Chapter 6

These chickens were considered very wonderful, and many visitors came to see them. They grew fast and were as tame as kittens. Day after day the children came to feed the pretty pets, bringing them young clover tops and tender grass. Katie treated them with her birds' canary and hemp seed. Robbie gave them bits of his cookies and cakes. Anything that the children liked to eat, these little chickens liked also; and when they heard the little boots coming towards them they would perch on the edge of their yard and chirp and peep and coax for their dainties.

By and by their wings began to grow and the fluffy down was changed to feathers. Grandma said that now they must have meat occasionally, chopped up fine, and they had it Wednesdays and Saturdays.

The little creatures were frantic for the meat. They would fly upon August, and, if they could get there, into the dish, which they more than once overturned.

When their plumage was well out they were handsome fowls. August built a large coop and out-door yard for them, but they were not often confined in it, for the children loved to have them about with them, and watched them as carefully as a hen mother could have done; and great was the joy of Katie and Robbie as they ran to their mother to report the first crowing of the little cockerels.

When last I saw them they were well grown. The pullets, August proudly informed me, were laying.

It was the glorious Fourth. Torpedoes were the order of the day, and Katie and Robbie were amusing themselves by throwing the snappers in all directions, and seeing their feathered pets run to eat what they could never find. The other fowls, disturbed by the noise of the day, preferred to keep hidden away in their houses, but these liked to keep about with the children and see the fun.

August began his experiments when some of my young readers were quite little children. He has continued them through several seasons, until now, after much study and patient industry, he has enlarged and greatly improved his incubator. He has changed its form entirely, and has attached an electric apparatus which regulates the heat, and avoids all danger from smoke. He has applied for a patent, and has made arrangements for taking care of a large number of chickens as early as February, being still greatly interested in this successful "'speriment."

[A] Fahrenheit and Réaumur were both inventors of thermometers. Those commonly in use are Fahrenheit's.

THE BIRDS OF WINTER.

It seems strange that any birds should stay with us during the cold and frost when there is so much food which they like in the southern part of our country. Men of science wonder why they do remain here, and are unable to account for it. Perhaps it is because it is the true home of these birds which remain, and they prefer to search long and diligently for their scanty food, and bear the cold and the winds and the frost, rather than leave it. This is as _we_ should do, and doubtless the birds that stay through the winter love _their_ homes just as much--as a bird possibly can.

Of course everybody,--that is, everybody except the tiniest, wee baby, has seen the winter birds, some of them; at least the Chickadees, the Snow-birds, and Downy Woodpeckers, and Bluejays and Shore larks. _But are you acquainted with the little fellows?_ Do you know where and how they live, and what they eat, and of their habits and songs?

A great favorite of mine is the Chickadee, with his black cap and white shirt bosom. This active little gentleman is the most social and friendly of them all. If out in the country, this little fellow in company with his mates will twitter gaily at sight of you, every now and then looking curiously at you as if asking, "And who are _you_, sir?" or "Who are _you_, ma'am?" and pecking his way gradually nearer and nearer will inspect you in the quaintest and merriest way. Afraid! O no, not they. Mr. Samuels, a writer about birds, says that he once had an inquisitive little Chickadee perch on the end of his boot and sit there watching him inquiringly. They have even been known to feed from the open hand. If you will daily scatter some crumbs for them before the door, or upon the window-sill, you will learn for yourselves how neighborly they are.

Still the Chickadees are strangely tender, needing a warm, cosy nest to shield their little bodies. They cannot make their nests on the limbs of trees. Oh, no, that wouldn't do, for the first thing they knew the wind would blow, blow, and down would come their home. So they hunt around in the woods or along the rails and posts, for the nests in the wood that have been deserted by the woodpecker, who has flown away to a milder clime. If the Chickadees can not find these, they set to work themselves and with great labor dig a hole in a tree, or post, for their winter quarters. They prefer decayed trunks or posts so they can work more easily. To the bottom of their holes they bring pieces of wool, moss, and feathers or hair, and weave warm carpets and curtains to make cosy their little homes.

The Chickadees are very active, lively little things. They are always in motion; now hopping along in search of food, sending forth the peculiar cry that gives them their name, and then alighting on the tree limbs and moving from one tree to another "traversing," as Wilson, a great authority on birds, says, "the woods in regular procession from tree to tree, and in this manner traveling several miles a day." They are very strong for their size, and will hang below a limb supported by their claws, with their head downwards, which we should think would make them dizzy, but it does not seem to.

