Part 2

On the prairies they are often shot from a wagon, the hunter remaining seated, so plentiful are they in remote districts. Near the towns very few are seen. The birds always seem to prefer the low ground in a field. They are rarely seen during the middle of the day, as they do not move about much. It is a fine sight to see a large flock of chickens rise on the wing and fly swiftly and steadily for several hundred yards. When they drop in the grass they separate and run in every direction. Like the Quail, in the inclemency of winter they approach the barn, "basking and perching on the fences, occasionally venturing to mix with the poultry in their repast, and are then often taken in traps." They feed on buds and mast, sometimes leaves and the buds of the pine. In wintry storms they seek shelter in the evergreens, but in spring and summer they often roost on the ground in company. These birds begin pairing in March or April. Mr. Nuttall's account of this interesting period (see his Hand-book of Ornithology--Little, Brown & Co.)--is as follows: "At this time the behavior of the male becomes remarkable. Early in the morning he comes forth from his bushy roost and struts about with a curving neck, raising his ruff, expanding his tail like a fan, and seeming to mimic the ostentation of the Turkey. He now seeks out or meets his rival, and several pairs at a time, as soon as they become visible through the dusky dawn, are seen preparing for combat. Previously to this encounter, the male, swelling out his throat, utters what is called a tooting--a ventriloquial humming call to the female three times repeated, and though uttered in so low a key, it may yet be heard three or four miles on a still morning. About the close of March on the plains of Missouri we heard this species of Grouse tooting or humming in all directions, so that at a distance the sound might be taken almost for the grunting of the Bison or the loud croak of the Bull-frog. While uttering his vehement call the male expands his neck pouches to such a magnitude as almost to conceal his head, and blowing, utters a low drumming bellow like the sound of _k-tom-boo! k-tom-boo!_ once or twice repeated, after which is heard a sort of guttural squeaking crow or _koak, koak, koak_. In the intervals of feeding we sometimes hear the male also cackling, or, as it were, crowing like _ko, ko, koop, koop!_ While engaged in fighting with each other, the males are heard to utter a rapid, petulant cackle, something in sound like excessive laughter. The tooting is heard from day-break till eight or nine o'clock in the morning. As they frequently assemble at these _scratching places_, as they are called, ambuscades of bushes are formed around them, and many are shot from these covers."

The nest is placed on the ground in the thick prairie grass, and at the foot of bushes on the barren ground; a hollow is scratched in the soil, and sparingly lined with grass and feathers. The nest is so well concealed that it is not often discovered. The eggs are from ten to twelve, and of a plain brownish color. The female alone protects and attends the young, brooding them under her wings in the manner of the domestic fowl. The affectionate parent and her brood keep together throughout the season.

ABOUT THE SONGSTERS.

NEW NEIGHBORS.--"I see they are building a two-story house in our back yard," said papa.

"O papa, that won't be nice!" said Marjorie. "People will look right into our windows!"

"Yes," said papa; "one of the builders was sitting on my window-sill this morning; but when he saw me he flew away."

"Oh, you mean a bird!" cried Nan.

* * * * *

BLUE-JAY ON A SPREE.--"Naw, sir, I ran him down. He's drunk on mad berry. I didn't shoot him," so said our little stable-boy, John Henry. We examined the beautiful Blue-Jay.

It was lying in the boy's hand, with a sort of contented _dolce far niente_ expression on its face. Its saucy eyes were elated and fearless. Its head wagged ridiculously in the effort to hold it up. It was a common North American drunk, nothing less. The bird was intoxicated on the berries of the Pride of China, known throughout the south as the poison or mad-berry.

In Florida thousands of respectable Northern Robins, that would blush to do it at home, are found lying about in the state of grossest drunkenness from the same cause. We wondered if some blue-ribbon society might not be profitably started among these poor birds. But they do not know any better.

We have this advantage over them, we know the mad-berry when we see it. It is to our disgrace if we do not let it alone.

* * * * *

SERVES AS WATCHMAN AND WAKES THE FAMILY.--A Mocking Bird serves as a night watchman at the residence of R. F. Bettes, at Tampa, Fla., and notifies the family of the coming of dawn every morning by pecking on the window pane. Often when the doors are left ajar the Mocking Bird comes inside and perches on the chairs and about the room. It will allow the family to come very close and shows marked attention to Mrs. Bettes and her little daughter. When they start out for a visit it follows them some distance, and then returns to the yard. When the family returns it appears very glad and will fly all about them, and gives evidence of its joy in other ways. The children feed it about the house, and when the family meal is to be served, if the window is not raised, it makes its presence known by pecking on the window. During the day it gets on a neighboring brush or tree and sings its roundelay of song for hours at a time.

