Chapter 2

[1]The average date of arrival was calculated from records made during the period 1884 to 1911 inclusive.

[2]This group includes species of which our records are too meager or too irregular to obtain an average as to time of arrival.

First Efforts at Bird Photography

By H. IRA HARTSHORN, Newark, N. J.

With photographs by the author

he accompanying pictures are the results of my first attempts at bird photography, and I want to let others know how much pleasure is to be derived from this method of studying birds. All the pictures I have taken so far are of the tame birds one sees every day around the house. That is, if one doesn’t live in too big a city; in which case a trolley to the suburbs will answer, as it did in my case.

My equipment, which includes a second-hand camera, two plate-holders, an electrical release, a flashlight battery, small satchel, flexible wire, etc., did not cost over $8.

CHIPPING SPARROW FEEDING ITS YOUNG

The first nest I saw last year was a Chickadee’s nest. I found it on April 18. It was still cold, with not a leaf on the trees. The two birds were taking out chips from the top of a birch stump, which was about seven feet high. The hole was about eight inches deep. There was still no lining in the nest, so I knew that the birds had not prepared it for the reception of the eggs.

I visited it again on April 26, and expected to see two eggs in the little home; but, when I arrived there, I found that the nest had been broken off at the very bottom of the eight inches already dug. This was caused by the Chickadees’ digging too close to the rotten bark, when the first gust of wind probably broke it. Much to my delight, the birds were not daunted by this misfortune, but kept on building. On April 24, the hole was started the second time. Afriend saw the Chickadees begin the hole. On April 26, the hole was six inches deep! The birds had dug through fourteen inches of wood to make their home!

CHICKADEE LEAVING ITS NEST TO FORAGE FOR A FAMILY OF EIGHT

On May 2 the nest was finished, and on May 9 there were eight eggs in the little bit of a hole that could hardly hold the mother bird.

May 23, I took my camera with me to the nest. I expected that the young birds would be out by that time, and that the old birds would be flying in and out with food, giving me many opportunities for photography. I looked in the nest and saw that every egg was hatched, so I proceeded to set my camera about two feet away, when who should appear on the ground-glass but one of the parents, with a mouth full of struggling little green caterpillars. She, if it were the female, looked at the camera a second or two, then, without another thought of the outside world, hopped down into the nest and fed her young.

CHIPPING SPARROW APPROACHING ITS NEST

The camera arranged, I was just about to seek concealment behind a bush, when both of the parent birds flew near the nest with food. I stood very still. One of the birds, the male, I think, stopped too, but the other one flew right into the nest. She soon came out, and stood on the very point I had the camera focused. Very slowly I put my hand up to the shutter-release, expecting thebird to fly any minute; but at last I reached it and, click, I had my first ‘close up’ bird picture. And it was the best one, too; for although I took six or seven others, they did not turn out so well as the first one.

CHIPPING SPARROW BROODING

May 31, I went to take the pictures of the little Chickadees, but found that they were still too small to handle. I was not able to go again, but my friend reports that the whole family of eight young left the nest, and were very healthy-looking little birds. This nest was situated on the edge of a woods at Verona, N. J.

During the two weeks’ vacation at Fredon, Sussex Co., N. Y., I found twelve nests, a list of which follows. All but three were found on a farm.

One Robin’s nest, containing one egg. Deserted for unknown cause.

Two Field Sparrows’ nests. Each contained young, almost full-grown birds. One nest had an unfertile egg in it.

One Barn Swallow’s nest, containing four eggs.

Two Red-winged Blackbirds’ nests, each with four eggs. Both nests were broken up. One was entirely empty and the other contained the shells of the eggs. I could not find out the cause of this double tragedy.

A HOUSE WREN ENTERING ITS NEST IN A FENCE-POST

Two House Wrens’ nests. Both of these were in fence-posts. I caught one bird with the camera just as it was entering the nest.

Two Chipping Sparrows’ nests. One was in an unusual place, on the limb of a Norway spruce that projected over the porch roof. I got some very good photographs of this family, which consisted of the parents and three young. The young were hatched on June 6, and they left the nest on June 15.

One Kingbird’s nest, containing three eggs, was on a limb of a willow tree that extended over a pond about ten feet. The nest itself was three feet above the water.

One Flicker’s nest. I could not determine the number of young in this nest, but I knew they were there by their hissing at a shadow over the entrance to the nest.

This year the Bobolink appeared in the neighborhood of Fredon for the first time in at least four years, if not more.

Of all the songs of birds I have heard, I like the Bobolink’s the best.

LONG-EARED OWL ON ITS EGGS IN AN OLD CROW'S NESTPhotographed by H. and E. Pittman, Wauchope, Saskatchewan.

LONG-EARED OWL ON ITS EGGS IN AN OLD CROW'S NEST

Photographed by H. and E. Pittman, Wauchope, Saskatchewan.

The Interesting Barn Owl

By JOSEPH W. LIPPINCOTT, Bethayres, Pa.

With a photograph by the author

he Barn Owl commands my respect. He is the greatest mouse-eating machine I have yet encountered, and as such surely deserves every consideration in these days of crop destruction by rodents. Like most Owls, he does not allow his presence long to remain unsuspected. A loud, harsh scream after nightfall, repeated at the right intervals to keep one awake and echoed by the young Owls when they appear, is his greeting. And well may the little mice shiver in their poor retreats!

I heard the good old Barn Owls again and again during early spring nights, and later found that two, or perhaps more, young ones were generally in or about a hemlock grove not far from the creek and the swampy meadows that make such ideal feeding-grounds and are, in fact, the nucleus of the rodent hosts that spread over the neighboring farms each summer. It was by mere accident, however, that I found a nest.

A neighbor was planning a greenhouse on the site then occupied by his young chickens and, to give security to the glass, cut down a great storm-battered and fire-scarred buttonball tree that stood at one end of his farm buildings. Down it came with terrific force, but without killing three young Barn Owls, which were able to give one of the workmen a big scare when he climbed over the top. And this happened in the middle of August, when one brood was already in the woods!

They were in a deep, dark, ill-smelling hollow, and a weird-looking trio indeed with the white down still clinging over the yellow-brown feathers. What startled the workman was a splendid series of hisses; for they understood how to make the sound about as wickedly as the most poisonous serpent.

