Part 21

BY FRANK M. CHAPMAN

After seeing Dr. Roberts' interesting Chickadee photographs, published in the first number of Bird-Lore, my ambition was aroused to discover a nest of this species so situated as to afford an opportunity to secure equally charming pictures of Chickadee life. Late in May the desire was gratified by the discovery, at Englewood, N. J., of a Chickadee's nest in a white birch stub, about four feet from the ground, a height admirably suited to the needs of bird photography.

I will not here present the results of my study of the parent birds during their period of incubation, but will pass at once to that part of my experience which relates to their progeny.

Returning to the nest on June 12th, nothing was to be seen of either parent, and I feared that they or their offspring had fallen victims to the countless dangers which beset nesting birds and their young. Looking about for some clue to their fate, I found on the ground, near the nest-stub, the worn tail-feathers of the female bird. The molting season had not yet arrived, nor would she have shed all these feathers at the same moment. There could, therefore, be only one interpretation of their presence. Some foe, probably a Sharp-shinned or Cooper's Hawk, since the predaceous mammals for the most part hunt at night when the Chickadee would be snugly sleeping in her nest, had made a dash and grasped her by the tail, which she had sacrificed in escaping. A moment later the theory was supported by the appearance of a subdued looking Chickadee, _sans_ tail, and I congratulated her on her fortunate exchange of life for a member which of late had not been very decorative and of which, in any event, nature would have soon deprived her.

The young proved to be nearly ready to fly, and carefully removing the front of their log-cabin, a sight was disclosed such as mortal probably never beheld before, and Chickadee but rarely.

Six black and white heads were raised and six yellow-lined mouths opened in expressive appeal for food. But this was not all; there was another layer of Chickadees below, how many it was impossible to say without disentangling a compact wad of birds in which the outlines of no one bird could be distinguished. So I built a piazza, as it were, at the Chickadee threshold, in the shape of a perch of proper size, and beneath, as a life-net, spread a piece of mosquito-bar. Then I proceeded to individualize the ball of feathers; one, two, three, to seven were counted without undue surprise, but when an eighth and ninth were added, I marvelled at the energy which had supplied so many mouths with food, and at the same time wondered how many caterpillars had been devoured by this one family of birds.

Not less remarkable than the number of young--and no book I have consulted records so large a brood--was their condition. Not only did they all appear lusty, but they seemed to be about equally developed, the slight difference in strength and size which existed being easily attributable to a difference in age, some interval, doubtless, having elapsed between the hatching of the first and last egg.

This fact would have been of interest had the birds inhabited an open nest, or a nest large enough for them all to have had an equal opportunity to receive food, but where only two-thirds of their number could be seen from above at once it seems remarkable, that, one or more failing to receive his share of food--and a very little neglect would have resulted fatally--had not been weakened in consequence and crushed to death by more fortunate members of the brood. Nor was their physical condition the only surprising thing about the members of this Chickadee family; each individual was as clean as though he had been reared in a nest alone, and an examination of the nest showed that it would have been passed as perfect by the most scrupulous sanitary inspector. It was composed of firmly padded rabbit's fur, and except for the sheaths worn off the growing feathers of the young birds, was absolutely clean. Later I observed that the excreta of the young were enclosed in membranous sacs, which enabled the parents to readily remove them from the nest.

The last bird having been placed in the net, I attempted to pose them in a row on the perch before their door. The task reminded me of almost forgotten efforts at building card houses which, when nearly completed, would be brought to ruin by an ill-placed card. How many times each Chickadee tumbled or fluttered from his perch I cannot say. The soft, elastic net spread beneath them preserved them from injury, and bird after bird was returned to his place so little worse for his fall that he was quite ready to try it again. On several occasions eight birds were induced to take the positions assigned them, then in assisting the ninth to his allotted place the balance of the birds on either side would be disturbed and down into the net they would go.

These difficulties, however, could be overcome, but not so the failure of the light at the critical time, making it necessary to expose with a wide open lens at the loss of a depth of focus.

The picture presented, therefore, does not do the subject justice. Nor can it tell of the pleasure with which each fledgling for the first time stretched its wings and legs to their full extent and preened its plumage with before unknown freedom.

At the same time, they uttered a satisfied little _dee-dee-dee_, in quaint imitation of their elders. When I whistled their well-known _phe-be_ note they were at once on the alert, and evidently expected to be fed.

The birds were within two or three days of leaving the nest, and the sitting over, came the problem of returning the flock to a cavity barely two inches in diameter, the bottom of which was almost filled by one bird.

I at once confess a failure to restore anything like the condition in which they were found, and when the front of their dwelling was replaced Chickadees were overflowing at the door. If their healthfulness had not belied the thought, I should have supposed it impossible for them to exist in such close quarters.

