Part 2

O, hark to the brown thrush! Hear how he sings! Now he pours the dear pain of his gladness! What a gush! And from out what golden springs! What a rage of how sweet madness!

It is in the morning and in the evening that this Thrasher pours forth its song from some prominent and exposed perch. Then, as it were, with all care dismissed from its mind, all the energy of its being is thrown into a hymn of nature. By some this song is considered richer than that of the mockingbirds, though the Thrasher has but one air.

As a rule the California Thrasher frequents wooded thickets, though it is often found in shrubby fields and hedges, and the dense thickets bordering streams are especially attractive, for here it finds the quiet that its nature seems to crave. Unusually shy and distrustful of man, it generally avoids his habitations, and, like the brown thrasher, resents intrusion with a peculiar and complaining note. Yet the female is inclined to remain on her nest and allow close inspection.

Because of its short wings the movements of this Thrasher are rather heavy. Its flights are short and usually from bush to bush, while constantly opening and shutting its tail. Its life is not confined to trees and shrubs, for it moves easily on the ground, hopping rapidly with accompanying jerks of its tail. It is said that it will scratch in the layer of old leaves under trees, like a domestic fowl when hunting for its food. It prefers insect food and seldom eats fruit of any kind, except when food of its choice is scarce.

Its favorite haunts seem to be the regions of scrubby oak and greasewood brush of the deep mountain gorges. Here it builds its home, which “is a coarse, widely constructed platform of sticks, coarse grass and mosses, with but a very slight depression. Occasionally, however, nests of this bird are more carefully and elaborately made. It is always well hid in the low scrub bushes.”

Both the sexes assist in the care of the eggs, though the male, as befits the father of a family, usually stands guard over the nest, giving a quiet note of warning on the approach of danger. Both sexes are said to be adepts at misleading an intruder, for they will fly away from the nest to the ground or to some thicket at a distance from their home, and there by plaintive notes soon attract the intruder, especially if he is a nest hunter. In this, as well as in all its habits, it so resembles the brown thrasher that it may be considered its representative on the Pacific Coast.

WINTER’S SECRET.

This beautiful day when the sun so bright Is giving my garment most beautiful hues, I’ll just look over the birds in sight— The living gems on my cloak of white— And the most precious I will choose.

I’ll sit in my tent of brilliant blue And look through its lacings of willow gold, That shows a flashing of cardinal hue. Yes, that’s my redbird—I see him. Don’t you? He’s here if my breath is cold.

There’s darker spots close by redbird’s flash; They look like shadows compared to him. Now they dip in the brook where its waters plash O’er the willow’s roots with a rippling clash, And drink from my ice cups so thin.

I think they are snowbirds. Hello, little mutes! Just answer me now till I’m sure it is you. You look with your rusty brownish suits, As you flirt and dance o’er the frozen roots, Like the tasseled cords of my shoe.

Haw! haw! from the treetop laughs out crow. “Don’t you know I am out with the very best? I love the sun, and I flap to and fro, The one black-wing not afraid of the snow, Though you sometimes call me a pest.”

And Mr. Field Finch with chestnut hood, As he swings and sways on his weed perch brown, Calls in tones that you will not use when you’re good, “Can’t you see a body? See! I’m here near the wood Where the berries and seeds rattle down.”

I’ll now call Robin. Where are you, dear? I know I saw you this early morn, A crimson breast in the pine tree here. Come, Robin, come! I’m sure you are near; Yes, yonder you sit in that thorn.

Oh my cloak is so gay and its gems never rest, But flutter and shine, ’neath the rays of the sun; So I’ll draw it close to my rugged breast, And never will say which one I love best— For I love them all—every one. —Mary Noland.

A QUEER PARTNERSHIP.

A fine afternoon of that lovely spring month, May, found me ready for an afternoon collecting among the birds. Leaving home, I made my way to the river bank, and slowly strolled along its banks, finding much to amuse and interest me among the birds and flowers, seeing many old friends and a few new ones. After going about half a mile, I came to a well wooded place on one of the banks where the tall pines found safe homes for the crows, and a few families were raised here every year. A little way back, partly up the hill, was a dead basswood stump or tree, which contained the home of a golden-winged woodpecker or flicker, which I had found a few days before by seeing the bird leaving the nesting hole. As the hole was between 30 and 40 feet from the ground, I put on my climbers and was soon in a position to investigate; so, seating myself on a large limb that branched out just below the nest, I inserted my hand, and got quite a start on catching hold of some soft, downy creature, which I thought must be a squirrel, but imagine my surprise to find that I had secured an adult screech owl from out of the woodpecker’s nest. The owl, which had lain quietly enough in my hands, put an end to my thoughts by suddenly coming to life, and very active life at that, and putting its claws into my hand, prepared to give itself a good startoff. But I had hold of its legs, and as I did not like the way it was holding on, I put it back into the hole, from which in the meantime I had taken an egg, which on examining proved to be the woodpecker’s and not an owl egg. Though the eggs are both white, the woodpecker’s is larger than it is broad and more of a glossy texture, while the owl’s is nearly round and also much larger.