A little Owl is generally all grit, and these were the grittiest, bramble-footed propositions I ever expect to handle. Their big eyes kept an unwinking glare fixed on each one who came near, and they leaped like lightning, often all three together, at a hand thrust within reach. It would have been very comical except for the bitter earnestness which the poor little fellows put into their defense, making one feel sorry for them when double gloves prevailed, and they were deposited in a chicken-coop nearby, to prevent interference with the chopping. Then, for hours after the moving, it seemed as if steam were strangely and violently escaping from an ordinary chicken-coop, much to the astonishment of visitors.

Around the tree were many of the small masses of fur and bones which Owls disgorge a few hours after meals. These show very well what animals have been taken and, in this case, were most interesting, since the dozens I examined contained the remains of field mice, deer mice, shrews, and moles only. No rabbits, no squirrels, no insects, no little birds! Indeed, there wasnot a feather of any kind, although the little chickens had been running about and roosting all spring and summer within a few feet—alluring, easy and constantly announcing their presence by seductive peeping.

A YOUNG BARN OWL

The old hollow must have suffered long use. It opened toward the south through a large limb hole about thirty feet from the ground, and also upward through the broken top of the tree; though that exit was not used, and probably only served to let in a veritable deluge of water during the thunderstorms. No doubt, too, the young Owls amused themselves watching the clouds and the stars pass slowly over their heads day by day, with the added excitement of a Hawk, Buzzard, or smaller bird now and then. They rested on layers of debris which, when examined, showed that honey bees had once been tenants, and later bats and generations of Owls, perhaps many other birds, for hollows have a strange, interesting history.

The birds themselves seemed about the size of old ones without the full feathering, strong muscle and weight. They were so queer and wore suchhumorous expressions whenever approached that, from the first, they would have been objects of continual interested observation, were it not for the rather discouraging fact that this almost always brought on a quarrel. The bright light and excited feelings seemed to confuse one so much that he would mistake the others for enemies and pounce on them. This caused equally fierce retaliation every time, and resulted in all three being scratched about the thighs. Darkening the coop remedied this.

It impressed me then as strange that, with all the birds’ show of aggressiveness, there was no snapping of beaks nor marked disposition to bite; but I later found that they did not have the same strength in their beaks as most varieties of Owls, particularly the Great Horned Owls, which crush the skull of a rabbit with such ease. This, I suppose, has something to do with the species’ love of very small mammals, which can be torn to pieces and swallowed without trouble by those queer cavernous mouths. Their hooked claws, which gripped me on several occasions, were all right, though and as sharp as needles.

The youngsters were left severely alone until evening, when, with the lessening light, came a quick change. They seemed to lose some of their fear, and to be expectantly listening for something. Every now and then one would utter a rasping cry, which blended harmoniously with the insect chorus and yet could be heard a long distance.

Just as the sun set and the glow still spread over the west, the cries became very insistent, and a shadow seemed to pass for an instant over the coop as one of the parents flew quietly into a locust tree nearby, and stood there close to the trunk, a mouse dangling from the left foot. It soon flew out and circled noiselessly, only to disappear very soon, much to the disgust of the coop occupants. Several minutes elapsed, the evening silence broken only by the rasping call and the drum of the katy-dids; then an old Owl circled by bearing a mouse in its beak. It may have been the same bird and the same mouse, the deepening shadows making it impossible to see accurately.

The night being dark, I left my hiding-place and the birds until morning, when it was surprising to find only the smallest of the three in the coop, and that dead. The other two had escaped; but how they squeezed beneath slats which allowed only the tiniest chicks to go through will ever be a mystery to me. I could not even pull out the remaining one. It was much less developed than the other two, both in size of limb and feather, and had evidently succumbed to the effects of the frightful fall, though its body showed no bruise.

I hunted around the debris of the felled trees, and finally spied the others, which had done some expert climbing and hidden in the darkest corners, one beneath a tree trunk, the other in a leafy top where it had evidently stayed all night, as evidenced by a kind of bed stamped down and lined with surplus food carried there by the parents. Such a supper! three particularly fine meadow mice and a fat star-nosed mole, all freshly killed and whole.

The youngsters, which at first crouched silently, were in a very bitter frameof mind, so I carried them out by the wing tips—the only satisfactory way I found of handling such a brambly article—and later made them stand in the light for a photograph—a difficult matter, because they ran with all speed for the wood-pile as soon as released. Just as I thought I had them, after many attempts, one mistook the other for a foe, and, without preliminaries, went for him. However, the other one met the rush feet first and seized the attacking claws before they hit, practically holding down his brother by each foot while he glared into his face in comical fashion, and hissed for all he was worth. This holding hands continued with much comical shaking of heads, until both birds suddenly struck at each other somewhat as roosters do; then they held hands again until separated and put into a deep open-top box for safe-keeping. If left free, dogs, cats, or opossums would most likely have found them through the strong odor so noticeable about young birds of prey. The mice were, however, first cut into pieces and thrust down the apparently hungry birds’ throats, while each was held by his feet and neck.

Every night after that the youngsters were visited and fed by the devoted old ones, and always it was with mice of some kind or moles—principally meadow mice, house mice, white-footed mice, shrews and ground moles—as many as eight sometimes, as shown by the disgorged pellets or uneaten bodies.

The parents also scrupulously cleaned the old box each night. They lived in the hemlock wood across the narrow valley, but in what tree I could not discover. One would appear soon after sunset with some kind of mouse, and by eleven o’clock had apparently satisfied the youngsters’ hunger, for the rasping cries would usually cease and an occasional louder and clearer cry of the old birds pierce the darkness.

One fine morning found the youngsters gone. Day after day they had tried to jump out of the box, each time coming a little closer to the edge. After this they could be heard calling in the evenings, and sometimes until dawn. Always in the wood, they perched high up side by side or on nearby limbs, and lazily relied on their parents to keep up the good work of providing mice. On dark nights they called much longer than on moonlight nights, which convinced me that the hunting was more difficult then.

Occasionally a parent could be seen standing always very erect on the barn gable overlooking a truck-garden, but usually it would watch from a tree in the marshy meadows, now and then dropping to the ground and staying there a considerable time as if hunting on foot among the grass clumps, a method which, from the great agility of the young when pursued on the ground and in the brush piles, I can well imagine no cat could improve on.

I tried without success to draw them by imitating their strange cry, and also a mouse’s squeak made by sucking loudly on the back of the hand. A Screech Owl and many wild animals would take instant notice of the latter, but not the Barn Owls. Even a rat caught in a trap failed to entice these birds, though several Screech Owls responded at once.