A few days later I found their home deserted, and as no other pair of Chickadees was known to nest in the vicinity, I imagine them to compose a troop of birds I sometimes meet in the neighborhood.

Richardson's Owl

BY P. B. PEABODY

With photographs from nature by the author

ON the thirteenth of April last, at Hallock, Minn., while afield in the morning after Migration Report data, I stumbled suddenly upon a Richardson's Owl, in a willow bush, four feet up, on a brush-land side-hill, two hundred yards above the river. A strong wind was blowing, and kept the willow stems a-swaying and the feathers fluttering, while the dullness of an overcast sky made quick exposures impossible. Nevertheless, I hurried home, a mile away, and returned with camera and plates,--'Crown' and 'Stanley.' The bird was still _in situ_, and leaning, as before, against the upright stem nearest him, as a brace against the wind. With stop 16, or a little larger, and time 1/5 to 1/2 second, both according to the conditions of wind and sky, eight exposures were made, beginning at five feet distance, and with waits for lulls in the wind. The bird seemed fearless, but I dared not try to put him on the alert, nor cause him to open his eyes. The eighth exposure was made at about two feet, the camera leisurely dismounted, and the bird then quietly caught about the back, with the left hand, while his attention was distracted with the right.

The little captive showed no fight nor did he try to escape so long as I held him by the feet, in an upright position. But when his body was clasped he would struggle vigorously. With all the handling I gave him in taking weights and measures, the only wounding he caused my hands was made in his attempts to secure a better grasp of my holding hand. While not actually tame, from the first he showed ecstatic delight in my stroking of the feathers on the back of his head,--chirping delightedly during the process, with much the manner and voice of a chicken when tucked under the maternal wing.

While spending his first night of captivity in my study, pending careful examination, he dropped upon my book-cases several casts, which are still awaiting analysis. At noon of the second day he was placed in the garret, where he had a measure of darkness and plenty of wing room. Here he ate readily the heads of food that was left convenient, varying this occupation with the tearing to pieces of an old Cooper's Hawk skin. So far as I could judge, he ate only on alternate days.

During the eight days of his sojourn with me, no increase of tameness was shown; and he would fly when I came near, seeking the darkest cranny of the garret, scolding me often with the characteristic anger-note of all the smaller Hawks and Owls. Soon my captive found a permanent home in the family of the foster-father of Minnesota ornithology, where, I was soon informed, he became quickly domesticated,--eating bits of steak from a chop-stick, beheading English Sparrows with neat despatch, and drinking from a teaspoon.

=For Teachers and Students=

An 'Advisory Council'

It gives us unusual pleasure to announce a plan, the fulfilment of which, already assured, will, we believe, be of great assistance to bird students and exert an important influence on the increase in our knowledge of North American birds.

Realizing from a most fortunate experience how greatly the past-master in ornithology may aid the beginner, we have felt that it would be an admirable scheme to form an 'Advisory Council,' composed of leading ornithologists throughout the United States and Canada, who would consent to assist students by responding to their requests for information or advice, the student being thus brought into direct communication with an authority on the birds of his own region.

The response to our appeal has been most gratifying. Without exception the ornithologists whom we have addressed have cordially endorsed the proposed plan, and signified their willingness to coöperate with us in this effort to reach the isolated worker. Nearly every state in the Union and province in Canada has been heard from, and we expect in our next number to publish the names and addresses of the more than fifty prominent ornithologists who will form Bird-Lore's 'Advisory Council.'--Ed.

"Humanizing" the Birds

CAROLINE G. SOULE

IN the first number of Bird-Lore the author of 'Bird Studies for Children' says: "Most bird stories will interest them [children], especially if the birds are humanized for them by the teller of the tale." Humanizing, in this connection, means endowing with human characteristics, and is a process much in vogue just now among writers of nature-study books and papers for the use of children and teachers. Let us see if it is worth doing--or even is justifiable.

Birds possess some characteristics or qualities which are also possessed by human beings, and by other animals. These qualities are not merely "human" then, but are common to many species of creatures. Since birds already have these qualities, there is no need of endowing them with them. To "humanize" the birds by ascribing to them human qualities which they do not and cannot possess, is only to misrepresent them, and stories which so humanize them are of no more value, as nature-study or bird-study, than so many fairy-tales. More than this--they are positively harmful because they give, as facts, statements about existing creatures which are not true. This is not bird-study; it is only telling stories which interest the children, and which have no value except in keeping them quiet. The children are not interested in the real birds, for they are not told about them. They are interested in the stories, invented for this end, about creatures which the story-teller _calls_ birds but which are only human characteristics draped on bird forms. Very slight changes would be needed to make the same stories fit any humanized animal. The real nature of the bird is left out of these humanized bird stories and the loss is very great, as always when truth is left out.

