Give each player a slip of paper on which he must write the birds’
names. Also the number of times the word bird and birds’ names occur.
The correct number to find is seventy-six.
Time allowed is six minutes.
The slip should be headed Bird Test.
One day while walking along a grassy lane conspicuously edged with
blackberry bushes, my attention was riveted by the song of a bird, a
sort of up and down warble, and in the branches of a maple tree near,
I saw a red-eyed viero, and not far off, quietly looking towards the
singer, was such a pretty warbler, another greenlet, the white-eyed
viero.
Listening to the red-eye, the viero’s warble grew less and less
distinct as the distance lengthened between us. The warbler warbled
the same sweet song, but my ear was less able to catch the warbling
warbler’s notes, and soon the greenlet, the viero, the musical,
silver-tongued warbler, warbled for me all in vain.
But as I walked I thought how rarely that we meet people who are
indifferent to birds, and how desolate our lanes, woods and gardens
would be without them. And how much beauty is added to bushes, flowers,
and trees, if a singing bird rests on them long enough for us to
listen to his song. And then I named over some favorite birds. The
meadow lark, blue jay, Carolina wren, wood thrush, robin, swallow.
But suddenly I heard “Me-au, me-au,” as if a cat was near. I stood
just where I was, to discover the creature. My thought of birds gave a
thought of protection. A moment later and I laughed aloud, for flying
over my head was the jolly song-bird, called cat-bird, who has a bad
habit of mewing. But the sunshine seemed pleasant company for him; for
watching the cat-bird’s movements I saw him alight on a tree close by,
and with a hop and a skip go from limb to limb.
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, and again on the alert, my eyes were
almost strained, this time in effort to follow the sad cry, looking
everywhere for whip-poor-will. When what a pleasant surprise, to learn
that whip-poor-will was none other than the brilliantly colored mocking
bird, whose fancy had dictated the whip-poor-will’s melancholy notes
and now whizzed close to me, to nestle on the blackberry blossoms a few
steps beyond.
Then walking on I thought of the many birds about us, the brown
thrasher, and white-throated sparrow, the tree sparrow, the bank and
barn swallows, and the sociable sparrow, dear little chippy, and of
what I had read about fly-catchers and veerys, and the crested titmouse
who gleefully shouts in the wildest winds, “T’ sweet here! t’ sweet
here!”
My walk by this time was hurried into a run, and I caught my foot into
some poor bird’s nest that was hidden in the long grass, and I almost
fell, but being glad I had not tripped over a rut-runner, I thought of
the quotation, “Runs like the kill-deer up the rut,” and a warbler near
sang so cheerily that I forgot my accident and soon reached the creek
towards which I was hastening. When who should come first to greet me
but a yellow-billed cuckoo. And thus my mind dwelt on other birds that
liked creeks and lakes, such as the kingfisher, and on the instant I
heard the report of a gun, and sure enough one of these birds had just
been shot. I knew this because of the excitement of a group of gunners.
Poor bird! How many birds’ lives end in a similar way. The cardinal
grosbeak and the myrtle bird, a greenlet in color, we fancy myrtle
suggests greenlet, the snow-buntings, horned larks, golden-crowned
kinglet and vesper sparrows, the red-polls and crossbills, the plovers,
the golden herons, night-herons, sandpipers, coots, hawks, geese, and
swans,—all are marks for the hunter.
And then I thought, Oh, if I could fly over this clapper-rail ahead of
me! It is so very stupid to keep my feet on the earth. How jolly to
flap my wings to the Lapland long-spur. I would visit the raven and all
the rest of the feathered family on the way.
But my walk had ended and such a pretty warbler warmly welcomed me
home,—my golden-hued, night-singing canary.