Part 3

The nest is not an easy one to find, being built on the ground, under the foot of a bush or tussock of rank grass, sometimes partly roofed over like the oven bird's. The eggs are four or five, rarely six in number, creamy-white, speckled, chiefly at the larger end, with reddish-brown, dark umber, and black; in some, occasional lines or scrawls appear. The average size is .69 × .52 inches. Oliver Davie says that the best description of this bird's song was given by Mr. Thomas M. Earl. One evening in May, 1884, he was returning from a day's hunt, and, after a rest on an old log, he was about to start on his journey homeward. At this instant a little yellow-throat mounted a small bush and, in quick succession, said: _Tackle me! tackle me! tackle me!_ The fact is, the yellow-throat has several notes and is rather noisy for so small a bird. It is known by other names, as black-masked ground warbler, black-spectacled warbler, brier wren, and yellow brier wren.

The female is much duller in color than the male, without black, gray, or white on head. The young are somewhat like the adult female.

BOB-O-LINK.

GRANVILLE OSBORNE.

Soaring high up in the bright blue sky, Can't keep track of him if you try; Flitting around in the pasture lot, Likes to be friendly, rather than not; Dancing along on the old rail fence, Sunshine and flowers where the woods commence; Got so he almost talks to me; Head a-nodding, he says, says he-- "Bob-o-link, o-link, o-link."

Clover and buttercups just seem to try Coaxing him up in the meadow to fly; Bees hunting honey keep buzzing around, Seem to know best where the sweetest is found, Almost forget when a-hearing him sing What kind of honey they all came to bring; Pert and saucy as he can be, Tail a-flitting, he says, says he-- "Bob-o-link, o-link, o-link."

Wings jet black and glossy as silk, Waistcoat a-gleaming as white as milk; Dainty and slender, quicker than light, First in the morning, last one at night, Perched on the post of the barn-yard gate, Singing his sweetest to waken his mate; Dressing his feathers and winking at me, Mincing around, he says, says he-- "Bob-o-link, o-link, o-link."

A STUDY OF THE COLOR PHOTOGRAPH.

The color photograph is found to be most useful in developing the color sense in children. The act of recognizing various colors and shades is educative. When we consider that all the effects of the color photograph are produced by combinations of the three primary colors we at once step into a realm of thought and observation that is boundless. The danger is that we may attempt too much with the abundance of material at hand and, by forgetting the limitations of the unformed mind, confuse instead of enlighten.

It is well for the teacher to know the process by which the color photograph is produced, but young children who know little of the laws of light are not expected to understand it fully. In advanced classes the following will be found beneficial:

A natural object is placed before a camera and a water screen is adjusted so no rays but the yellow may reach the photographic plate. A negative is thus obtained recording all the yellow that appears upon the surface of the object, whether it shows as pure yellow or in combination with other colors. With the camera and object in exactly the same position and another screen which absorbs all the rays but the red ones coming from the object, a negative of the red is obtained. A third negative of the blue in the object is similarly got, and we have an accurate representation of the form and all the colors of the object separated into red, yellow, and blue.

From these negatives three half-tone plates are made upon copper. A half-tone plate is an acid etching produced by photographic process with fine lines crossing each at right angles so that the picture appears as a series of microscopic square points which decrease in size in the lighter portions of the plate.

Red, yellow, and blue inks of the rarest quality are used in printing from these plates, with great care exercised as to getting the exact depth of color required for each. By placing a sheet of fine tissue paper beneath a plate printing red, the red is deepened, another sheet makes it more intense, and others are placed under the plate, if necessary, to get the rich red required to blend with the yellow and blue to make the exact reproductions of nature's colors which appear in the color photograph.

The order of the printing is yellow first, and when this is thoroughly dry the red is laid on, and the blue a day later. As the color is nowhere a solid mass, but a series of points, one color does not hide another, but the three colors shine through and make the blendings which appear in the beautiful and delicate shades and tints of the color photographs.

Do not manifest surprise when you find pupils wholly or partly color blind. The boy who cannot find a red marble in the grass will show by his conversation that red and green are the same to him. His is an extreme case, but there are many who are slow to name the primary colors and totally fail to recognize differences in tints.

For ordinary purposes there should be little effort given to the naming of the shades. If the colors are talked about by name, enough is done in the line of language. But classes become readily interested in comparing reds, and blues, or greens to say which is the deeper or the purer. The location of a patch of color often changes its apparent intensity. Contrast with surroundings may deceive the eye. Whistler has used Naples yellow so the observer declares it pure white.

A good exercise in color recognition is given in choosing masses of color on the picture and telling what primary colors are in them; also in comparing two masses and saying which appears to have the more red or yellow in it.