These little roamers of our roads and woods are so genial, companionable and social, that not only do _we_ enjoy their society, but other birds are enchanted with them and seek their company. The Chickadees do not object. And so Brown Creepers, Nuthatches, Downy Woodpeckers, and other birds, often join them in their merry rambles and scrambles. They feed mostly on very small insects and eggs, such as infest the bark of trees, but will eat almost anything offered them; even meat they will peck from a bone.

Pleasant, indeed, in the midst of winter is this little bird's cry:

"_Chick-a-dee-dee-dee! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!_"

Pleasant his sharp whistle:

"_Pe-wee! Pe-wee! Pe-wee!_"

How much we should miss these amiable favorites should they ever take a notion to desert us! They stay with us throughout the year, but in summer they are shyer than in winter for they rear their young then. It is not until their family cares are over in the autumn, that they gather in small flocks and resume their merry life and social ways.

Another very interesting and neighborly winter bird is our familiar Snow-bird, often called the "Black Snow-bird" to distinguish it from the Snow Bunting or "White Snow-bird."

These tiny birds visit us from the north. Their journeys extend over the whole breadth of the United States. They appear here in the latter part of October, and are first seen among the decaying leaves near the borders of the woods, in flocks of about thirty. If molested, they at once fly to the trees. As the weather becomes colder they approach nearer the farm-houses and towns.

They are real weather prophets. When a storm is near at hand they gather together in large flocks, and work very, very diligently in search of food,--doubtless making provision for the time of wind and storm when they can get none.

But it is after the snow-storms, when the ground is white with the downy flakes, that the Snow-birds become the most friendly. How pleasant it is then to see them gather about the house, and around the barn and out-houses, to search for edibles. Not only then do they appear in the country-places, but even in the crowded city their little forms may be seen in multitudes, on the snowy streets and in the windows.

They build their nests near the ground, often on a stump or log, or in a deep thicket, in such a manner as to be shielded from the wind and storms. They construct their homes from bits of fine grasses and leaves, and it is interesting to observe what wonderful architects they are.

The Snow-birds, I am sorry to say, though friendly with us are not, like the little Chickadees, peaceful among themselves. They are often very quarrelsome, and will peck at each other in a way that little birds should not. Perhaps they "make up" with one another and are good friends again. I hope so.

The Snow-birds are very nimble on the ground, and, I guess, can eat faster and more for their size than any other winter bird. It is a very funny sight to see them scratch away the snow with their tiny feet to get their food, which, when insects and eggs are not to be had, is the seeds of many kinds of weeds that still rise above the snow, and along the border of the roads.

Sometimes, perhaps, you have come upon a dead Snow-bird in the morning following a cold night, and perhaps have wondered if the poor little creature froze to death, and why he did not die at home. But the Snow-birds are sometimes affected with a dizziness or faintness which makes them fall from the limbs, or during their flight. _What_ makes them dizzy or faint, we do not know; not from hanging head downwards like the little Chickadees, surely. But they often, alas! come to their death through this affection.

The snow-birds have a peculiar cry of "_Chuck! chuck!_"--and another of "_Chit, chit-a-sit!_" which however, they seldom utter except when taking flight. They stay with us until about the 29th of April, when they wing away to the north or to the higher ranges of our mountains.

Somewhat similar to the Snow-birds are the Snow Buntings or "White Snow-birds." They appear every winter in large flocks, often of many thousands. They are sometimes called "bad weather birds," from the fact of their moving to the northward during fine weather and to the southward on the advent of deep snow-storms. They are much shyer than either the Chickadees or Snow-birds; but they are often seen on the roadsides and in the lanes searching for the seeds of weeds that grow there. On the sea-shore, which they greatly frequent, they live on small shellfish. It is curious that the greater the snow and the colder the weather of winter, the whiter do the Snow-Buntings appear.

They are very swift flyers, and often in flocks of great numbers seem to be a cloud of snow-flakes driven before a storm. They make their nests in the fissures of the rocks, forming from grass, and feathers, and the down of the Arctic fox, a very cosey home. They frequent the roads and lanes in the vicinity of Boston, and their white forms and busy beaks can be seen throughout the winter season.

They have peculiar notes like a clear whistle, and a "_chirr, chirr!_" which they utter when flying.

A very fine little bird quite common in this State in the winter season, is the Brown Creeper, with its showy brown and white coat. These active little creatures are great lovers of the woods and pass their lives among the trees.

Unlike the Chickadees and Nuthatches, who also are partial to the woods, they very rarely descend to the ground to either hop about or hunt for food. Nor do they, like the two former birds, ever hang to a limb with their heads downward.

Still the Brown Creeper seems to be constantly in activity, and hunts most diligently for the insects it feeds upon. This it does somewhat in the manner of the Woodpecker, by clinging to the trunks or branches of trees, supporting itself by its stiff tail-feathers and thus moving about quite securely.

They are very methodical. They strive to get every insect from a tree that there is on it, before leaving for another. So they generally alight near the foot of a tree and gradually climb to the top; an insect must be very, very small to escape their piercing gaze.

They often work around a tree in spirals, and so are at times lost to the sight of an observer of their ways; and if the watcher runs around to the other side of the tree, very likely by the time he gets there, lo! they are back to the former side.

But they are not at all shy, and though not as neighborly and social as the Chickadee, or Snow-bird, still they will not fly away from the presence of unmolesting persons.

The Brown Creeper has not the bill suitable to excavate a hole for himself, so he is obliged to find a hollow trunk, a squirrel's nest, or a deserted Woodpecker's home. Here the little bird builds a nest of dry twigs and lays its pretty eggs.

As the mid-winter cold deepens they retire to the depths of the woods, or into the brown and sheltered thickets, where their little cry of "_Chip, chip_," and "_Cree, cree, cree_," may be frequently heard; and very pleasant it is, too. Very useful they are, these little Brown Creepers, as well as the Chickadees and Nuthatches, for they help preserve our beautiful trees and shrubbery from the destroying worms and insects.

I have mentioned the Nuthatches. These birds, a little larger than the others before noticed, are not so numerous as the Chickadees and Snow-birds, but they are very interesting. The name of Nuthatches was given to them long ago, because it was supposed they broke the wood nuts by repeated _hatchings_ or hammerings with their bills. But now men of science, who study birds, do not think that is true, and believe the Nuthatches to be wrongly named.

It was also thought that the Nuthatches, like the squirrels, lay up in the summer a store of nuts for their winter use. But this also is doubted, since the Nuthatch will climb along the trees and limbs in search of insects and larvæ when the tree hangs full of nuts. So it is thought their principal food is composed of ants, seeds of various shrubbery, bugs and insects.

While the female bird is sitting on her eggs, the male Nuthatch displays a great deal of care and affection, supplying her regularly with the choicest food he can collect. With this he flies away to the mouth of the hole where they have established their home, and calls to her so tenderly, offering her the delicacy he has brought. He seems to call to her sometimes, simply to inquire how she is, and to soothe her labors with his incessant chatter. Seldom does he venture far from the nest, and if any danger threatens he instantly flies back to alarm her.

The white-breasted Nuthatch is known by his cry of "_quank, quank_," repeated frequently as he keeps moving along the branches of a tree, piercing the bark with his bill and breaking off pieces in search of insects and their larvæ.

This affectionate bird, like the little Chickadees, rests and roosts with his head downwards; and also like them, is very curious and inquiring. If you are in sight, he will gradually make his way to you and reconnoitre your appearance, as if he would learn who you are.

There is also another bird of this species called the red-breasted Nuthatch, who is seen in New England, in winter, and who leads a similar life to his white-breasted relative.

Though most of the many species of Woodpeckers leave us on the advent of cold weather, still there are some that remain. My little readers, I am certain, have nearly all seen the round homes of the Woodpecker. You may observe them in almost any wood. They are about alike except in size and situation. A round hole in a tree or post is all you will see from a distance; but if you can climb,--for their holes are usually more than six feet from the ground,--you may look down into the deep home itself.

How much patience and perseverance they must have to dig, bit by bit, such straight deep nests. These holes are seldom lined with any thing, but are generally enlarged at the bottom so as to give the family more "elbow room."

The one we know best in winter is the Downy Woodpecker, the prettiest and smallest of the tribe. It builds its nest in various trees, preferring the apple-tree, poplar and birches. Its hole is smaller than those of other woodpeckers because, I suppose, the bird itself is so much smaller that he can do with less room.

The Downy Woodpeckers are very sociable; and although they themselves are not gregarious, you may often see them followed by Chickadees, Creepers, Nuthatches and Wrens, whose company they appear to be pleased with.

They are not shy of man, but, unlike most of their tribe, haunt roadsides, orchards, and grounds about houses and out-buildings, which they prefer to the deep forests. They are generally seen in pairs, and are very active little birdies. In searching for food, insects and eggs, they move from tree to tree and thus pass the day. They rarely alight on the ground. Their ordinary cry is a "_Chick_, _chick_," repeated rapidly.