But who has stirred a Barn Owl? Over the dew-laden meadows he stands guard, or perhaps at the edge of the moonlit corn-fields, waiting for the only prey that seems to interest him. He knows the country like a book, the runways of the meadow mouse, the house mouse’s path from corn shock to corn shock, the mole’s early morning starting point.

Under the old buttonball tree the broods of young chickens ran from early morning to night. The owner felt that the large Owls were a menace to his flock and watched for them with a gun. But, with the fall of the old tree and a study of their food, a new light has spread to every farm in that vicinity.

I heard the young Owl’s last ‘rasp’ on October 16; it was full of the weird power which thrills one in the dark hours. A few minutes later, a big bird flew low toward the orchard—the young Owls had taken to hunting at last.

In Again...On Again...Gone Again! Photographs of a Flicker by A. A. Allen

The Migration of North American Birds

Compiled by Prof. W. W. Cooke, Chiefly from Data in the Biological Survey

With a drawing byLouis Agassiz Fuertes

(SeeFrontispiece)

THE BUSH-TIT

All of the forms of Bush-Tits in the United States are non-migratory. The present species, which is better known by the name of the Least Bush-Tit, is confined to the Pacific Coast, where it ranges from northern Lower California to southern British Columbia. This is the range of the typical form (Psaltriparus minimus minimus), while a subspecies called the California Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus minimus californicus) occurs over much of eastern California east of the Sacramento Valley, from the southern end of the Sierras nearly to the Oregon line. A third form, or subspecies, the Grinda Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus minimus grindæ), is confined to the southern end of Lower California.

THE LEAD-COLORED BUSH-TIT

The southern boundary of the range of the Lead-colored Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus plumbeus) is found in western Texas, northern Mexico, southeastern to northwestern Arizona, and the Providence Mountains, California. Thence it occurs north to central and northwestern Colorado, northern Utah and northwestern Nevada. A few individuals have been noted in southwestern Wyoming and southeastern Oregon.

LLOYD’S BUSH-TIT

Scarcely coming across the boundary from its real home in northern Mexico, the Lloyd Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus melanotis lloydi) occurs in the southern part of the mountains of western Texas and barely crosses the line in southwestern New Mexico.

THE VERDIN

Confined to the borderland of the southwestern United States, the Verdin in its typical form (Auriparus flaviceps flaviceps) is one of the most interesting birds of the desert and semi-arid districts, and is non-migratory. It ranges north to southeastern California, southern Nevada, northwestern Arizona (and extreme southwestern Utah), southwestern and southeastern New Mexico, western and southern Texas, and south into northern Mexico and the northern half of Lower California. The southern half of Lower California is occupied by a subspecies called the Cape Verdin (Auriparus flaviceps lamprocephalus).

THE WREN-TIT

The known ranges of the various forms, or subspecies of the Wren-Tit are given in the following paper. All the forms are non-migratory.

Notes on the Plumage of North American Birds

THIRTY-SEVENTH PAPER

By FRANK M. CHAPMAN

(SeeFrontispiece)

Bush-Tit(Psaltriparus minimusand races. Fig. 1). The Bush-Tits of this group may be known by their brownish crown. The male and female are alike in color; the young bird closely resembles them but has the crown somewhat darker, and the winter plumage differs from that worn in summer only in being slightly deeper in tone. Three races of this species are known: The Bush-Tit (P. m. minimus) of the Pacific coast from northern Lower California to Washington, in which the crown is sooty brown; the California Bush-Tit (P. m. californicus), which occupies the interior of California and Oregon, and has the crown much brighter than in the coast form; and Grinda’s Bush-Tit (P. m. grindæ), a form of the Cape Region of Lower California with a grayer back.

Lead-colored Bush-Tit(Psaltriparus plumbeus.Fig. 2). The gray crown, of the same color as the back distinguishes this species from the Bush-Tits living west of the Sierras. The male and the female are alike in color; the young is essentially like them, but has less brownish on the sides of the head, and there are no seasonal changes in color.

Lloyd’s Bush-Tit(Psaltriparus melanotis lloydi.Figs. 3, 4). Lloyd’s Bush-Tit is a northern form of the Black-eared Bush-Tit of the Mexican tableland. Occurring over our border only in western Texas, southern New Mexico, and southern Arizona, it is rarely observed by the field ornithologist. The adult male may always be known by its black cheeks; and when the female has any black on the sides of the head (as in Fig. 4), no difficulty is experienced in identifying her. But immature males and often some apparently adult females are without black, and they then so closely resemble the Lead-colored Bush-Tit that it is impossible to distinguish them by color alone.

Verdin(Auriparus flaviceps.Fig. 5). When it leaves the nest, the young Verdin is a gray bird with no yellow on its head or chestnut on its wing-coverts, but at the postjuvenal molt both yellow head and chestnut patch are acquired, and the bird, now in its first winter plumage, cannot be distinguished from its parents. These closely resemble each other, but the female sometimes has less yellow on the head. After the colors of maturity are acquired, they are retained, and thereafter there is essentially no change in the Verdin’s appearance throughout the year.

There are but two races of the Verdin. One (A. f. flaviceps) occupies our Mexican border from coast to coast. The other, the Cape Verdin (A. f. lamprocephalus), a smaller bird with a brighter yellow head, is found only in the Cape Region of Lower California.

Wren-Tit(Chamæa fasciata.Fig. 6). The Wren-Tit enjoys the distinction of being the only species in the only family of birds peculiar to North America.It is restricted to the Pacific coast region from northern Lower California north to Oregon. While it presents practically no variation in color with age, sex, or season, it varies considerably with locality, four races of it being recognized. Since they are non-migratory, the purposes of field identification will best be served by outlining their distribution as it is given in Dr. Grinnell’s recent, authoritative ‘Distributional List of the Birds of California’ as follows:

Pallid Wren-Tit(Chamæa fasciata henshawi). Common resident of the Upper Sonoran Zone west of the deserts and Great Basin drainage from the Mexican line through the San Diegan district, northward coastwise to San Luis Obispo and San Benito counties, and interiorly along the western foothills of the Sierra Nevada to the lower McCloud River, in Shasta County; also along the inner northern coast ranges from Helena, Trinity County, and Scott River, Siskiyou County, south to Covelo, Mendocino County, and Vacaville, Solano County. The easternmost stations for this form are: vicinity of Walker Pass, Kern County, and Campo, San Diego County.