Where the class have water colors excellent practice may be had in selecting and mixing colors to correspond with a given one. The mixing should be first tried without placing the mixed mass beside the copy. Very young children often make surprisingly accurate judgments of color, and no game pleases them more than a mixing contest, having the game decided in each instance by placing the best work beside the original.

No pictures have inspired so many young people with a desire to copy as have the color photographs. Their perfection of detail has not discouraged such attempts. The more easily copied lithograph has no such fascination. This shows that the nearer we approach nature in any presentation the more strongly we appeal to human nature and draw out its latent powers.

THE PILEATED WOODPECKER.

BELLE P. DRURY.

This noble bird may be found in wooded districts of Illinois, but I made its acquaintance in the Indian Territory, where it is quite common.

In size and beauty of color it is second only to the ivory-billed.

The Choctaw Indians told me it was the "Good God" bird. I asked what they meant by that designation. The reply was "Only listen and you will know."

For days I spent much time watching several pairs as they flew about among the trees on the Shawnee Hills, but the only sound I heard was the hammering of their strong stone-colored bills on the sides of the trees, a noise that might easily be heard a quarter of a mile away. They did not descend to fallen logs for their prey but made the chips and bark fly from the upright trees.

Naturalists say the pileated will occasionally leave the insect-laden trees in search of fruit and grain, a thing the ivory-billed never does.

My beautiful, noisy companions eyed me and my opera glass suspiciously, trying always to keep on the other side of the tree from me, and, for a time, gave me no hint of the reason for their Indian name.

But at last a hunter appeared upon the scene when the frightened birds bounded away through the air uttering a cry which did indeed resemble the words "Good God," spoken in gutteral tones. The marksman brought down a fine specimen, which he gave to me. With magnificent red top-knot and wide-spread wings it looks as if it might be longing to fly back to its home among the Shawnee Hills.

THE LYRE-BIRD.

(_Menura superba._)

LYNDS JONES.

If Australia were noted for no other thing than the ancient and strange animal forms which are to be found nowhere else on the earth, it would still be a wonderful continent. Not the least remarkable of these forms is the lyre-bird, the subject of the present sketch. Since its discovery on January 24, 1798, by one Wilson, it has been handed about among the different orders of birds by different systematists until its anatomy seemed to give it a more or less permanent place among the birds of passerine form, in spite of its fowl-like build and strong legs and large feet.

The appearance of the bird, except the superb tail, is not remarkable; but paradoxical as it may be, the tail is the bird's crowning glory, at once giving it a name and fame. Like many other cumbersome things, the lyre-bird's tail is used for ornament during a part of the year only, being donned at the mating season and doffed at the close of the nesting period. It assumes the lyre-shape only when voluntarily spread, appearing simply as a long, greatly developed tail at other times. The bird throws up a mound of earth, dome-shaped, which serves as a raised platform or stage well suited to tail spreading and other courting antics. Strutting and wing-dragging are accompaniments of the tail-spreading, and strongly suggest gallinaceous affinities, especially since the bird is the size of the ordinary barn-yard fowl.

In habits the lyre-bird is lowly, preferring the ground to bushes or trees, and running from danger rather than flying, the strong legs and feet permitting a swift retreat. Rarely the bird may mount a tree, ascending branch by branch instead of flying up at once. They are said to use the wings to aid them in running, and in hopping upward in the trees. They are so wary and timid that it is difficult to secure specimens except by resorting to deception or the use of dogs. The barking of the dogs drives them into the trees, allowing the hunter a fair mark. They are inhabitants of the dense brush from which it is next to impossible to dislodge them.

Authorities agree that the lyre-bird's powers of song are remarkable. It seems to have the power of mocking almost every other bird, as well as the barking of the dingo, besides possessing a sweet song of its own. One author states that for the first two hours of the morning it repeats over again its own song, then gradually changes it to imitate other birds, ending its four-hour song period with imitations of all the other birds within hearing, then remaining silent for the rest of the day.

The nest is a dome-shaped affair with the opening in one side, made of "small sticks, interwoven with moss and fibers of roots." "The single egg laid is of a very dark color, appearing as if it had been blotched over with ink." The young emerges from the egg a downy white ball, perfectly helpless, and remains in the nest for several weeks. The food seems to consist of insects, myriapods, and snails, of which large quantities must be destroyed to satisfy a bird of this size.

This is another of the world forms which are doomed to complete extinction. It is to be earnestly hoped that the time of its disappearance will await a more careful study of its habits than has been accomplished thus far. A study of these curious forms can hardly fail to throw much light upon the development of the bird fauna of the world.

ROBERT AND PEEPSY--THE TWINS.

NELLY HART WOODWORTH.

In the latter part of May a pair of Baltimore orioles built a nest in my maples, from which, eventually, a brood of noisy fledglings were launched upon the world. A quantity of Hamburg embroidery was woven into the nest and festooned gracefully from the outside.

This was obtained from my neighbor's washing as it lay bleaching upon the grass, a task demanding more time and strength than seemed necessary for useless ornamentation.

To all appearance the esthetic taste of the builders was more pronounced than was their family discipline.

The children were a clamoring, rollicking group, pushing each other about and insisting, forcibly, upon a high point of view that constantly threatened their frail lives. I was in constant fear lest they come tumbling down and it was not long before my worst fears were realized.

They fell, with a shower, upon the morning of the 23rd of June, tumbling pell-mell into the strawberry bed, the biggest baby picking himself up in a hurry, and climbing upon one of the fence wires.

The other nestlings were marched off by the head of the family to other fields of observation, the first little bird hopping from the fence to a wild rosebush that grew beside the kitchen door.

There he was fed by his father during the day; as his mother did not appear I inferred that she had her hands full with the other children.

Neither parent appearing the next morning, the first baby was put into a grape basket upon the window-sill.

Before noon the old birds came; the wire netting was removed from the window, both parents coming at short intervals into the kitchen with food.

To my surprise they did not return the following morning, when I fully intended to speed the parting guest, though the little one was placed in a cage outside the door. The helpless infant was left in an orphaned condition to my care; he could not feed himself, nor did he understand, under my tutelage, how to open his beak when food was brought. It was necessary to pry it open, the lunches coming so often that nearly all my time was spent in attending to his meals. That very evening the chore-boy brought a lank, long-legged bobolink which was given into my keeping only because it was threatened with starvation.

Like the oriole he was too young to feed himself and had been for twelve hours without food.

A more uninviting specimen of babyhood could not be imagined, forlorn, ragged, with unfeathered spaces upon his homely little body; but, though he had none of the oriole's commanding beauty, he was sure to perish unless regularly adopted and his infant wants supplied.

He was placed in the cage while the oriole was taking a nap, the introduction prefaced by being stuffed till his bare little crop was as round and full as an egg. Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller, who was with me at the time, assisted at the christening of the pair.

As the oriole was always peeping we called him "Peepsy;" the bobolink was named "Robert" with due respect to the Robert-o-Lincoln family.

They were oftenest called "the twins," and troublesome twins they were, waking me at three o'clock each morning and crying loudly for their breakfast, which was prepared the previous evening.

Peepsy was first taken in my hand and given a few mouthfuls, then Robert's turn came, after which Peepsy was thoroughly fed and when Robert's demands were appeased, both birds were returned to the cage for another nap.

After sleeping innocently for another hour they awoke, insisting with emphatic protest upon an immediate supply of rations.

There were times when they jerked their heads from side to side and not a morsel was safely lodged or appropriated, persisting in the clamor until, after patient effort, both little creatures were satisfied at last.

As may be surmised this was no enviable task, though the twins went promptly to bed at dusk leaving me free for the evening.

Peepsy was far the brighter bird. He took the lead at first, helping himself to his meals at times, twinkling the soft brown wings at my approach with most flattering evidences of favor.

Robert was a different bird; he scratched and bit, flopped about and hissed out his disapprobation.

The last was not without compensations. Whenever his beak was opened wide in disapproving hisses the opportunity was seized to fill it with food.

Sometimes his tactics changed; he would throw back his head and refuse to swallow. In a short time he took on prettier ways, now and then coaxing a little while receiving his meals with dainty baby eagerness.

From first to last their tastes diverged; Peepsy was high-born, Robert was of low degree. These low-born instincts preferring the cage floor he was given a sod to stand upon, the oriole's decided preference for higher stations culminating in the swing, his both by right of preference and forcible possession. In ten days Peepsy began to believe himself a full-grown bird. Then began an investigation of the cage and its appointments, diving into every corner, thrusting himself into the drinking cup as far as its size would allow, playing with the food, and throwing the earthworms given him to the top of the cage before attempting to swallow them. He would thrust his beak into Robert's feathers or catch hold of his legs, while the bobolink with ruffled plumage drew back with becoming indignation. He certainly _was_ a homely baby which did not excuse the other twin for putting on airs, regarding him with lofty condescension, or stepping on his big, sprawling feet when they came too near. This unseemly behavior may have accounted for Robert's despondent hours from which he emerged to sing low and tentatively with the tinkling music of falling raindrops. Then they tried to stand upon one foot, balancing with great difficulty meanwhile, crowding into the swing and tumbling out upon the floor together.

In utter indifference to his own toilet Peepsy insisted upon preening Robert's plumage, calling his attention to the matter by vigorous pulls at his tail, or jerking some truant feather that beauty or tidiness required to be smoothed into place.