Now was the puzzle, what was the owl doing in the woodpecker’s nest, which was claimed by the latter, as it had deposited an egg in it, and also was seen leaving the nest a day or two before. The only conclusion that I could arrive at was that the owl had taken possession for the day and so turned the woodpecker out.

So far I had not been able to find an owl’s nest, but as I could see by the loss of feathers that the owl had been setting I proceeded to try and find the nest, and decided to try the tree further up; so, leaving the owl in the flicker’s home, I continued my climb to the top of the stub, and found the top rotted away, leaving quite a hollow eighteen inches deep with a small hole through a rotten place in the bark, through which I could see something white, so, carefully putting in my hands, I was delighted to find four young owls which were about ten days old, ugly little things, covered with a dirty white down, with the feathers just commencing to show and with their yellow beaks and large eyes. They did not look a very interesting pet, but still I secured two and left two for the mother owl. I descended the tree and put my treasure safely away in my collecting bag.

I would like to know how the owl and flicker arranged the boarding matter, for I did not get time to go back for a week, when from the woodpecker’s nest I took six eggs and found the two owlets nearly ready to fly, but I saw neither of the old birds. So whether the owl continued to stay with the flicker or not, or whether it had just gone for the day, I shall never know; but still it was interesting to find the two nests on the one tree within three feet of each other, one containing eggs and the other young birds.

The owls that I had taken were safely reared and prove both amusing and interesting pets, but their life while in my keeping we will leave for another time.

D. Welby.

THE BROAD-TAILED HUMMINGBIRD. (_Selasphorus platycercus._)

When morning dawns * * * * The flower-fed hummingbird his round pursues; Sips with inserted tube the honied blooms, And chirps his gratitude as round he roams; While richest roses, though in crimson drest, Shrink from the splendor of his gorgeous breast. What heavenly tints in mingling radiance fly! Each rapid movement gives a different dye; Like scales of burnished gold they dazzling show— Now sink to shade, now like a furnace glow! —Alexander Wilson.

If we desire to study the Broad-tailed Hummingbird in the regions that it frequents, we must journey to the mountainous district of Western North America. Here it may be found in large numbers, for it is the most common of all the species that frequent the mountains. It seeks its food of insects and honey from the flowers of a prolific flora extending from Wyoming and Idaho southward through Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Texas and over the table lands of Mexico into Guatemala. It is pretty generally distributed throughout the various mountain systems between the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevadas.

Dr. Merriam found the Broad-tails very abundant in the balsam and pine belts of the San Francisco Mountains of Arizona, where their principal food plants were the scarlet trumpet flower and the large blue larkspur. Of their habits he says, “They wake up very early in the morning and go to water at daylight, no matter how cold the weather is. During the month of August, and particularly the first half of the month, when the mornings were often frosty, hundreds of them came to the spring to drink and bathe at break of day. They were like a swarm of bees, buzzing about one’s head and darting to and fro in every direction. The air was full of them. They would drop down to the water, dip their feet and bellies, and rise and shoot away as if propelled by an unseen power. They would often dart at the face of an intruder as if bent on piercing the eye with their needlelike bill, and then poise for a moment almost within reach before turning, when they were again lost in the busy throng. Whether this act was prompted by curiosity or resentment I was unable to ascertain.”

It seems strange and unnatural that so delicate a bird and one so highly colored should frequent localities where periods of low temperature are common. Yet the Broad-tailed Hummingbird prefers high elevations and has been known to nest at an altitude of eleven thousand feet, and it seldom breeds at places lower than five thousand feet.

The males leave for their winter homes very early in the season. Usually this migration takes place very soon after the young birds leave their nests. Mr. Henshaw attributes this movement of the males to the fact that their favorite food plant, the Scrophularia, begins to lose its blossoms at this time. He says: “It seems evident that the moment its progeny is on the wing and its home ties severed, warned of the approach of fall alike by the frosty nights and the decreasing supply of food, off go the males to their inviting winter haunts, to be followed not long after by the females and young. The latter, probably because they have less strength, linger last, and may be seen even after every adult bird has departed.”