* * * * *

A WONDERFUL CANARY.--Mrs. Willet C. Durland, of Union Hall street, Jamaica, is the owner of a Canary possessing extraordinary vocal powers. It never tires of singing, and was the admiration of all who heard it, until eight months ago, when it suddenly, and for no apparent reason, became absolutely silent, uttering scarcely a chirrup for days at a time. Mrs. Durland at last tired of keeping a Canary that did not sing, and, finding a young Chippie bird on the lawn, one day, she put it in the cage and let the Canary go. About sundown that evening, the Canary returned and hopped about on the window sill, evidently making a plea to be received back into the family. This was too much for Mrs. Durland. She put the little creature back in its cage, and the next morning the household was awakened by a flood of joyous song. The Canary has been singing ever since, and the Durlands are sure it considers being set free a punishment for its long silence, and is now trying to make amends.

THE BUTTERFLY TRADE.

There are probably hundreds, if not thousands, of butterfly collectors in this country, says the Boston Transcript. But it is doubtful if there are many who gain their livelihood in this way, as is done by the four Denton brothers of Wellesley, who have among them one of the finest, and certainly one of the most beautiful collections in the world, comprising specimens from India, China, South America, and many other distant countries.

Large and fine as their collection is, however, it contains only a small part of the butterflies that they have collected, as almost all of them are sold to museums, and collectors, or simply as house ornaments, for as they mount them, they are objects of great beauty and are preserved in such a way as to give every opportunity for the display of their fine points, while they will last for an indefinite number of years.

They began this work in the usual amateur manner, and simply for their own amusement, but instead of becoming tired of it and dropping it, as is the case with most amateur collectors, they became more and more interested, and their methods attracted so much attention and interest in outsiders that they finally found it advisable to adopt this as their life work. How extensive a business it is may be judged from the fact that they have found it profitable to make a journey of six months to South America for the purpose of increasing the size of their collection, and that they have in India, China, and several other parts of the world agents who collect for them and ship the butterflies to them here.

The work of preparing the butterflies for sale and exhibition is all done in a small building back of their house on Washington street at Wellesley, and keeps them busy nearly all the time that they are not collecting. When the butterflies are sent or brought in, each is in a small paper folder, which protects it from friction or breakage. The insects are laid with their wings together and pressed, being then put into the folder, and shipped in small boxes, enough being put into each box to prevent them from slipping about. In this way the insects arrive in very good condition, although they are, of course, very dry and brittle if they have come a long distance. In order to get rid of this dryness, which would make it impossible to work on them, they are put into a box with a lot of wet paper, and the dampness from this soon saturates them and makes them soft again and easily shaped. The next part of the work is in repairing what damage they have sustained, for, of course, in spite of the care of shipping, they are not as perfect as before they were caught, and there is a great deal of delicate work on them before they are ready for exhibition or sale.

Mounted, a drawer full of butterflies is more beautiful than a collection of precious gems, for, although many of our native butterflies are exceedingly beautiful, they are not to be compared with the average of those from India, China, and South America. In these dead, heavy black alternates with brilliant crimson, yellow, and gold, livid greens and blues, and deep, rich garnet and purple, sometimes in broad bands and blotches of glowing color, and in others in wonderfully delicate and intricate traceries and patterns. The texture of the wings is also infinitely more beautiful than anything we have here, some of them having a heavy rich gloss that exceeds that on the finest fabric that human skill can produce, while others have the deep changing lustre of gems or liquids.

THE PASSENGER PIGEON IN WISCONSIN AND NEBRASKA.

[See Vol. III, p. 23.]

Our records of this species during the past few years have referred, in most instances, to very small flocks and generally to pairs or individuals. In _The Auk_ for July, 1897, I recorded a flock of some fifty Pigeons from southern Missouri, but such a number has been very unusual. It is now very gratifying to be able to record still larger numbers, and I am indebted to Mr. A. Fugleberg of Oshkosh, Wis., for the following letter of information under date of Sept. 1, 1897: "I live on the west shore of Lake Winnebago, Wis. About six o'clock on the morning of August 14th, 1897, I saw a flock of Wild Pigeons flying over the bay from Fisherman's Point to Stony Beach, and I assure you it reminded me of old times, from 1855 to 1880, when Pigeons were plentiful every day. So I dropped my work and stood watching them. This flock was followed by six more flocks, each containing about thirty-five to eighty Pigeons, except the last which only contained seven. All these flocks passed over within half an hour. One flock of some fifty birds flew within gun shot of me, the others all the way from one hundred to three hundred yards from where I stood." Mr. Fugleberg is an old hunter and has had much experience with the Wild Pigeon. In a later letter dated Sept. 4, 1897, he writes: "On Sept. 2, 1897, I was hunting Prairie Chickens near Lake Butte des Morts, Wis., where I met a friend who told me that a few days previous he had seen a flock of some twenty-five Wild Pigeons and that they were the first he had seen for years."--This would appear as though these birds were instinctively working back to their old haunts, as the Winnebago region was once a favorite locality. We hope that Wisconsin will follow Michigan in making a close season on Wild Pigeons for ten years, and thus give them a chance to multiply and perhaps regain, in a measure, their former abundance.

In _Forest and Stream_, of Sept. 25, 1897, is a short notice of 'Wild Pigeons in Nebraska,' by 'W. F. R.' Through the kindness of the editor he placed me in correspondence with the observer, W. F. Rightmire, to whom I am indebted for the following details given in his letter of Nov. 5, 1897: "I was driving along the highway north of Cook, Johnson County, Neb., on August 17, 1897. I came to the timber skirting the head stream of the Nemaha River, a tract of some forty acres of woodland lying along the course of the stream, upon both banks of the same, and there, feeding on the ground or perched upon the trees were the Passenger Pigeons I wrote the note about. The flock contained seventy-five to one hundred birds. I did not frighten them, but as I drove along the road, the feeding birds flew up and joined the others, and as soon as I had passed by they returned to the ground and continued feeding. While I revisited the same locality, I failed to find the Pigeons. I am a native of Tompkins County, N. Y., and have often killed Wild Pigeons in their flights while a boy on the farm, helped to net them, and have hunted them in Pennsylvania, so that I readily knew the birds in question the moment I saw them."

--RUTHVEN DEANE in April _Auk_.

THE AMERICAN RABBIT.

Cottontail and Molly Cottontail are the names commonly applied to this easily recognized species of the Rabbit family, everywhere prevalent in the middle states, continuing to be numerous in spite of the fact that it is constantly hunted in season for food. Its flesh is more delicate than that of the larger species, and is much valued. In winter the city markets are well supplied with Cottontails, their increase being so large that they are always abundant, while in rural districts the small boys capture them in great numbers with dogs. We have known two hundred of these innocent creatures to be taken in one day on a single farm. If protected for but one season they would become as Rabbits are in Australia, a pest.

Rabbits live in burrows, which are irregular in construction and often communicate with each other. From many of its foes the Rabbit escapes by diving into its burrow, but there are some animals, as the Weasel and Ferret, which follow it into its subterranean home and slay it. Dogs, especially those of the small terrier breeds, will often force their way into the burrows, where they have sometimes paid the penalty of their lives for their boldness. The Rabbit has been seen to watch a terrier dog go into its burrow, and then fill up the entrance so effectually that the invader has not been able to retrace his steps, and has perished miserably in the subterranean tomb.

When the female Rabbit is about to begin to rear a family, she quits the ordinary burrows and digs a special tunnel in which to shelter the young family during the first few weeks of life. At the extremity of the burrow she places a large quantity of dried herbage mingled with down from her own body, with which to make a soft and warm bed for the little ones. These are about seven or eight in number, and are born without hair and with closed eyes, which they are only able to open after ten or twelve days.

When domesticated the female Rabbit will often devour her young, a practice which has been considered incurable. This propensity has, however, been accounted for by natural causes. It has been the custom to deprive pet Rabbits of water on the ridiculous plea that in a wild state they do not drink, obtaining sufficient moisture from the green herbs and grasses which constitute their food, but in the open country they always feed while the dew lies upon every blade, which of course is never the case with green food with which domestic Rabbits are supplied. Thus have these poor innocents been the victims of ignorance.

Rabbits are great depredators in fields, gardens, and plantations, destroying in very wantonness hundreds of plants which they do not care to eat. They do great damage to young trees, stripping them of their tender bark, as far up as they can reach while standing on their hind feet. Sometimes they eat the bark, but in many cases they leave it in heaps upon the ground, having chiseled it from the tree merely for the sake of exercising their teeth and keeping them in good order.

It is true that most Rabbits burrow in the ground, their burrows having many devious ramifications, but the Cottontail usually makes his home in a little dug-out, concealed under a bush or a tuft of grass. We remember one of these little excavations which we found in a cemetery concealed by the overhanging branches of a rosebush at the foot of a grave. While reading the inscription on the tombstone we were startled by a quick rush from the bush, and discovering the nest, in which there were five tiny young with wide open eyes, we took them up tenderly and carried them home. We too, were young then. Admonished that we had cruelly deprived a mother of her offspring, and that our duty was to return them to her, we unwillingly obeyed, and put them back in the little cavern. They huddled together once more and no doubt were soon welcomed by their parents.

A frosty Saturday morning, a light snow covering the ground, a common cur dog, Cottontail tracks, and a small, happy boy. Do you not see yourself as in a vision?

THIRTY MILES FOR AN ACORN.

Far away I hear a drumming-- Tap, tap, tap! Can the Woodpecker be coming After sap?

Down in Mexico there lives a Woodpecker who stores his nuts and acorns in the hollow stalks of the yuccas and magueys. These hollow stalks are separated by joints into several cavities, and the sagacious bird has somehow found this out, and bores a hole at the upper end of each joint and another at the lower, through which to extract the acorns when wanted. Then it fills up the stalks solidly and leaves its stores there until needed, safe from the depredations of any thievish bird or four-footed animal.

The first place in which this curious habit was observed was on a hill in the midst of a desert. The hill was covered with yuccas and magueys, but the nearest oak trees were thirty miles away, and so it was calculated, these industrious birds had to make a flight of sixty miles for each acorn stowed thus in the stalks!

An observer of birds remarks: "There are several strange features to be noticed in these facts: the provident instinct which prompts this bird to lay by stores of provisions for the winter, the great distance traversed to collect a kind of food so unusual for its race, and its seeking in a place so remote from its natural abode a storehouse so remarkable."

Can instinct alone teach, or have experience and reason taught these birds that, far better than the bark of trees or crevices in rocks or any other hiding place are these hidden cavities they make for themselves with the hollow stems of distant plants?

This we cannot answer. But we do know that one of the most remarkable birds in our country is this California Woodpecker, and that he is well entitled to his Mexican name of el carpintero--the carpenter bird.--_Exchange._

THE OCELOT.

The smaller spotted and striped species of the genus _Felis_, of both the old and the new world, are commonly called Tiger-Cats. Of these one of the best known and most beautifully marked, peculiar to the American continent, according to authority, has received the name of Ocelot, _Felis pardalis_, though zoologists are still undecided whether under this name several distinct species have not been included, or whether all the Ocelots are to be referred to as a single species showing individual or racial variation. Their fur has always a tawny yellow or reddish-grey ground color, and is marked with black spots, aggregated in streaks and blotches, or in elongated rings enclosing an area which is rather darker than the general ground color. They range through the wooded parts of Tropical America, from Arkansas to Paraguay, and in their habits resemble the other smaller members of the cat tribe, being ready climbers and exceedingly blood-thirsty.

The fierceness of the disposition of this animal, usually called by the common name of Wild Cat, and its strength and agility, are well known, for although it is said that it does not seek to attack man, yet "when disturbed in its lair or hemmed in, it will spring with tiger-like ferocity on its opponent, every hair on its body bristling with rage," and is altogether an ugly customer to meet with.

It was long believed that the Ocelot was the offspring of the domestic cat, but it is now known to be distinct from the wild form of our woods. One would scarcely wish to stroke the Wild Cat's hair in any direction. As soon as the young are able to see and crawl, their savage nature is apparent, and they cannot be tamed. They are not often hunted, but when accidentally met with by the hunter are despatched as quickly as possible.

In length the Ocelot rather exceeds four feet, of which the tail occupies a considerable portion. The height averages about eighteen inches. On account of the beauty of the fur the skin is valued for home use and exportation, and is extensively employed in the manufacture of various fancy articles of dress or luxury. It may be said to be a true leopard in miniature.

In its native wilds the Ocelot seeks its food chiefly among the smaller mammalia and birds, although it is strong enough to attack and destroy a moderate sized monkey. It chases the monkeys into the tree branches, and is nearly as expert a climber as they are, but, as it cannot follow the birds into the airy region, it is forced to match its cunning against their wings, and it rarely secures them. As is often done by the domestic cat it can spring amongst a flock of birds as they rise from the ground, and, leaping into the air, strike down one or more of them with its swift paw. But its usual method of securing birds is by concealing itself among the branches of a tree and suddenly knocking them over as they unsuspiciously settle within reach of the hidden foe.

The movements of the Tiger-cat are graceful and elegant, and few specimens of animal life found in out zoological gardens are more interesting.

AZAMET THE HERMIT AND HIS DUMB FRIENDS.

Azamet the vizier had been raised by Sultan Mahmoud to the highest office in the empire. As soon as he was established in his position, he tried to reform many abuses; but the nobles and imaums plotted against him.

Deprived of his property, and deserted by his friends, Azamet withdrew to the wilderness of Khorasan, where he lived alone in a hut of his own building, and planted a little garden by the side of a brook.

He had lived a hermit's life for two years, when Usbeck, one of his old friends, found his dwelling place.