Part 3

A single experiment taught me the inadvisability of leaving the camera exposed for any length of time to these conditions. I had been trying to get a large photograph of Horned Larks. The camera was placed on the ground and a handful of oats scattered before it, while I waited within the cabin for nearly two hours for an opportunity to pull the thread attached to the camera shutter. But the birds persistently avoided the pebble marking the focal plane, and clouds continually obscured the sun when I wished to make an exposure. At last the right moment came, I pulled the thread, and hurried out to get the result. That plate was never developed. Snow had clogged the shutter, and I found it had remained wide open after being sprung.

By throwing oats on only one spot, and that close to the window, I soon gathered quite a flock of Horned Larks, who came regularly every morning to feed from the constantly replenished supply. Finally, after a week of gloomy, dark weather, a cloudless sky offered especially good chances for a photograph of my feathered friends. This time I placed the camera on the window-sill. Maneuvers attendant upon focusing and inserting a plate-holder, of course, frightened the birds away. They were back again within a few minutes, but an unexpected source of annoyance interfered. A freight train stopped opposite the scene of my operations and belched great billows of smoke between the sun and the birds. Also the shadow of the cabin was gradually encroaching on the feeding ground. I made a trial exposure, however, and obtained a very good negative. But a shadow in the foreground and a wagon tongue in the rear, did not add to the pictorial effect of the group.

After much pulling and prying, I pushed the objectionable wagon out of the drifts, and put off further photographing until the next morning. The morning came as bright and sunny as I desired. My feathered subjects were early in the open air studio, and required no conventional admonition to 'look pleasant.' In fact, they were almost too lively for the camera shutter. The negative obtained proved very good, and well repaid me for all trouble and annoyance.

A few Yellow-headed Blackbirds were attracted by the food supply I furnished, and I made several negatives of them. The Yellow-heads were more wary than the Horned Larks, and flew away at the slightest disturbance. Only a few at a time gathered beneath the window, while the others perched on fence-posts at a safe distance and kept watch.

But it remained for a Northern Shrike to add 'insult to injury,' by seizing a dead mouse I had placed on a post and alighting on the camera with its capture!

=For Teachers and Students=

Bird-Studies for Children

BY ISABEL EATON

It is a simple matter enough, with the little folk who happily live in 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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.