Though the flight of all hummingbirds is rapid, that of this species is unusually so. During the breeding season, or at least while mating, the flight of the male is accompanied by a loud metallic noise. This is only heard when the bird is rapidly flying and not when it is hovering over flowers. Mr. Henshaw suggests that this sound may be “analogous to the love notes of other birds.” Though he saw “many of these birds in the fall, it was only very rarely that this whistling note was heard, and then only with greatly diminished force.” He believed that the sound was produced at the will of the bird and by means of some peculiar attenuation of the outer primary wing feather. The nesting places of many of the hummingbirds, as well as that of the Broad-tail, may frequently be located by the peculiar perpendicular flight of the male. They will frequently fly as high as one hundred feet immediately above the vicinity of the nest, repeating the performance several times before alighting on some perch. The female is a faithful mother and will often remain on her nest until an intruder is within a few inches. The nest, though sometimes placed on large branches, is usually built but a few feet from the ground in low bushes or boughs that overhang water.

In their migrations southward the Broad-tailed Hummingbird is frequently found in company with the rufous-backed species, for which it shows an especial animosity. Speaking of these two species, Mr. Henshaw says: “The beds of bright flowers about Willow Spring, in the White Mountains, Arizona, were alive with them in August, and as they moved swiftly to and fro, now surfeiting themselves on the sweets they here found so abundant, now fighting with each other for possession of some such tempting prize as a cluster of flowers, their rapid motions and the beauty of their colors intensified by the bright sunlight, conspired to an effect not soon to be forgotten.”

A BIRD THAT HUNG HIMSELF.

Near the gate of our garden stands a small apricot tree which is only about six feet in height. Last year a long twine string became entangled in this tree. One day when I went to the garden I noticed a blackbird hanging in this string, about two feet from the ground. On examination I found that the string was closely wrapped about his neck several times, and that he had been choked to death by it. He had evidently tried to secure the string for his nest, and probably had several times started to fly away with it, only to find that the other end of it was fast.

There are usually high winds in Kansas during the Spring months, and these may have helped to entangle the unfortunate bird. It is certain that in some manner he had snared himself, and in attempting to fly had jerked the cord tight about his neck. There he hung, a martyr to his own energy and ambition; and somewhere his mate mourned for the partner who had gone from her never to return.

Mary McCrae Culter.

WINTER MEMORIES.

Two little twittering sparrows Shivering under the eaves, Watching the slanting raindrops Pattering over the leaves.

Chilled to their poor little marrows, Though feathered in winter array, For cold blows the wind o’er the housetop And bitter and bleak is the day.

“You two little balls of brown feathers! You chattering he and she! Of what are you thinking, my pretty ones, As you nestle close under the lea?”

“Shall we tell you,” they twitter in chorus, “Our thoughts in this sharp winter air, Through which the chill ice drops are falling O’er treetops so wind-torn and bare?

“We remember our love in the spring time— Ah, life to us then was so dear, As we drifted through days joy-laden, And nights filled with moonbeams so clear.

“We remember the sunshine of summer, When the hours floated by like a dream, And the air was alive with bird-music And the world was a shimmer of green.

“We remember, too, winter is fleeting, Though now it is snow-bound and drear; But sometime the sunshine will loosen The ice chains and spring will be here.

“We remember”—the little heads quiver And the voices sound drowsily deep, As they come from ’way down among feathers; “We remember”—a pause—“then we sleep.” —Alberta A. Field.

SOME OF OUR WINTER BIRDS. IN EASTERN MASSACHUSETTS.

One of our most interesting winter birds and (with the exception of the English sparrow) perhaps the commonest, is the little black-cap chicadee. He is frequently seen in one’s orchard and around the door, and a stroll into the woods will reveal him at any time. He may be easily distinguished by his jet black cap, his bluish drab back and wings, and a yellow tinge on his downy breast. Cedar trees are a special delight of his and, in the winter season, he may be found in nearly every grove of these evergreens. As one walks along through the woods, he is attracted by their notes, usually the simple, cheerful “chic-a-dee-ee e e,” varied with squeaks and chirps, or if it be in February or March, he may hear a beautiful whistle (“pee-a-wee-a”), and possibly catch a pretty warbling song. They are always lively and cheerful and on a gloomy winter day they cause one to forget everything but them and their pleasant notes. They feed principally on berries and seeds, such as can be found in cold weather when the ground is covered with snow. But our little friends are seldom alone; as almost constant companions they have the nuthatches, snowbirds, tree sparrows and goldfinches.