Intermediate Wren-Tit(Chamæa fasciata fasciata). Common resident of the coast region south of San Francisco Bay, from the Golden Gate to southern Monterey County; east to include the Berkeley hills and at least the west slopes of the Mount Hamilton range.

Ruddy Wren-Tit(Chamæa fasciata rufula). Common resident of the humid coast belt immediately north of San Francisco Bay, in Marin, Sonoma, and Mendocino counties. Northernmost station for this form: Mendocino City.

Coast Wren-Tit(Chamæa fasciata phæa). Fairly common resident locally in the extreme northern humid coast belt. Humboldt and Del Norte Counties.

Notes from Field and Study

A Correction

Through a typographical error the Tree Sparrow was included in the Census of Mrs. Herbert R. Mills of Tampa, Florida, published in the January-February, 1916, issue ofBird-Lore. The record should have read Tree Swallow.—Editor.

Hints for Bird Clubs

The greatest problem with most of our bird clubs seems to be: What can we do to make our meetings interesting, so that all the members, especially the younger ones, will be anxious to come?

In planning for parties, picnics, or other entertainments of that sort, we usually expect to have everyone present take a part in whatever games or sports there are, and, no matter how often we have them, there is never any question but that all who can do so will be there. I believe that bird-club meetings can be made equally attractive if we go about them in the same way, rather than to plan some sort of entertainment where only a few are to have a part, as is usually the case.

There is almost no limit to the number of interesting and instructive things we can do, and it will be possible for even the more advanced bird students to learn something new at nearly every meeting.

Every member should have a notebook for keeping a record of the birds seen and identified, with any new or interesting things observed, for comparison with others at each meeting; and each member should have a standing in the club according to the number of birds identified and the amount of work done for the birds. This will be an inducement for each member to do something or learn something new before the next meeting, and to be present at all the meetings, to learn what others have done. It will also be found helpful in learning about birds and in remembering what is seen; for, unless we have some special reason for noting carefully all that may be seen on our walks, even the most interested observers will miss many things, and will forget much of what they did see.

When about to start on a walk of about three miles, one bright pleasant morning last June, I decided to keep a list of all the birds seen and heard from the time I started until I returned. The walk was finished between twelve and one o’clock, when most of the birds were quiet and few were seen; yet I saw 105 birds on the trip, and had a good idea of the number and variety of birds one might see at this time of the year. If I had kept no record of the number, I could not have told how many I was likely to see, or which species would be seen oftenest. All such things will prove interesting at the meetings, and will add largely to our knowledge of birds in the course of a year.

In winter, we should note the feeding habits of the different birds and the number and kinds of winter visitors seen; it is also a good time to make a study of nests, where they are placed, and the material used in each.

In summer, there will be something for every day if we have our eyes open; nesting habits, bird-baths, and occasionally some rare migrant to tell about. It would be impossible to give a complete list of the interesting things to be seen at this time.

Every club should own a few good reference books, and have them at their meetings, to settle any questions that may arise. The ‘Color Key to North American Birds,’ by Chapman, will be found useful for identification, ‘Wild Bird Guests,’ by Baynes, for matters pertaining to bird clubs and bird protection, also ‘Useful Birds and their Protection,’ by Forbush.

There are many others that would prove beneficial, but these three are almost indispensable, if we would learn the ways of our wild bird friends and what we can do to help them.

It is understood that every family of bird lovers will be subscribers toBird-Lore, for few would be willing to miss the interesting bits of information to be found in every number of this bird magazine.

Selections fromBird-Lore, the Audubon Leaflets, books on Nature by standard authors, and occasionally articles from some of the popular magazines, might be read at each meeting. This will prove a very interesting part of the program, and there will always be material enough to fill out any schedule.

Good plates of birds like those obtained with the Audubon Leaflets and the set published with the ‘Birds of New York’ will help in identifications, and, as the cost is very small, every club should have at least one set of each.

If we can get our clubs once started along these lines, it seems possible that it might become more of a problem to find time for everything than to find something to do.

One year’s course in a bird club of this kind should give every member a fairly good knowledge of what we can do for the birds, and what they are doing for us.—W. M. Buswell,Superintendent Meriden, (N. H.) Bird Club.

Ornithological Possibilities of a Bit of Swamp-Land

For several years, I have had a bit of swamp-land under my eye, especially during the cooler months. It is not exactly a beauty-spot, being bordered by ragged backyards, city dumps, a small tannery, and a dismantled factory, formerly used by a company engaged in cleaning hair for plasterers’ use.

A part of the surface is covered by cat-tails, the rest by a mixed growth of water-loving shrubs, as sweet-gale, leather-leaf, andromeda, and other shrubs which like to dabble their roots in ooze. A brook, connecting two large ponds, runs through the swamp, giving current and temperature enough to make certain a large amount of open water, even in the coldest weather.

A little colony of Wilson’s Snipe have made this swamp their winter home for at least fifteen years, and probably much longer. Song, and generally Swamp Sparrows can be found here all winter. This winter, we have a Green-winged Teal, finding feed enough to induce her to remain; and over beside the cat-tails, about some fallen willows, a Winter Wren seems much at home.

During recent years, a sort of beach, made by dumping gravel to cover refuse from the hair factory, has been a favored feeding place for various Sandpipers, as well as the Snipe. The last of the Sandpipers leave in November, while the Snipe remain.

Bitterns and Black-crowned Night Herons drop in during the fall and summer, and our increasing Ring-neck Pheasant, the gunner’s pet, loves to skulk around the edges.

Tree Sparrows, Goldfinches, and their kin attract an occasional Butcherbird and the smaller Hawks, Pigeon, Sparrow, and Sharp-shin in season.

Early spring brings a host of Blackbirds, Redwings, Bronzed Grackles, and Rusties; while a Cowbird hung about with some English Sparrows, until Thanksgiving time, this year.

We are always on the lookout for something new to turn up in the swamp, and are seldom disappointed. For so small a place, not over five acres, it surely is a bird haven; especially does it seem so when, but a few rods away on the nearby ponds, the ice-men are harvesting twelve-inch ice. Naturally, local bird-lovers are praying that the hand of “improvement” will be stayed a long time in wiping out this neglected little nook.—Arthur P. Stubbs,Lynn, Mass.