To tell of "Mr. and Mrs. Robin" is well enough, for the titles merely mean the male and female. To represent them as talking is well enough, for they certainly communicate with each other and their young, and putting their communications into human speech is merely translating them. But to represent them as uttering highly moral speeches is all wrong, for these are beyond the power of the birds. The moment that the story humanizes them in any such way it becomes of no value, because it is false to nature.

The humanizing process is lavishly applied to all sorts of creatures, even to plants.

For instance, in a very popular book occurs the following:--"And so the witch-hazel, knowing that neither boy nor girl, nor bird nor beast nor wind, will come to the rescue of its little ones, is obliged to take matters into its own hands, and this is what it does." This is an extreme case of humanizing. The writer states that this brainless plant _knows_ that its seeds will not be scattered by children, animals or wind. This implies that the plant is conscious of its seeds; that it realizes the importance of their distribution; that it knows what boys, girls, birds, animals and wind are; that it knows how the seeds of other plants are distributed; and that it plans a method of scattering its own seed! This is certainly more mental power than we are warranted in ascribing to a plant. But children are much interested in the story, and think the witch-hazel very clever to plan so ingenious a way of distributing its seeds. That it is not true does not trouble them, because they do not know it, and I can learn of very few teachers using this book, who have thought enough about the subjects treated to realize that they are so humanized as to be untrue to their own natures. I quote this as an instance of the lengths to which humanizing may be carried without discovery by the average reader.

Humanizing the creatures takes them out of their own place in Nature, by endowing them with powers higher than they can really possess. It sets aside all the laws of evolution, and is not only untrue to the nature of the individual, but to the principles which underlie all Nature. Young children are not ready for these general laws and principles, but it cannot be good pedagogics to give them ideas in direct contradiction to all those laws which must be taught them a little later, and which will at once prove the falseness of this earlier teaching.

"Interest" is not everything in teaching children. Truth counts for more in the long run, and, especially in Nature study, may be made quite as interesting as "humanization."

'On the Ethics of Caging Birds'

To the Editor of 'Bird-Lore:'

I thank you for offering me an opportunity to be heard in my own defense. But controversy is--if possible--more distasteful to me than injustice. Therefore, while it is painful to be misrepresented, I will answer my critics only by saying that they have entirely--I do not say wilfully--misunderstood me, and that no one who knows me could for an instant believe me guilty of "favoring" or "encouraging," the caging, the wearing, or the eating of our little brothers, the birds.

Olive Thorne Miller.

=For Young Observers=

The Birds' Christmas Tree

How many of the younger readers of Bird-Lore know that in Norway, birds, as well as children, have Christmas trees? Indeed, it is said that the children do not enjoy their own gifts until they know the birds have been provided for.

Concerning this beautiful custom of putting out a yule sheaf for the birds, Dr. Leonhard Stejneger, the eminent Norwegian ornithologist, writes us that the sheaves are usually of barley or oats, and are placed on high poles standing either in the yard or nailed to the gable end of one of the houses, preferably the storehouse or "stabbur," or on the stable, but always where they can be seen from the dwelling house. Dr. Stejneger adds that the origin of the custom is shrouded in the mystery of the mythological ages.

Here, then, is a country where, as far as anyone knows, the birds have always had a Christmas tree, while in America most birds, I imagine, consider themselves lucky if they chance to find a stray crumb on Christmas morning. So let us all be good Norwegians this coming Christmas and see that the birds are well supplied, if not with sheaves--at least with crumbs, seed, and grain for the Juncos and Sparrows, suet, ham-bones, and bacon rinds for the Woodpeckers, Chickadees, and Nuthatches. And then let us improve on the Norwegian usage by making every winter day Christmas for the birds, so that no matter how deep the snow, they may always be sure of a meal. Then, next March, write and tell Bird-Lore of your winter guests, who they were, and what you have learned of their habits. To the boy or girl of fourteen years, or under, who sends us the best account of his or her experience in feeding the birds this winter, we will give a copy of Mrs. Wright's 'Citizen Bird' or 'Wabeno.'--Ed.

The Little Brown Creeper

BY GARRETT NEWKIRK

"Although I'm a bird, I give you my word That seldom you'll know me to fly; For I have a notion about locomotion, The little Brown Creeper am I, Dear little Brown Creeper am I.

"Beginning below, I search as I go The trunk and the limbs of a tree, For a fly or a slug, a beetle or bug; They're better than candy for me, Far better than candy for me.

"When people are nigh I'm apt to be shy, And say to myself, 'I will hide,' Continue my creeping, but carefully keeping Away on the opposite side, Well around on the opposite side.