This unappreciated service was resented with many hisses, darting at the persecutor with wide-open beak and dire threatenings of vengeance, after which they cuddled up lovingly together for a nap.

For several days this self imposed helpfulness was so officious that the twins were separated lest Robert's temper, not over-good at the best, be permanently spoiled.

On this account Peepsy had the liberty of the house and went oftenest abroad. What with a better disposition and more enticing manners there was no resisting, whether it was coaxing to sit upon my finger or happy as bird could be when admired and caressed.

He would fly to my shoulder, pull a stray lock of hair lying against my throat, dodge skillfully when the hand was raised in protest, only to reappear and bite my lips as they moved in cautioning words.

He followed me to my chamber morning by morning, hopping up the stairs one at a time till we reached the top, when he flew to my shoulder and entered the room master of ceremonies.

As the clothes were replaced upon the bed he darted down upon sheets and blankets on purpose, seemingly, to be "shooed" away. Too much notice was spoiling the child, though his reign, poor baby, was short!

He was quite independent as to feeding himself when Robert first began to pick up cracker crumbs. What was stranger still, when the bobolink was well-versed in such matters, his memory was so unreliable that he forgot how to eat over night and had to be taught all over again for several mornings, nor would he swallow till the egg or cracker was thrust clear down his throat.

After the first month, in which the oriole took the lead, the order was reversed. Robert was first thereafter, coming to the front and taking entire charge of the establishment, chaperon, servant, adviser, nor was he above making sarcastic remarks at the expense of the faithful companion who followed closely at his heels.

He pecked at the little blue kid shoes on the perch above, pulled the tiny toes, tweaked the feathers and tried to pull them out, and behaved generally, I regret to say, most impolitely. With this increased assurance there was a marked gain in song.

He sang while we breakfasted or dined, the same ideally happy bobolink medley, a new discovery of the joy of living, lifting his voice in rainy days in rhythm with the shower, Peepsy joining with sundry encouraging notes but no real song.

After the first month both birds were fond of the bath; water in bowl, pitcher, or tumbler, was a challenge seldom ignored.

Robert's short memory and inexperience were liable to mistake the dish of cracker and milk for a bath tub, crowding into and flirting the contents over chairs and floor. He was specially fond of my mother, planting his feet in her soft, wavy hair and jerking her locks in utter disregard of all threatening.

The door to the next room, left ajar, was a ceaseless fascination. When the cage door was opened they started promptly, Robert leading, Peepsy following meekly, till they reached the crack in the door, stretching out their necks and peering with curious eyes into the room beyond; then, as if confronted with some terrible ogre they turned quickly about and hopped back to the cage.

The hidden possibilities were too great. In a moment back they came, repeating the search over and over, till the door was thrown open and they were at liberty to explore the terrors and resources of the room beyond. After one of these excursions Peepsy was found fast asleep in the narrow space between the door and the wall!

Both birds were very curious over the sweeping, Robert superintending, keeping just in front of the broom, hopping straight into the dust-pan, bristling his feathers when reproved, or flying, in frigid terror, if pursued. They helped also in preparing the meals, following from kitchen to pantry, from pantry to kitchen, till a too generous attendance was checked for the time by compulsory return to the cage.

Ignorant of all fear they became my constant companions from room to room, from house to garden and orchard, when wild birds looked down in wonder, coming from the higher branches to peer and question, Peepsy answering politely, fluttering the brown velvet wings in unavailing winningness, while Robert silently ignored their inquisitive ways. During the intense heat of midsummer I saw less of the twins than usual, the house being darkened as much as possible to exclude the heat. Opening my door I heard the patter of little feet as they crossed the hall; Peepsy stood upon the threshold and, with a welcoming chirp, flew towards me, coaxing and nestling against my cheek with many evidences of gladness.

The heat of the day was waning; the sun had withdrawn from the valley; the heights were radiant still, the peaks of the mountain range dazzlingly lit with golden light. I carried the bird out-of-doors and across the way where children were playing, the tiny guest enjoying the call thoroughly, lunching upon raspberries, exploring the rooms, "trying on" each nook and corner, and regarding with astonished interest a huge feather duster that lay upon the carpet.

Advancing and retreating before the huge monster, ruffling his feathers in rage, he hopped around it several times before his courage was equal to an attack. Then, with wide-spread wings he charged upon the savage enemy, striking it with his beak, trampling upon and biting the feathers.

When we returned Robert's indignation knew no bounds; he was furious.

He might have been jealous that Peepsy went abroad while he stayed at home; anyway, he pounced upon his brother in angry passion, caught his foot and jerked him off the perch, pulled out his feathers and tumbled him over upon the floor, when I interfered promptly.