in which she last year raised
a brood; and, while chaining my wheel, I heard the glorious notes of a
Brown Thrasher singing, a little way off, on the top of a tall white
oak. Several Red-eyed Vireos were there too, their steady, rippling
song forming a soft accompaniment to the more conspicuous notes of
the other feathered songsters. Next, I flushed a Quail, and, while
watching its flight, I almost stepped on two more, which got up from
the under-brush at my feet.
I started in now on my hunt for the White-eye's nest, and for some
time was so absorbed in that, and in listening for its expected song,
that there was no time to make notes of the other birds heard, except
that of a Wood Thrush, whose nest contained four eggs, and was saddled
on the crotch of a grape-vine, where it crossed through the crotch of
an alder.
To make a long story short, I did not find the Vireos, or even hear
them, though for several years they had lived here throughout the
summer. I finally went out into an open space, lighted a pipe as a
mosquito preventive, and, seating myself on the soft side of a boulder,
put down the names of the birds whose notes I could hear.
Below me, in the swamp, the most prominent notes were the 'concarees'
of the Red-winged Blackbirds, while between them could be heard the
songs of several Swamp Sparrows. Close beside me were a Chestnut-sided
and a Golden-winged Warbler, both seemingly much disturbed by my
presence, while just as near was a Maryland Yellow-throat, an old
friend of mine, who did not seem to care whether I was there or not.
This same friend is rather a curiosity, for, although his species
usually build in or about the marshes or swamps, he always prefers the
hillside, and I last year found his nest within forty feet of where I
sat, and several hundred feet away from and above the swamp.
A few Cedar Birds were whispering from the tops of a couple of red
cedars about fifty yards away, and I could hear a Yellow Warbler on the
other side of the open space, where he sang, apparently for the benefit
of a near-by barberry bush.
A Wood Pewee was uttering his plaintive note from the orchard
immediately back of me; while just back of that, in the field by the
top of the hill, could be heard the rollicking notes of a Bobolink and
the occasional call of a Meadow Lark. While writing my notes, some kind
of a large Hawk, which flew so fast that identification was impossible,
but which I guessed to be a Cooper's Hawk, went off rapidly across the
marsh, pursued by a pair of vociferous Kingbirds; and, as I watched
them, I could see numbers of Chimney Swifts, from the neighboring
chimneys, and Barn Swallows, from a barn close by, coursing about above
the marsh after the insects that there abound, the Swallows low down
and the Swifts above. While watching the Swallows, two Crows came out
of the wood on the opposite side of the marsh, and flew, cawing, across
and off into the distance; and a little Green Heron, who, like all
fishermen, prefers quiet, flew off in another direction.
Down towards the edge of the swamp, in the outlying thicket, a Song
Sparrow was singing, while, close by, a magnificent Rose-breasted
Grosbeak, which every year builds in the birches which grow in these
thickets, was warbling his incomparable song. At first he had been
giving vent to his very unmusical call of alarm, but, becoming used
to my presence, and concluding that I meant no harm, he joined in the
concert.
Off to one side, among the more scrubby deciduous growth, I could hear,
and sometimes see, a Redstart, while the _tse-tse-tse_-ing of the
Black-poll Warblers, which were migrating northwards, could be heard
intermittently. Two Quails were now calling loudly for Bob-White, or
Rob-ert-White, as their fancy dictated, and in the confusing medley I
could make out the modest notes of a Black and White Warbler, which had
for years nested somewhere in this pasture. Behind me, at the top of
the hill, I could also hear the clear, cheery notes of a Field Sparrow,
which always builds there.
Being limited as to time, and having already heard twenty-eight kinds
of birds in the short space of about twenty minutes, and from one
place, I started to depart, but even as I did so I heard the notes of
another bird coming across the marsh, that of the Black-billed Cuckoo,
and just as I was again taking down the bars to get out into the
street, what should I hear, loud, clear and distinct, but the song of
that plaguey little White-eyed Vireo, a song seemingly of thanksgiving
that I was really going and that he had eluded me so well. I then
reluctantly mounted my bicycle, but was forced to get off, to add two
more birds to my increasing list; viz., a Cowbird, which was sitting on
the fence opposite, and a pair of Yellow-throated Vireos, the female of
which had evidently but just left her nest for a lunch, while the male
followed twittering and whispering close by, stopping his song until
she should have resumed her duties of incubation.
I had now seen thirty-two different species of birds in the short space
of about twenty-five minutes' actual time spent in observation, after
deducting the time spent in hunting the Vireo's nest, and departed
for home well content, even though I knew I had seen only about
three-fifths of the varieties of birds that are often to be found in
the immediate vicinity.
On a previous occasion, when I had been lucky enough to be able to
spend a whole morning in this pasture, I had seen forty-four different
species, nineteen of which I had not seen to-day, and which, added
to the thirty-two noted above, make a total of fifty-one species. Of
these, there were only five that were merely occasional visitors.
Of the remainder, I have found direct evidence of the breeding of
thirty-two species, while on various accounts I feel sure that fourteen
others breed there, although I have never actually found their nests.
=For Young Observers=
A February Walk (Prize Essay)
By Mildred A. Robinson
(Aged 14 years)
[Illustration]
We had planned to walk over to the pond to see if the recent thaw had
spoiled the skating. As we passed the foot of the hill, the little
brook splashed and tumbled down from its icy framework, eddying around
the brown goldenrod stalks, and then rushed on at topmost speed across
the opposite meadow.
We were standing on the little bridge, watching the ever fascinating
current, when an odd bird-note called our attention to a little
gray-backed, white-breasted bird who was running up and down a
neighboring tree.
All thoughts of skating instantly vanished from our minds; we climbed
the fence, and in a moment more were noiselessly following our
obstinate little bird, who would keep so high up in the tree-tops that
it was almost impossible to see anything but his breast.
Finally, he descended, head downward, along one of the lower branches
of the tree, and we saw that it was a White-breasted Nuthatch.
Evidently he thought he had stayed quite long enough for examination,
so, after a few parting pecks at the rough bark, trying to secure one
more hidden insect, he flew off.
We were slowly following the course of the little stream, when suddenly
a great rustle of the dead leaves near the water's edge caused us to
pause and listen. All was silent, with the exception of a few distant
Chickadees, then, with a whir and a clatter, we saw a bushy tail
disappear into the thicket; a moment more and out came a beautiful gray
squirrel. Like a flash he was up the tree, jumping from limb to limb,
frisking about in the sunshine, then down onto the ground again, and
away. His visit was even shorter than that of the Nuthatch, but not
less enjoyable.
And now, where were those noisy little Chickadees who had been calling
to us from the alder bushes for the last half-hour? It was easy enough
to find these confiding little creatures; they were feeding on the
ground, and seemed quite unconcerned at our presence, although we
approached very near to them. One little fellow seemed to be asleep;
he sat all puffed up on one of the alder branches, but as I came nearer
to him I could see that his bright little eye was on me, and at the
next step he flew away.
It was now late in the afternoon, and, as we looked toward the west,
the last rays of the sun were just tinting the distant hills with a
mellow, golden hue; the birds had flown away, leaving the woods silent,
so we reluctantly turned our footsteps towards home.
[Illustration: ROBIN ON NEST
Photographed from nature by T. S. Hankinson]
Robin Rejoice
BY GARRETT NEWKIRK
Among the first of the spring,
The notes of the Robin ring;
With flute-like voice,
He calls "Rejoice,
For I am coming to sing!"
To any one gloomy or sad,
He says, "Be glad! be glad!
Look on the bright side,
'Tis aye the right side;
The world is good, not bad."
At daybreak in June we hear
His melody, strong and clear:
"Cheer up, be merry,
I've found a cherry;
'Tis a glorious time of the year!"
=Notes from Field and Study=
Inquisitive Magpies
I was collecting specimens of natural history in the northern part of
the state of Washington, a few miles from the Canadian border. At the
time the incident which I am about to relate occurred I was stopping at
a ranch at the southern end of Okanagan lake.
The owner of the building was cramped for room, so, as it was during
the heat of the summer, I spent the nights rolled up in my blankets
under a haystack. One morning, as the sun was rising, I was awakened
by shadows crossing my face, and opening my eyes saw a flock, possibly
a family, of Magpies perched on the stack and ends of poles that had
been thrown over it to keep the hay from blowing away. I watched them
as they peered inquisitively at me from their perches, until finally
one flew to the ground, then another and another, until at last several
were gathered about me, but a few feet away. I lay on my side, with my
arms under the blankets, and watched their actions. At last one jumped
on the blankets at my feet. I could feel him hopping slowly upward.
I did not move for fear of frightening him. Finally he reached my
shoulder, and, after perching there a few seconds, flew to my cheek.
I closed my eyes slowly, fearing he might peck them. After testing my
cheek lightly with his bill, he began to get in some uncomfortably
heavy blows, so I thought it time to stop him. Without opening my
eyes, or moving, I said in a low tone. "Here! Here! That will do!"
He hesitated, as if to make sure his ears had not deceived him, and
then flew to the stack. Another took his place, after working up in
the same manner; he was quietly asked to move on. When the next one
hopped on the blankets, I slowly raised my hand under them, making a
tempting elevation, of which he was not slow to take advantage. He
lighted squarely in the palm of my hand, which I closed at once, and
held him prisoner. With the other hand I caught him by the legs from
the outside, whereupon he flopped his wings, cried out with anger, and
pecked at my wrist savagely. The remainder of the flock, which, in the
meantime, had flown to the haystack, scolded and jabbered away at a
great rate.
Evidently they had taken me for a corpse, but I think it was the
liveliest one they ever saw.--J. Alden Loring, _Owego, N. Y._
Songs of Birds
The songs of birds have attracted a good deal of attention in recent
years, and observation seems to confirm the theory that each generation
of birds learns the song characteristics of its species by association
with its own kind.
This fact was brought quite clearly to my mind several years ago,
when in a western town I was taken to a neighbor's to see his birds.
Four cages swung in the shelter of a commodious porch. One contained
a Red-winged Blackbird, that had been taken from its nest when very
young, and brought up by hand. His associates were a Canary, a Blue Jay
and an Oriole. The Canary had been purchased at a bird store, and had
there learned its song. The Blue Jay and Oriole had been taken from
neighboring nests, and had, no doubt, picked up the characteristic
notes of their species from the many other members of their kind that
inhabited the vicinity, but it was many miles to the nearest swamp or
low land where one might find a Red-winged Blackbird. This Red-wing had
learned perfectly the notes of his caged companions, and had picked up
some notes of other birds in the neighborhood, but not one note of the
Red-winged Blackbird did he know.--Frank E. Horack, _Iowa City, Ia._
=Book News and Reviews=
Birds. By A. H. Evans, M.A. The Cambridge Natural History, Vol.
IX. London: Macmillan and Co., Limited. New York: The Macmillan
Company. 1899. 8vo, pages xvi + 635. Numerous woodcuts in text.
Price, $3.50.
The author of this compact volume has essayed what he himself
recognizes as the "difficult and apparently unattempted task of
including in some six hundred pages a short description of the majority
of the forms in many of the families, and of the most typical or
important of the innumerable species included in the large Passerine
order."
The book opens with a "Scheme of the Classification Adopted," based
on the system proposed by Gadow, in which the _Archæopteryx_ stands
at the bottom of the list, followed by the Ostriches, Rheas, and
other struthious birds, while the Finches are placed at the top. An
introduction of twenty-two pages treats of feathers, color, the molt,
the skeleton, digestive organs, etc., classification, terminology,
geographical variations, and migration, the handling of the last two
subjects being far from satisfactory.
The remainder of the book is devoted to a consideration of the birds
of the world. The matter is selected with excellent judgment and is
admirably put together, the text having an originality and freshness
not often found in compilations. The author, however, is handicapped
by lack of space, and, except in monotypic families, is, as a rule,
obliged to generalize to such an extent that the seeker for information
concerning certain species will usually find only the characteristic
habits of its family given. But if the author has not achieved
entire success, he has, perhaps, more nearly approached it than any
of his predecessors, and in his work we have for the first time an
authoritative handbook of the birds of the world, which is sold at a
low enough price to be within the reach of every student.
The illustrations, with the exception of a comparatively few, which
were taken from duly credited sources, are by Mr. G. E. Lodge, who, at
his best, is, in our opinion, one of the foremost of bird artists.--F.
M. C.
The Feeding Habit of the Chipping Sparrow, and the Winter Food
of the Chickadee. By Clarence M. Weed, New Hampshire College,
Agricultural Experiment Station.