My Neighbor’s Sparrow Trap

My neighbor one block to the north, Professor E. R. Ristine, who gives me leave to use his name in the present connection, finally lost his patience with English Sparrows (Passer domesticus), on or about May 15, 1915. The fact thatan elderly person sharing the home with his family could not sleep at reasonable hours on account of Sparrow chatter was an element in the decision to which he soon came. For into his hands fell an advertisement of a Sparrow trap, just such a two-funnel wire affair as was described and recommended as early as 1912 by the Department of Agriculture in Farmers’ Bulletin 493. On May 20, 1915, the trap arrived, and was duly installed and baited. It was at first placed on the ground in the small chicken-yard at the rear of the house, and the outer funnel was baited with a small amount of cracked grain, the finer “chick-feed” proving to be most efficacious. The location of the trap was changed at different times during the spring, summer, and fall, and the total results on the Sparrow population were satisfactory beyond expectations.

By June 11, only twenty-two days after the trap was set out, 78 Sparrows had passed the fatal inner funnel of that simple contrivance, and at this, fortunately for the accurate details of the present account, my neighbor’s interest was aroused to know precisely what the powers of his most recent purchase might really be. With a pencil he marked thereafter on the siding of his hen-house the mortuary record: 6/13—84, 6/17—100, 7/9—202, and so forth. That is to say, a total of 202 birds had been gathered in by July 9, fifty days after the trap was put into action, or an average of a little more than four per day. This rate of destruction was much increased during the following month, the 300 mark being passed on July 27, and the 400 mark on August 11. The rate of capture then declined, and it was not until September 18 that the figure 508 was registered. The trap remained set until December 5, at which time the deadly record stood at 597. A few dozens more had entered the trap but escaped through the insufficient latching of the “clean-out” door. After December 5 heavy snows fell, followed by sleet storms, and my neighbor temporarily placed his trap out of service on a back porch.

A few facts in connection with the above record will prove of interest. The heaviest catches were made when the currants became very ripe and the trap was placed under the laden bushes. Fewest Sparrows were caught when the sweet corn in the garden was in the milk stage, the birds preferring the contents of the juicy kernels to the dry grain with which the trap was baited. The largest catch on any one day was 20 birds, this number being reached on two different dates, June 27 and August 4. The Sparrows seemed to arrive in flocks of greater or less size, and the record would mount rapidly until these were gathered in. Then, for several days possibly, no birds at all would be trapped. And the fine feature of the entire season’s experience was that this trap caught English Sparrows and no other bird whatsoever. The only exception to English Sparrows was a single hoary old house rat that had evidently followed a Sparrow in; at any rate, the latter was found partially devoured.

Relief from the Sparrow nuisance began to come to our neighborhood about the middle of August, after full 400 of the noisy chatterers had fallen victim to the innocent-looking wire cage. And by the time the Indian summer days of October came, the English Sparrow tribe in our part of town had dropped from the status of “abundant” to only “fairly common.” Indeed, I have not seen more than six individuals together in our end of the little city at any time in the last three months.

Is it possible that my neighbor’s experience was out of the ordinary? I do not see why it should be, but I have found a similar record only in the above-mentioned Farmers’ Bulletin, where the capture of 300 Sparrows in six weeks in the Missouri Botanical Gardens, St. Louis, is noted. If it is at all typical of what may be accomplished, then one or two things seem clear. An easy method is at hand for holding in check the Sparrow nuisance and more attention should be given to Farmers’ Bulletin 493 than seems thus far to have been accorded this worthy publication.—Charles R. Keyes,Mt. Vernon, Iowa.

A Tropical Migration Tragedy

[We are indebted to Prof. M. H. Saville for a copy of ‘El Comercio’ for October 18, 1915, a newspaper published at San Pedro Sula, Honduras, which contains the following account of a migration tragedy.—Editor.]

“At midnight, on October 10, 1915, there commenced to appear groups of birds flying in a southerly direction. At the time darkness set in, we began to hear the call of a great number of birds that were circling constantly over the city. This avian invasion increased considerably during the night. The main part of the army of invasion crossing the Gulf of Honduras arrived in the evening off the coast of Puerto Cortes. These birds do not travel by day, but follow the eastern shore, guided by certain groups that, toward night, exhausted, ceasing their flight, turn inland. The bright rays from the electric lights projected high in among the clouds, serving to indicate the position of San Pedro Sula and, attracted by its splendor, the bird emigrants, greatly fatigued by their vigorous exercise in the long flight against contrary winds in their travel across the Gulf of Mexico (approximately 700 miles), their short stay in Yucatan, and their flight across the Gulf of Honduras, the greater part of them fell one upon another in their revolutions about the lights, some dropping half-crazed against the roofs and fences, breaking wings and legs, some dying outright.

“At two o’clock in the morning, the greater part of the expedition directed toward this zone had arrived in the neighborhood of the city. It was at that time that the sound of their striking against the posts and the electric wires was a continual tattoo. It seemed almost as though the stones in the streets had been awakened, and were being hurled against the inhabitants. Numbers of birds striking against the zinc roofs gave off a sound like hurrying footsteps, the drumming on the zinc extending over the entire city. At one spot within a radius of two yards there fell dying six wounded birds. In the morning the streets were strewn with bodies; the greater part of them dead, others wounded.”

A Shower of Birds

In the fall of 1915, a violent wind-storm passed through the southern states, just grazing the edge of Spartanburg, in upper South Carolina. Here the minister of the First Presbyterian Church was about to take shelter in his home, from the fury of the wind, when he saw what appeared to be a small, black cloud swoop down upon his roof and disappear. He hastened in, and found, to his and his family’s dismay, that little black birds were fairly pouring down one of the chimneys.

The birds seemed to have been stunned by the force of the gale to which they had been exposed, and the floor was soon covered, several inches deep, with their inanimate bodies. They were picked up by the bucketful, and thrown out, but soon revived and flew away, none the worse, apparently, for their unusual experience. Two little fellows who were overlooked took refuge on a curtain pole, where they were discovered by a little girl, several hours later.

This is probably the only time on record when it literally rained birds. The birds were common Chimney Swifts.—R. L. Fripp,Spartanburg, S. C.

A Heron’s Involuntary Bath

Some of the little comedies of bird life are amusing to the onlooker, although, like those happening to human beings, not always so pleasant to the individuals participating. A neighbor of mine where I live on the shores of an island in the Great South Bay, took up his dock for the winter season and left a stake in the water. It is beneath the surface except at low tide when it projects an inch or two above. At dusk on the evening of October 23, 1915, two Black-crowned Night Herons came winging along. The one in the lead, happening to spy the top of the nearly submerged stake, immediatelydropped down and appropriated it for a temporary fishing-station. Its mate, probably trusting it had landed in very shallow water, dropped down also beside it. But it kept on going down until only its head and shoulders protruded. It was a surprised bird, and stood there a few minutes in its awkward predicament, looking around as if vainly trying to grasp the situation. Then, finally giving it up, it managed to spring out and fly off.—John R. Tooker,Babylon, Long Island.

Winter Notes from Carlisle, Ind.

We are having a very mild winter, with heavy rains. During last week it has been warm, and numerous Robins have been here. There is a twenty-acre alfalfa field adjoining town, and some eight acres of it was mown only once and the other crop left on the ground. This makes a regular haven for the Meadow Larks, and during the past week they have been having a regular carnival. You can hear dozens of them singing at a time. There must be hundreds of them in this field. Song Sparrows have also been singing.—J. H. Gilliland,Carlisle, Ind.

Notes from Nebraska

What is the most abundant bird in a given locality? This a question often conjectured upon by both ornithologists and casual observers. The terms “abundant,” “common,” “scarce,” or “very scarce,” form poor records of actual abundance, as suggested in recent issues ofBird-Lore. So, to get data on actual abundance, I took weekly bird censuses during the months of May, June, July, and a part of August, 1915, making counts of both number of species and number of individuals.

Of eight such censuses, taken during June, July, and August, in northeastern Kansas and southeastern Nebraska, Dickcissels proved to be the most abundant in six, if the exception is made of English Sparrows, which led in numbers in two censuses. This, I should say, would be the case over a large part of the middle West, of which the above-mentioned vicinities are typical.

Here are my figures on the Dickcissel:

*June 5. Sabetha, Kan., 99 individuals noted in 4¾ hours afield.

*June 12. Du Bois, Nebr., 64 individuals noted in 5 hours afield.

*June 19. Pawnee, Nebr., 35 individuals noted in 5 hours afield.

*June 27. Lewiston, Nebr., 109 individuals noted in 6½ hours afield.

*July 5. Beatrice, Nebr., 25 individuals noted in 4½ hours afield.

July 11. Beatrice, Nebr., 46 individuals noted in 6 hours afield.

July 25. Hebron, Nebr., 36 individuals noted in 3¾ hours afield.

*Aug. 1. Ruskin, Nebr., 39 individuals noted in 5 hours afield.

Dates preceded by an asterisk are those upon which the counts showed the Dickcissel to be the most abundant species, English Sparrows excepted. These figures indicate an average of 11¼ Dickcissels seen or heard per hour.

And, in spite of this prominent place the Dickcissel holds in our bird life, I have talked numbers of times with intelligent people who not only disclaim any knowledge of the bird, but say they have never heard the name ‘Dickcissel’ before.

On July 11, 1915, in and around Beatrice, Nebr., I counted 5,483 Blackbirds, which I am reasonably sure were Bronzed Grackles. Of this number, 5,260 were counted from one location on the bank of the Big Blue River, the flock passing continuously for about one hour. This is mentioned as being further indicative of actual abundance, and it might be suggested that, in actual numbers, the Bronzed Grackles might outweigh the Dickcissels, their immense numbers in flocks more than making up for the more uniform local distribution of the non-flocking Dickcissels.

In the May-June, 1915, number ofBird-Lore, I note that Mr. Ridgway classes the Upland Plover as a “species verging toward extermination,” speakingof it as now very scarce in southern Illinois. This bird of the prairies is still to be found in southeastern Nebraska, and I believe it could not be called very scarce in that locality. On June 27, 1915, in Pawnee County, Nebraska, I saw a flock of nine of these birds; on July 11, in Gage County, I noted one; on July 12, in Gage County, I noted eight; on July 23, in Thayer County, I noted one; and on August 1, in Nuckolls County, I saw a flock of ten.

Mr. Ridgway’s description of the song of the Upland Plover is a fitting one. Its peculiar, mournful whistleis“one of the most thrilling of bird songs.”—Howard Paret,Kansas City, Mo.

AGannet Over the Hudson River

On October 16, 1915, I was crossing the Dyckman Street New York Ferry and observed a Gannet, which passed quite close to the ferry-boat, winging its way steadily southward toward New York Bay. It is so unusual and remarkable to find this bird away from the coast as to be worthy of record.—J. T. Nichols,Englewood, N. J.

Petrels on the Hudson

The preceding note from Mr. Nichols prompts me to add that one afternoon during the first week in August, 1915 (I failed to record the exact date), I saw from the Fort Lee (130th Street) Ferry at least a score of Petrels coursing low over the water and flying down the river. They were on the east side of the river, from which I had embarked, and as the boat carried me out of vision, Petrels were still passing. Doubtless they were Wilson’s Petrels which, in their search for food, had gone far above their usual limits in the lower harbor.—Frank M. Chapman,Englewood, N. J.

Starling in Ohio

On January 8, Walter and Robert Kirk, farmer boys living near here, captured a Starling which has taken refuge in their barn. I was unable to identify the bird from their description of it over the telephone, but when it was brought to me I readily identified it, as I had been watching its progress west. Needless to say, I was somewhat surprised to see it here.Bird-LoreChristmas census for 1914 reports it for West Chester and White Marsh Valley, Pa.

So far as I know, this is the first record of the Starling for Ohio, and it may be the first west of the Alleghany Mountains. This seems a long ‘jump’ westward for any bird in so short a time, especially considering the mountains it would have to cross.

I have no doubt as to the identity of the bird, but have taken photographs in case of any question.—Sheridan F. Wood,West La Fayette, Ohio.

Evening Grosbeaks and Cardinals in Southern Wisconsin

About noon on January 22, 1916, as I was returning from a walk in South Park, a flutter of wings, accompanied by soft whistles and twitters, caught my attention and, to my surprise and joy, I counted a flock of nineteen Evening Grosbeaks in the small maple and elm trees bordering the sidewalk.

The bright sunshine falling on their plumage gave them an extremely beautiful and gay-colored appearance. The birds seemed to be nearly all males. They were quite tame, and I was able to approach close under the trees before they took to their wings, finally disappearing in a northeasterly direction. Two years ago, on one of the coldest days of the winter, a flock of about fifty visited Reedsburg and were observed by a number of our bird-lovers.

I cannot resist giving a brief account of the pair of beautiful Cardinals that have been staying in Reedsburg for the past two weeks. Although I did not have the good fortune to observe these rare visitors, yet their identity was made certain by the authoritative testimony of a numberof bird-lovers who had ample opportunity to watch them closely from a curtained window, which looked out on the apple-tree and feeding-station only a few feet from the house; so there was no chance of an error in their identification. They were first seen on January 5, in the midst of a driving blizzard, with the mercury dropping to 25° below zero. The pair remained in the vicinity of the grain-strewn feeding-station for about half an hour, and have been seen a great many times since, by a large number of people.—Ethel A. Nott,Reedsburg, Wisconsin.

Evening Grosbeaks at Port Henry, N. Y.

On December 17, 1915, I saw a pair of Evening Grosbeaks.

On January 28, 1916, out over an open spot of water in Lake Champlain, I saw three Canada Geese and the men working near there told me they had been around there all the morning.

On January 7, 1916, I saw a large flock of Evening Grosbeaks.

The last two weeks I have seen many Crows as many as four in one flock.—Dora B. Harris,Port Henry, N. Y.

The Evening Grosbeak at Glens Falls, N. Y.

The Bird Club of Glens Falls reports that on January 25, 1916, Miss Shields saw on one of our streets, seven Evening Grosbeaks, four males and three females.—C. Eveleen Hathaway,Secretary, Glens Falls, N. Y.

Evening Grosbeaks at Saratoga Springs, N. Y.

It gives me much pleasure to report to you that on Sunday morning, January 30, 1916, there was a flock of Evening Grosbeaks feeding in the open woodland across the street. When first seen, about twenty of the birds were sitting quietly on the upper branches of a leafless maple, the balance feeding on exposed ground between snowdrifts under the trees. There were thirty-seven birds in the flock, of which one-fourth to one-third were males in the brilliant yellow, white, and brownish black plumage. They were talking to each other softly, and the low beaded call was frequent; but I did not hear the males whistle as they used to in Wisconsin.

I called the attention of Miss Adelaide Denton (the local authority on bird-life) to the flock, and we watched them for quite some time, before they rose, took wing, and wheeling, flew to the north, and disappeared. Miss Denton had never seen Evening Grosbeaks in this territory before, although she tells me Pine Grosbeaks are fairly common winter visitors.

I have re-opened this letter to add that part of the flock have returned to this locality. Twenty-five of the Grosbeaks now being in the maples across the way.

Perhaps I should add that I am quite familiar with the Evening Grosbeaks, having observed them every winter from 1900 to 1908-9 inclusive, feeding in the box elder trees in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.—Jacolyn Manning, M. D.,Saratoga Springs, N. Y.

The Evening Grosbeak at Boston

Any record of the Evening Grosbeak on the Atlantic coast is so very rare that it may interest the readers ofBird-Loreto hear of a visit made to us by one on December 16, 1915.

Our bird was found in the Boston Parkway, close to the city blocks, flying about, at times rather wildly, at others, feeding tamely on the ground among the English Sparrows.

By its plumage, of which we give herewith a brief sketch, we judge it to have been a female or young bird. Head, rather dark gray; nape, yellowish green; back, pale brownish green; wings, black, interspersed with large areas of white; tail, black, with broad, white tip; chin and throat, gray; rest of under-parts pale yellowish or greenish brown; legs, pink; bill, whitish, or pale horn-color.

When at rest, the bird gave the effect ofa huge winter Goldfinch; in flight, its largely white wings strongly suggested a Snow Bunting.

We heard it utter two distinctly different notes; the first a rather loud and insistent monosyllable—perhaps nearerpeepthan any other—and the second, a peculiar little trilling call, not unlike certain notes of the Semipalmated Sandpiper.

Both as to plumage and notes, this species is very strikingly different from any other Grosbeak, of any age and either sex, in this part of the world. Its whitish beak, the yellowish green tone of its plumage, the absence of streaks, and the presence of such large areas of white in its wings and tail—not to mention the notes described above—all serve easily to distinguish this bird even from the female and young of the Pine Grosbeak, which, of all our species, most nearly resembles it.

Such other observations of this species as are made, this winter, thus far east, we hope to see recorded inBird-Lore.—E. G.andR. E. ROBBINS,Brookline, Mass.

Evening Grosbeaks at Poughkeepsie

On the afternoon of February 17, 1916, I observed seven Evening Grosbeaks feeding on locust seeds at our farm just outside of Poughkeepsie. They returned on the morning of the 20th, when they were also seen by Mr. Allen Frost, Prof. Saunders and Prof. Ellen Freeman, both of Vassar College, and Miss S. Dean, a student, who confirmed my identification. As I believe this is a record for Dutchess County, it seems worth reporting.—George W. Gray,Greenvale, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.

Evening Grosbeaks in Lexington, Mass.

Although Evening Grosbeaks may very probably have visited Lexington during the flights of 1880-1890 and 1910-1911, there was no satisfactory record of the bird for the town until Mr. Francis S. Dane saw a bird near his house on December 31, 1915. This bird proved to be a member of a flock of eleven Grosbeaks, all in the plumage of the female. For a week or ten days this company remained in the vicinity of where the first bird was seen, the number of individuals varying somewhat; the maximum being eleven. Two fruited box elder trees were the attraction to the locality. So regular were their visits to these trees that observers could rely almost with certainty on finding the birds in one or the other of the trees (they were some two hundred yards apart) at eleven o’clock in the morning.

At all times, the Grosbeaks showed the fearlessness of man so characteristic of Pine Grosbeaks and the Crossbills, but their tameness was especially noticeable when the flock was busily feeding. The birds then appeared to disregard the presence of a party of observers; we could approach them closely, and see very satisfactorily their method of extracting the seeds.

The seeds of the box elder grow in pairs on a single stem, each seed having a wing. In the winter, however, the seed in its covering with the attached wing, having broken away from the stem, hangs from it only by a thread. It is an easy matter, therefore, for the Grosbeak to break off a single seed. Having detached it from the stem (to do this the bird merely leans downward and pulls off the husk and its wing), the Grosbeak cuts through the husk as far as the kernel and allows the wing to drop to the ground; this it does with a fluttering motion suggestive of a small moth. The remainder, the whole kernel and perhaps two-thirds of the husk, the Grosbeak mumbles in his bill, and in an incredibly short time discards from the sides of his beak the more or less macerated remains of the husk. Some of these particles fall to the ground, some cling for a time to the beak. The bird swallows the kernel. Upon examining the wings which the birds had clipped off, it was apparent that the birds had bitten directly over the kernel itself at a point rather nearer the wing than the center of the kernel. But, although by this incision the kernel was exposed, it was never severed and allowed to fall with the wing,as would have been the case had the beak been closed and the bite completed. The cutting process was always arrested at the point after the casing had been divided, but before the meat has been severed. All this, although the process involved the nicest precision, was accomplished with great rapidity,—the wing fluttering to the ground within a second or two after the fruit was plucked from the stem.

The big birds are curiously inconspicuous when feeding in a box elder tree; their color harmonizes very closely with the dull grayish brown of the faded wings of the fruit, and, as the birds are for the most part silent, a feeding flock might easily be passed unnoticed. In spite of their quiet manner, however, the Grosbeaks are ever on the alert, as was shown when a large bird flew near them. They whirled away, panic stricken, giving their loud ‘kerp’ call.

On January 8, the flock of eleven female birds was replaced by a flock of eight Grosbeaks, two males and six females. These latter were all distinctly grayer than any of the individuals of the first flock, whose plumage was washed strongly with yellow. This second flock has remained to the present time, February 19, feeding first upon the box elder seeds until the two trees were practically stripped of fruit, then visiting a Japanese crab-apple tree loaded with minute apples, from which the birds obtained the seeds by munching off the pulp and discarding it. The flock has suffered the loss of two female birds (they were probably caught by a cat); otherwise the company has remained intact for six weeks. As in the case of the original flock, these birds fed early in the morning, again at about 11A. M., and were rarely seen in the afternoon. On one occasion, they left the feeding-ground by mounting high in the air and taking a long, direct flight to the westward. Besides the box elder and crab-apple seeds, the birds have eaten wild-cherry pits, poison-ivy berries, and gray-birch seeds.

Evening Grosbeaks have been seen this season at several points in eastern Massachusetts. Mrs. Lidian E. Bridge kindly sent me a report of a flock which visited her place in West Medford, four birds on February 8 and 9. These birds fed upon the berries of the honeysuckle, mountain ash, and red cedar.

The large number of observers who came from a radius of ten miles to see these rare Grosbeaks demonstrated how great the interest in birds is at the present time. For nearly two months, several visitors came every day at the appointed time, and on Sundays and holidays the number often reached thirty or more. The total number of persons who saw the birds must have been hundreds. And each one, thanks to Audubon Societies and proper education in out-of-doors studies, came armed with a glass instead of a gun.—Winsor M. Tyler, M. D.,Lexington, Mass.

Evening Grosbeaks in Vermont

On February 14, 1916, we were visited by a flock of nine Evening Grosbeaks, which were feeding on the buds of sugar maple in a grove of these trees near our place.

These birds were quite tame, allowing me to look at them through my field-glass at a distance of three rods, making identification positive.

I heard their call note and saw three of these birds at a distance on January 31.

On December 8, one was seen and heard too far away to note its markings.—L. H. Potter,Clarendon, Vermont.

Evening Grosbeaks in Connecticut

I wish to report a thrilling experience which I had this morning.

At ten o’clock, I glanced from my window, and saw White-breasted Nuthatches on the bird-shelf, Chickadees, Hairy Woodpeckers, a Brown Creeper, and Blue Jays, close by on two maples, a flock of English Sparrows gleaning on the ground, and two strange birds picking up their breakfast on the outskirts, but a few feet from the window.

The two rare visitors proved to be Evening Grosbeaks. They came toward me, went away from me, turned about and displayed themselves in every light, andfinally flew to a spruce tree on the other side of the house, where for about five minutes they gave every opportunity to study them at close range.

The large white patches on the wings and white tips on the dark tail feathers were very prominent.

The yellow forehead with black crown, the heavy bill, and the body of a soft yellow color, black wings and tail, made identification very easy.

I presume these little strangers will be heard from in other parts of Connecticut.—Mary Hazen Arnold.

[The context shows that this observation was made in Connecticut, but the observer does not give her address.—Ed.]

Martin Problems

I should like those readers ofBird-Lorewho have accurately observed the habits of the Purple Martin to tell me if my experience of the past summer is a common one and what it means. For several years I have had a Martin house of ten rooms, only one room of which has ever been occupied and that always the west attic. This year (1915) on May 22, after visiting a short time several times a day for a week, three Martins, one male and two females, finally located in the house. June 1 the birds began carrying nesting material into both west and east attic rooms. The male seemed to work in the west room only, and one day was seen taking in green cherry leaves from a nearby tree. Only one male bird was ever seen about the house, so I concluded that this was a polygamous family.

The east room was not easy of observation, so I could not be sure of all that took place there, but know that it was occupied by a female all summer and that a nest was built. The male seemed to sleep in the west room, both birds going in at dusk. When incubation began, the male occupied one of the south rooms. July 7, a young Martin was found dead under the house on the west side.

He was very tiny, and could not have been more than a day old at most. His neck was as thin as a darning needle but his stomach was as large as a hickory nut, and just as hard. Thinking the bird abnormal, I opened the stomach only to find everything right, the abdomen being big and hard because of the great number of bugs and flies it contained. July 16 I went out of the city, so did not see the young leave the house. For several days previous to this, a baby Martin was constantly at the door, and I believe there was only one young bird.

My last year’s family consisted of only two young birds, but one of which lived to fly from the house.

Neither eggs nor birds were found in the east room. Now, was this a polygamous family, or was it one pair of Martins and a non-mating female? Might it not have been my family of last year? I will appreciate answers from readers ofBird-Lore.—(Mrs.) May S. Danner,Canton, Ohio.

A Bold Winter Wren

On November 7, 1908, I had been standing for some time motionless, watching the antics of a Winter Wren which was foraging in a brush-heap piled against a fence. The Wren was very much occupied and paid no attention to me, as I stood about ten feet away. I had on a brown suit, and was certainly not a very conspicuous object. Suddenly the Wren appeared in a corner of the fence with a long morsel, the larva of some insect, in his bill. Evidently this a tid-bit which should be eaten leisurely for enjoyment. At any rate, after peering about he caught a glimpse of me standing conveniently near. And much to my surprise, with no hesitation, he flew straight at me and alighted on the side of my coat. I could feel his movements through the cloth. He clung there several seconds. But, in my attempt to get a better look at him, I doubtless moved. For without a sound or show of alarm he flew back to the fence and finished his morsel. I do not think the Wren implied that I was a stick, but he certainly believed me to be a tree!—Edward J. F. Marx,Easton, Pa.

Back to Index Next