"Yet sometimes I peek while I play hide and seek, If you're nice I shall wish to see _you_: I'll make a faint sound and come quite around, And creep like a mouse in full view, Very much like a mouse to your view."

=Notes from Field and Study=

An Interesting Phoebe's Nest

The accompanying illustration shows an interesting Phoebe's nest. It is well-known that this bird prefers to build close to some overhead protection, but I have never seen, and have heard of only one other similar structure, showing such evidence of forethought by the builder; for this bird has constructed a pedestal by means of which her nest was raised to the desired height.

The location chosen was three feet or so back under the piazza roof of a lonely, unused summer cottage by the shore of Webster lake, in Franklin, N. H.

The foundations were begun on a door-cap to the left of, although almost in touch with, an upright cleat. Soon the builder made a turn to the right, that the pedestal might rest firmly against this cleat. From this point the work continued perpendicularly full twelve inches, with the breadth of about three inches and a thickness of one and one-half inches. Upon this the enlargement was made for the nest proper, which was destined to safely cradle her brood of four.--Ellen E. Webster, _Franklin Falls, N. H._

[Two years ago John Burroughs showed us a nest similar to the one here described, built beneath the eaves, on a slight projection in the rough hewn rock of the railway station at West Park, N. Y.--Ed.]

A Useful Nest-Holder

After the leaves fall many deserted birds' nests will be exposed to view. The larger number will still be found serviceable for study, and in collecting them a note of the site, height from the ground, if in a tree or bush, etc., should be made to aid in their identification.

The accompanying cut shows a very useful holder for such specimens. It was designed by Mr. George B. Sennett, and is made of annealed wire, about the bottom of which is tied hair wire, as shown. At this stage, the nest is placed in the holder, the four uprights are cut off to the required height, and bent in or out, in order to bring them closely to the sides of the nest; the wrapping with hair wire is then continued until the nest is firmly bound. In this way such loosely built nests as those of the Mourning Dove or Cuckoo may be held in shape without in the least concealing their structure.--Ed.

A Singing Blue Jay

Not long ago, when the snow covered the ground several inches deep, I heard as sweet a little song as one could expect to hear from a Warbler in May, come from a clump of small plum trees in the back yard. Creeping softly in the direction of the sound, I could see nothing but a stately Blue Jay perched upon one of the upper limbs. I waited patiently, and soon the song came again, sweet and mellow as before; this time I could plainly see the Jay's open bill and the muscular movements of his throat. I could hardly believe my eyes, as I had been accustomed to hear only harsh sounds from a Jay's throat. I raised to a standing posture, the Blue Jay flew away. I looked carefully all about, and no other birds were in sight. This Blue Jay remained in the neighborhood all winter, and several times I had the pleasure of hearing his sweet little song.--Frank E. Horack, _Iowa City, Iowa_.

To Hunt Southern Birds

Rockville Centre, L. I., November 9.--O. H. Tuthill and Robert T. Willmarth, of this village, Benjamin Molitor, of East Rockaway, and Coles Powell, of Seaford, started yesterday on a bird skinning and stuffing expedition to the Florida coast. The men went aboard of Mr. Molitor's little 28-foot sloop, Inner Beach, which is fitted with both sails and gas engine.

They take the inside route through bays, rivers and canals to Beaufort, N. C. From there on to their destination they will have to take their chances outside on the ocean. The men go to shoot all kinds of water birds, for which there is an unprecedented demand this season by millinery manufacturers. After being killed, most of the birds will be skinned and stuffed roughly with cotton, and every week shipments will be made to New York.

Mr. Tuthill is an old hand in the business. The last time there was a large demand for birds by the makers of women's headgear, about twelve years ago, he took an outfit to Florida and during the winter shipped 140,000 bird skins to New York.--_Brooklyn Eagle._

[We met Mr. Tuthill in Key West in February, 1892, and heard him state that during a preceding winter his party had killed 130,000 birds for millinery purposes, and the information contained in the above clipping is doubtless, therefore, accurate.--Ed.]

American Ornithologists' Union

The seventeenth annual congress of the American Ornithologists' Union convened at the Academy of Natural Sciences, in Philadelphia, on November 13, 1899. At the business meeting held on the night of that day the following officers were elected for the ensuing year: President, Robert Ridgway; vice presidents, C. Hart Merriam and C. B. Cory; secretary, John H. Sage; treasurer, William Dutcher; councilors, C. F. Batchelder, F. M. Chapman, Ruthven Deane, J. Dwight, Jr., A. K. Fisher, T. S. Roberts, Witmer Stone. Two corresponding and eighty-two associate members were elected.

The program for the three days' public sessions, on November 14-16, included the following papers: