Chapter 14

The little dame was bewitching in her manner, and her handsome young spouse the most devoted consort I ever saw in feathers, or out of them, I may say. Although she alone built the nest, he was her constant attendant, and they always made their appearance together. He dropped into a taller tree--an apple near by--while she, with her beak full of materials, alighted on the lowest branch of the plum, and hopped gayly from twig to twig, as though they were steps, up to the sky parlor where she had established her homestead. Then she went busily to work to adjust the new matter, while he waited patiently during the ten or fifteen minutes she thus occupied. Sometimes he seemed to wonder what she could be about all this time, for he came and alighted beside her, staying only an instant, and then flying with the evident expectation that she would follow. Usually, however, he remained quietly on guard till she left the nest with her joyful call, when he joined her, and away they went together, crying, "te-o-tum, te! te!" till out of sight and hearing. There was a joyousness of manner in this pair that gave a festive air to even so prosaic a performance as going for food. The source of supplies, as I soon discovered, was a bit of neglected ground between a buckwheat patch and a barn, where grass and weeds of several sorts flourished. Here each bird pulled down by its weight a stalk of meadow or other grass, and spent some time feasting upon its seeds.

But madam was a timid little soul; she reminded me constantly of some bigger folk I have known. She wanted her gay cavalier always within call, and he responded to her demands nobly, becoming more domestic than one would imagine possible for such a restless, light-hearted sprite. After the young house-mistress settled herself to her sitting, she often lifted her head above the edge of her nest, and uttered a strangely thrilling and appealing cry, which I think is only heard in the nesting-time. He always replied instantly, in tenderest tones, and came at once, sometimes from the other side of the orchard, singing as he flew, and perched in the apple-tree. If she wanted his escort to lunch, she joined him there, and after exchanging a few low remarks, they departed together. Occasionally, however, she seemed to be merely nervous, perhaps about some other bird who she fancied might be troublesome, though, in general, neither of the pair paid the slightest attention to birds who came about, even upon their own little tree.

Often when the goldfinch came in answer to this call of his love, he flew around, at some height above the tree, in a circle of thirty or forty feet diameter, apparently to search out any enemy who might be annoying her. If he saw a bird, he drove him off, though in a perfunctory manner, as if it were done merely in deference to his lady's wishes, and not from any suspicion or jealousy. On these occasions, too, he came quite near me, stood fearless and calm, and studied me most sharply, doubtless to see if my intentions were innocent. Of course I looked as amiable and harmless as possible, and in a moment he decided that I was not dangerous, made some quiet remark to his fussy little partner, and flew away.

Sometimes this conduct did not reassure the uneasy bird, and she called again. Then he brought some tidbit in his beak, went to the edge of the nest, and fed her. Then she was pacified; but do not mistake her, it was not hunger that prompted her actions; when she was hungry, she openly left her nest and went for food. It was, as I am convinced, the longing desire to know that he was near her, that he was still anxious to serve her, that he had not forgotten her in her long absence from his side. This may sound a little fanciful to one who has not studied birds closely, but she was so "human" in all her actions that I feel justified in judging of her motives exactly as I should judge had she measured five feet instead of five inches, and worn silk instead of feathers.

The goldfinch need not have worried about her mate, for he spent most of his time within a few feet of her, and more absolutely loyal one could not be. His most common perch was a neighboring tree, though in a heavy beating rain he frequently crouched on the lowest branch of the plum itself. Now and then he rested on a pile of boards beside the farm road already spoken of, and again he took his post on a very tall ash, with only a few limbs at the top, where his body looked like a dot against the blue, and he could oversee the whole country around. Wherever he might be, he sat all puffed out, silent and motionless, evidently just waiting. Sometimes he took occasion to plume himself very carefully, oftener he did nothing, but held himself in readiness to answer any call from the plum-tree, and to accompany the sitter out to dinner.

This bird was an enchanting singer. During courtship, and while his mate was sitting, he often poured out a song that was nothing less than an ecstasy. It was delivered on the wing, and not in his usual wave-like manner of flight, but sailing slowly around and around, very much as a bobolink does, singing rapturously, without pause or break. The quality of the music, too, was strikingly like bobolink notes, and the whole performance was exquisite.

The little sitter soon became accustomed to my presence. When out of her nest, she sometimes came to the tree over my head, and answered when I spoke to her. In this way we carried on quite a long conversation, I imitating, so far as I was able, her own charming "sweet," and she replying in varied utterances, which, alas! were Greek to me.

I longed to watch the lovely and loving pair through their nesting; to see their rapture over their nestlings, their tender care and training, and the first flight of the goldfinch babies. But the inexorable task-master of us all, who proverbially "waits for no man," hurried off these last precious days of July with painful eagerness, and thrust before me the first of August, with the hot and dusty journey set down for that day, long before I was ready for it.

So I did not see the end of their love and labor myself, but the bird's wisdom in the selection of a site for her nursery was proved to be greater than mine, who had ventured to criticise her, by the fact that the nest, as I have been assured, escaped the young eyes of the neighborhood, and turned out its full complement of birdlings to add to next summer's beauty and song.

XXVI.

SOLITARY THE THRUSH.

"Solitary the thrush, The hermit, withdrawn to himself, Sings by himself a song."

Thus says the poet, with no less truth than beauty. No description could better express the spirit of the bird, the retiring habit and the love of quiet for which not alone the hermit, but the three famous singers of the thrush family are remarkable. We should indeed be shocked were it otherwise, for there is an indefinable quality in the tones of this trio, the hermit, wood, and tawny, that stirs the soul to its depths, and one can hardly conceive of them as mingling their notes with other singers, or becoming in any way familiar. In this peculiar power no bird-voice in our part of the world can compare with theirs. The brown thrush ranks high as a musician, the mockingbird leads the world, in the opinion of its lovers, and the winter wren thrills one to the heart. Yet no bird song so moves the spirit, no other--it seems to me--so intoxicates its hearer with rapture, as the solemn chant of "the hermit withdrawn to himself."

"Whenever a man hears it," says our devoted lover of Nature, Thoreau, "he is young, and Nature is in her spring; wherever he hears it there is a new world, and the gates of heaven are not shut against him."

One might quote pages of rhapsody from poets and prose writers, yet to him who has not drunk of the enchantment, they would be but words; they would touch no chord that had not already been thrilled by the marvelous strain itself.

My first acquaintance in the beautiful family was the wood-thrush, and the study of his charms of voice and character filled me with love for the whole bird tribe. He frequented the places I also preferred, the quiet nooks and out of the way corners of a large city park. At that time I thought no bird note on earth could equal his; but a year or two later, on the shore of Lake George, I fell under the magical sway of another voice, whose few notes were exceedingly simple in arrangement, but full of the strangely thrilling power characteristic of the thrush family.

Four years passed, at first in search of the owner of the "wandering voice" that had bewitched me, and when I had found it to be the tawny thrush or veery, in study of the attractive singer himself, which made me an enthusiastic lover of him also. But the "shy and hidden" bird, the hermit, enthroned by those who know him far above the others, I had rarely seen and never clearly heard. Far-off snatches I had gathered, a few of the louder notes had reached me from distant woods, or from far up the mountain side; but I had never been satisfied.

There appeared almost a fatality about my hearing this bird. No matter how common his song in the neighborhood, no sooner did I go there than he retired to the secluded recesses of his choice. He always had "just been singing," but had mysteriously stopped. My search was much longer than, and quite as disappointing as Mr. Burroughs's search through English lanes for a singing nightingale.

Last spring one of the strongest attractions that drew me to a lovely spot in Northern New York was the assurance that the hermit was a constant visitor. I went, and the same old story met me. Before this year the hermit had always been with them. The song of the veery was my morning and evening inspiration, but his shy brother had apparently taken his departure for parts unknown.

"We will go to Sunset Hill," said my friend. "We always hear them there at sunset."

That evening after an early tea, we started for the promised land. The single-file procession through the charming wood paths consisted of our host as protector on the return in the dark, the big dog--his mistress's body-guard--his mistress, an enthusiastic bird-lover, and myself.

The road was all the way through the woods, then lovely with the glow of the western sun, which reached far under the branches, gilded the trunks of the trees, and made a fresh picture at every turn. At the further side of the woods was a grass-covered hill which we ascended, eager to treat our eyes to the sunset, and our ears to the hermit songs. The sun went down serenely, without a cloud to reflect his glory, but the whole pleasant country at our feet was illuminated by his parting rays.

And hark! a hermit began "air-o-ee!" Instantly everything else was forgotten, although the bird was far away.

"He will come nearer," whispered my comrade, and we waited in silence. Several singers were within hearing, but all at a tantalizing remoteness that allowed us to hear the louder notes, and constantly to realize what we were losing.

We lingered, loath to abandon hope, till the deepening shadows reminded us of the woods to be passed through; but no bird came nearer than that maddening distance. In despair we turned our faces homeward at last; several times on the way we paused, lured by an ecstatic note, but every one too far off to be completely heard.

In our quiet walk back through the dark woods I accepted my evident fate, that I was not to be blessed with hermit music this season; but I made a private resolve to find next year a "hermit neighborhood," where birds should be warranted to sing, if I had to take a tent and camp out in a swamp.

June passed away in delightful bird-study, and July followed quickly. Nests and songs in plenty rewarded our search. Every day had been full. Nothing had been wanting to fill our cup of content, except the longed-for song of the hermit; and I had been so absorbed I had almost ceased to regret it.

With the last days of July everything was changed about us. The world was full of bird babies. Infant voices rang out from every tangle; flutters of baby wings stirred every bush; the woods echoed to anxious "pips," and "smacks," and "quits," of uneasy parents working for dear life. We had been so occupied with our study of these charming youngsters, that we bethought ourselves, only as one after another strange warbler appeared upon the scene, that migrating time had arrived, the wonderful procession to the summer-land had begun.

This, alas! I could not stay to see. And if one must go, it were better to take leave before getting entangled in the toils of the warblers, to be driven wild by the numberless shades of yellow and olive, to go frantic over stripes and spots, and bars, and to wear out patience and the Manual, trying to discover what particular combination of Latin syllables scientists have bestowed upon this or that flitting atom in feathers. Before the student is out of bed, a new warbler-note will distract her; in the twilight some tiny bird will fly over her head with an unfamiliar twitter; each and every one will rouse her to eager desire to see it, to name it.

Why have we such a rage for labeling and cataloguing the beautiful things of Nature? Why can I not delight in a bird or flower, knowing it by what it is to me, without longing to know what it has been to some other person? What pleasure can it afford to one not making a scientific study of birds to see such names as "the blue and yellow-throated warbler," "the chestnut-headed golden warbler," "the yellow-bellied, red-poll warbler," attached to the smallest and daintiest beauties of the woods?

Musing upon this and other mysteries, I followed my friend up the familiar paths one day, looking for some young birds whose strange cries we had noted. It was a gray morning, and all the tree trunks were grim and dark, with no variety in coloring. The sounds we were following led us through some unused roads entirely grown up with jewel-weed, part of it five feet high, and thickly hung with the yellow flower from which it takes its name.

It had rained in the night, and every leaf was adorned with minute drops like gems. We parted the stems carefully and passed through, though it seemed to us like wading in deep water, and, in spite of our caution, we were well sprinkled from the dripping leaves. Just as we stepped out of our green sea, the low calls we were trying to locate ceased. We walked slowly on until we were attracted by a rustling in the dry leaves, and then we turned to see two young thrushes foraging about in silence by themselves. They were not very shy, but looked at us with innocent baby eyes as we drew near and examined them. We saw the color and the markings and the peculiar movement of the tail characteristic of the hermit. There could be no doubt that these were hermit babies. We were delighted to see them. I never feel that I know a bird family till I have seen the young. But my pleasure was sadly marred by the reflection that where there were babies must have been a nest and a singer, and we had not heard his voice.

The last Sunday of my stay came, all too soon. It was a glorious day, and, as usual, the two bird-lovers turned their steps toward the woods. Everything seemed at rest and silent. We paused a while in a part of the forest in which we had seen some strange phases of bird life, and had christened the "Bewitched Corner." A gentle breeze set all the leaves to fluttering; far off a woodpecker drummed his salute to his fellows; beyond the trees we could hear the indigo bird singing; but nothing about us was stirring. The wood-pewee was unheard, and even the vireo seemed to have finished his endless song and gone his way.

We passed on a few rods to a favorite resting place of our daily rounds, where my comrade always liked to stretch herself upon the big bole of a fallen tree in the broad sunshine, and I to seat myself at the foot of another tree in the shade. It was a spot

"where hours went their way As softly as sweet dreams go down the night."

As we approached this place a sound reached us that struck us dumb; it was a hermit thrush not far off. Silently we stole up the gentle hill and seated ourselves.

"At last! at last!" I cried in my heart, as I leaned back against my tree to listen.

Then the glorious anthem began again; it rose and swelled upon the air; it filled the woods,--

"And up by mystical chords of song The soul was lifted from care and pain."

Though not in sight, the bird was quite near, so that we heard every note, so enchanting! so inimitable! For ten or fifteen minutes he poured out the melody, while our hearts fairly stood still. Then he stopped, and we heard the thrush "chuck" and the hermit call, which is different from other thrushes, being something between a squawk and a mew. Whether this were his conversation with his mate we could only guess, for we dared not move, hardly indeed to breathe.

After a pause the bird began again, and for one perfect hour we sat there motionless, entranced, and took our fill of his matchless rhapsody. I longed inexpressibly to see the enchanter, though I dared not stir for fear of startling him. Perhaps my urgent desire drew him; at any rate he came at last within sight, stood a few minutes on the low branch of a tree and looked at me, lifting and dropping his expressive tail as he did so. Two or three low, rich notes bubbled out, as if he had half a mind to sing to me; but he thought better of it and dived off the branch into the bushes. We rose to go.

"This only was lacking," I said. "This crowns my summer. I ask no more, and tomorrow I go."

INDEX.

American Goldfinch: bewitching manners, 253. devotion of the male, 255, 256. difficulty of watching, 253. nervous sitter, a, 256. nest, a second, 252. neat building, 248, 249, 251, 253. nesting ways, 244, 254. queer scenes, 245, 246, 247. song, 257. talk with me, a, 257. tragedy again, 250. wooing, 244, 247.

Black and White creeper, 110.

Black-throated Blue Warbler: delight in nest, 166. hard to study, 164. nest and mate, 165. song, 163. studies me, 168. vain search for, 169. young, 170.

Bluejay, the young, 77. appearance of, 89. description of, 91. food as bait, 93. interest of neighbors, 95. not afraid, 92. old birds to the rescue, 94. stray youngster, a, 93.

Bobolink, 139. attack, 152. cries, strange, 139, 140. disturbed, 151. manners, 139. musical call, 153. song, 141, 144. wiles, 150.

Cedar Birds, 143.

Chestnut-sided Warbler, 184, 187. adopted infant, 230.

Chipping Sparrow, 173.

Crow, the parents, 240, 242. two sides to the question, 242. the young, 236. alighting, 238. coaxing ways, 238. cry, a strange, 237. efforts to learn, 239. experimenting in food, 240. object lesson, an, 241.

Cuckoo, the Black Billed, 190. curious performance, 194. male, the, 192. mother tactics, the, 199. nest, 191. nest deserted, 198. relieving the sitter, 192. sitting bird, the, 191. struck dumb, 196. ventriloquism, 192. young, 194.

Curiosity of Birds, 4.

Golden-winged Woodpecker, or Flicker: cry of young, 40, 44. dress, 36. feeding, 39, 40, 43. flight of young, 46. manners, 35, 38. nest, 34. nest deserted, 47. preparing to leave, 42, 43, 45. setting house in order, 101. teaching the young, 134. ventriloquism, 102. young appear, 39.

Gray Squirrel: cry of, 178. poacher, 207.

Great-crested Fly-catcher, 227.

Hermit Thrush, 259. search for, 262. shyness of, 261. song, 266. voice, 259. young, 265.

Humming Bird as poacher, 207.

Insects, destruction of, 18, 23.

Junco, nest, 132. young, 133.

Kingbird: bathing, 26. character, 3, 12, 17. curious antics, 232. distinguishing marks, 14. English sparrow annoyance, 12. feeding, 21, 22, 25. greeting to mate, 8. nest of, 2. nesting habits, 9, 20. night perch, 14. oriole encounter, 5. preparing to sit, 7. robin encounter, 6, 10. sitting, 13. song, 14. treatment of young robin, 31. young out, 17, 19.

Kingbird, the young: appearance above the nest, 22. attachment to each other, 24. dress of, 25. first flight, 28. first night out of nest, 29. last view, 32. leaving the nest, 26. migrating cry, 27, 29, preparing for flight, 34. reception of strangers, 30. vireo impertinence, 31. voice, 23.

Mephitis Family, 156.

Oven Bird, Golden Crowned Thrush: accident to nest, 177. good sense of, 178. nest, 177. song, 177.

Partridge, a sitting, 80.

Phoebe, 223. manners, 224. strange performance, 225.

Red-headed Woodpecker, 211, 223. after berries, 215, 219. comical attitudes, 216. feeding on the ground, 212. fly-catching, 217. frolics of young, 219. greeting to mate, 216. insulted by robin, 214. on the raspberries, 214. poaching, 213. robin surveillance, 216. settling with the robin, 215. young, 217.

Redstart and chestnut-sided warbler, 184. caution of, 54. curiosity, 111. description, 50. hostility, 49. in rain, 53. nest, 49, 59. nesting habits, 51, 58. out of nest, 56. out of shell, 53. treatment of young, 55. young identified, 189.

Red Squirrel, 234.

Robin, a saucy, 70. morning song, 173. on guard, 216. special policeman, 226. subdued, 37. surveillance, 87. takes a hint, 51.

Rose-breasted Grosbeak, 86.

Scarlet Tanager: bathing, 161. nest, 159. shyness, 160. young, 162.

Song Sparrow, 173.

Sparrow Hawk, 250.

Towhee Bunting, young, 105.

Veery, Wilson's Thrush: bleating cry, 111. calls and cries, 125. cry of young, 107. description of young, 113. distress of parents, 120, 124, 126. empty nest, 120. friendliness, 126. humorist, 127. mother, the, 109. nest destroyed, 117. nest seeking, 115. nests found, 116, 118, 119, 124. solitude, love of, 125. song, 99, 106, 260.

Warbler life, problems in, 184, 264.

Wood-pewee, 68. nest, 131. song, 70.

Wood-thrush, 260.

Yellow-bellied Woodpecker, or Sapsucker, 173, 201. drumming habit, 207. food habits, 203. frolics, 205. manners, 203, 204. nest, 209. traps, 204. voice, 202. young, 135, 209, 210.

Young Birds: black-throated blue warbler, 170. bluebird, 72. brown thrush, 61. chestnut-sided warbler, 229. crow, 236. crow blackbird, 228. cuckoo, 194. downy woodpecker, 229. hermit thrush, 265. in rain, 175. kingbird, 22, 232. learning to flock, 68. other young birds, 74, 233, 263. out, 23. red-headed woodpecker, 217, 233. scarlet tanager, 162. swallow, 65. towhee bunting, 105. veery, 113. Wilson's thrush, 113. woodpecker, 175. wood-pewee, 71. yellow-bellied woodpecker, 135, 209.

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