A somewhat larger Woodpecker, called the Hairy Woodpecker, is also an inhabitant of our woods in winter and much like the Downy Woodpecker in habits.

These are the principal and most common of our winter birds. There are some others sometimes seen, such as the Tree-Sparrow, Blue-Jay and Golden Crowned Wren, but space forbids an account of their ways and songs. I hope what I have told you of the winter birds will induce you to study and observe more closely their almost human ways.

SOMETHING ABOUT LIGHT-HOUSES.

You have all heard of the Seven Wonders of the World; did you know that two of these wonders were veritable Light-houses?

About 300 B. C., Cheres, the disciple of Lysippus, cast the famous brazen Colossus of Rhodes, a statue of the Sun God Apollo, and erected it at the entrance of the harbor where it was used as a Light-house, the flames which crowned the head of the Sun God by night serving to guide wandering barks into his Rhodian waters.

For eighty years its hundred brazen feet towered superbly above port and town, and then it was partly destroyed by an earthquake. For nearly a thousand years the sacred image remained unmolested where it had fallen, by Greek and Roman, Pagan and Christian; but at last the Saracen owners of Rhodes, caring as little for its religious association as for its classic antiquity, sold the brass of it for the great sum of £36.000, to the Jewish merchants of Edessa.

Just about the time that the Colossus was set astride the Rhodian harbor, King Ptolemy Philadelphus caused a noble tower of superb white stone, four hundred feet high, to be erected by an architect named Sostrasius, son of Dixiphanes, at the entrance to the port of Alexandria, which was a bran-new busy city in those days, a mere mushroom growth in that old, old Egypt, where the upstart Ptolomies were reigning on the throne of the Pharaohs.

It is said that this Sostrasius didn't want his own name to be forgotten, so he carved it deep in the stone of the tower and covered it over with plaster whereon he inscribed by royal command:

"King Ptolemy to the Gods, the Saviours, for the benefit of sailors."

Josephus tells us that the light, kept burning on the top of this Pharos, as it was called, probably from a word that signifies _fire_, was visible for forty miles at sea. For a thousand years it shone constantly until the Alexandrian Wonder likewise fell a prey to time and the Saracens.

The words Pharos-Phâre, Faro, etc., have been adopted into more than one European language to express Light-house or sea-light.

Some persons suppose that great mirrors must have been used to direct the light on the Pharos and keep it from being lost, but it is most probable that no more effective means of illumination than a common fire was employed.

The only other Light-houses of antiquity of which any record has been preserved are the Tower of Conira in Spain, which Humboldt mentions as the _Iron Tower_, and a magnificent stone Light-house at Capio, near the mouth of the Guadalquiver, that Strabo tells us about, on a rock nearly surrounded by sea.

Then tradition points out Cesar's Altar at Dover, the _Tour d' Ordre_ at Boulogne, a Roman Pharos at Norfolk, and, in early British history, St. Edmund's Chapel at the same place, as having been originally intended for sea-lights.

Though we are far ahead of our forefathers in our scientific apparatus for illuminating Light-houses, we have never equalled them in magnificence of architecture; for, in point of grandeur, the _Tour de Corduan_ at the mouth of the River Garonne, in France, is probably the noblest edifice of the kind in the world, and it is nearly three hundred years since it was completed under Henry IV., having been twenty-six years in building.

All these centuries it has stood strong on its great reef, and has served to guide the shipping of Bordeau and the Languedoc Canal, and all that part of the Bay of Biscay; and it promises, in all human probability, to show its steadfast light for centuries to come.

Corduan is stoutly built in four stories, each of a different order of architecture, highly ornamented and adorned with the busts of the Kings of France, and of the heathen divinities. The first story contains the store-rooms, the second, the so-called King's apartments, the third a chapel, and the fourth the dome or lower lantern. The tower completed is 197 feet high.

When this splendid structure was completed no better method for illuminating was known than by burning billets of oak wood in a chauffer in the upper lantern; and it was considered a great matter when a rude reflector in the form of an inverted cone was suspended above the flame to prevent the light from escaping upward. It is not known, in fact, that any more effective mode of lighting was employed until 1760, not much more than one hundred years ago; and then the radiance was not especially brilliant as it would seem to us. At that time Smeaton the engineer began to use wax candles at the Eddystone Light-house, which soon degenerated to tallow dips, probably on account of the expense, and they must have given the keeper abundance of occupation in the way of snuffing and replenishing.