Another very common cold weather bird is the slate colored snowbird or junco. Bluish slate above and grayish below, with some white tail feathers which show as he flies, he is a pretty sight to behold when one starts a flock of them from some frozen swamp or meadow, where they feed upon seeds and berries. They utter a loud chirp when you disturb them in the winter time, and as they hop about keep up an incessant twittering, which are the only notes you will hear from them, unless you are lucky enough to hear their song which they seldom sing before starting for their summer homes. When it is stormy or severely cold they come up to one’s door and eat bread crumbs and other things which may be thrown out. They are real friendly and will come quite near to you, and a man once told me that the reason for this was blindness on the part of the birds, and even as he spoke one of the birds flew to a nearby fence and, cocking his head, looked my informer over as if to give him the lie. John B. Tabb has written a short poem, which nicely describes him:

When snow, like silence visible, Hath hushed the summer bird, Thy voice, a never frozen rill Of melody, is heard. But when from winter’s lethargy The buds begin to blow, Thy voice is mute, and suddenly Thou vanishest like snow.

The tree sparrow, one of our most interesting sparrows, is another bird who does not fear the winter winds and storms. Although he carries the name of tree sparrow, he is most emphatically a bird of the ground, and may be seen during the winter months in almost any remote patch of plowed ground where there are old weed stalks for him to eat. They are especially addicted to old tomato fields and seem to delight in the seeds of this plant. This sparrow looks like a large chippy, our door yard neighbor of the summer months, excepting that he has distinguishing white bars across his wings. They travel in large flocks, and where one sees a few of them scratching in the snow, a step too close will scare dozens of them away. They associate considerably with snowbirds and where there are members of one family you will most always find the others either with them or close by.

One of our prettiest winter birds is the downy woodpecker, his glossy black and white, with the bright red spot on his head, showing up strongly from some tree trunk, where he raps for insects, as he goes up, propping himself with his tail as he works. One notices him by hearing his rapping on a branch or his loud note, which he utters frequently. He delights in boring holes in trees and, especially in the spring, he drills out complete nests which he probably has no intention of ever using. The hairy woodpecker has almost precisely the same habits and colors as the downy, and differs only in size. He, also, is one of our winter residents, but not so commonly as the other.

The flicker or yellow hammer is another woodpecker that is with us in winter as well as summer. He varies somewhat from the rest of his family in habits, in that, he feeds considerably on the ground, consuming a large number of ants. He is quiet during the winter, but his loud and cheerful notes are one of the first bird songs of spring.

A bird which resembles the woodpecker in his method of feeding, is the brown creeper, a pretty little brown bird, with a long curved bill and long sharp claws, who spends most of his time in climbing trees. Unlike a woodpecker, he goes up the trunk by going spirally around it, thus going over the whole tree before he flies to the next one and repeats the operation. The color of his back closely resembles the bark of a tree, and when disturbed he will sometimes crouch close to the tree where it is almost impossible to see him. In the spring, before departing north to breed, they often sing their pretty tune to us, which, however, we are lucky to hear. In the coldest weather they are frequently seen on trees by the wayside, and I have seen them on Boylston street, Boston, as busy and contented as ever.

The nuthatch is another bird which climbs, and, unlike either the woodpeckers or creepers, he goes down the tree head first, instead of backing down, and for this reason has been nicknamed “Devil Downhead.” There are two nuthatches which are fairly common during the winter months, the white-breasted and the red-breasted. The former more commonly frequents orchards and the roadside, while the latter prefers to frolic, with the chicadees, among the evergreens. They seldom stay with us in the summer, usually nesting farther north.

The goldfinch is also a regular winter visitor; but at this season he has none of his bright colors of the summer time; but is a plain little olive green bird, with dark wings and a gray breast. They feed considerably on thistles, but when the snow falls they take whatever berries they can find. I remember seeing four or five of them, one day two winters ago, coming up and feeding upon the berries of a honeysuckle vine near my window, and at another time I saw them eating with chicadees in some cedars.

Cedar birds, although they do not stay with us any length of time, may be seen at different periods during the winter. They are very pretty birds, being brownish drab above and sulphur yellow below, while the wings are marked by spots of bright red. They travel in very large flocks and soon have one locality completely cleared of food, when they depart elsewhere. One is first attracted by their peculiar lisping notes, which, coming from so many throats, make quite a noise, and upon looking up, he will see them perhaps in flight or more probably roosting on the branches of some elm or oak; or flitting about a cedar, stripping it of its berries. They are also great lovers of cherries, and when this fruit is ripe they may be seen in large numbers in some orchard.

A journey into the woods on a cold winter day may reveal to one a flock of small birds, which have the appearance of a lot of sparrows which had been dyed purple, the colors of the sparrow plainly showing, beneath the purple tinge or wash on their backs and heads. These are lesser redpoll linnets. Very hard working little birds, that usually delight in the arctic regions, we see them only when the severest cold drives them south. They fly in very large flocks, and Miss Blanchan says of them, “First, we see a quantity of dots, like a shake of pepper, in the cloud above, then the specks grow larger and larger, and finally the birds seem to drop from the sky upon some tall tree that they completely cover—a veritable cloudburst of birds.”