Birds and All Nature, Vol. VI, No. 1, June 1899

"Now, if you will take this one in your hand," said the stranger, "and run your fingers very gently down its sides from tail to head, you will find that the body of the worm is covered with fine hooks. If you run your fingers along the worm in the other direction, you will think the body perfectly smooth. This is because all the hooks point in the other direction.

"When the worm wishes to enter the earth, it pushes its blunt head through the soil, lengthening its body by means of the muscles that hold together the soft, cartilage-like rings. At first only a few rings go into the ground. Master Worm then draws up his body into a thick roll by shortening his muscles. In this way he forces apart the soft earth to make room for his body, the points on the sides holding it there while he again lengthens his head, pushing more earth apart. It is in this way, by alternately or in turn lengthening or shortening his body that he makes his way through the earth, which is pushed aside to give him passage through its dark depths.

"As his home is underground, eyes would not be of much use to him, so Mother Nature, whose children we all are, has given him none. One of her laws is that none of us shall have what we cannot or do not make use of. He has a strong mouth, however. It is placed on the second ring of the body. His food is earth, which he swallows to obtain the organic particles contained in it. This makes him especially interesting, for nearly all animals obtain their food from the soil quite indirectly. Some get it from plants, the plants themselves having gathered theirs from the earth through their roots. Certain animals depend on other creatures, which in turn get food from the plants.

"The life-giving particles which go to build up all bodies come directly or indirectly from the earth itself. It seems odd that a man who is starving, no matter where he may be, starves with the very food which he needs directly beneath his feet, only he does not know, nor has the wisest man yet learned, how to convert it into food which will directly sustain and give health to the body. Yet the little earthworm, which you despise as stupid, has this wonderful secret, which day by day it puts into operation for its own benefit. Worms also eat leaves, which sometimes they drag into their homes.

"The worm has no feet as we understand them, but moves along the ground by sticking its sharp claws into the ground and by in turn lengthening and shortening its flexible body.

"The young worms grow from eggs, which are deposited in the earth in the autumn. They have to look out for themselves. During the winter they burrow deep into the ground, coming to the surface with the warm rains of spring. Worms also come to the earth's surface at night. If you look carefully in the garden with a lantern some evening, you may see them."

Charley was looking at his bait box with a good deal of respect.

"I guess I'll let the worms have another chance," he said, and he dumped them in a heap upon the ground, when, I regret to say, two hungry robins promptly pounced upon them and flew jubilantly home with two of the fattest in their beaks for a meal.

The stranger smiled kindly upon Charley.

"Never mind, my boy. Old Dame Nature meant the worms for food for the robins and perhaps bait for your hook when you really need fish for food, but she never meant any of us to needlessly harm any living creature, for when you are older and have learned to read well in her great story book you will find that after all, from earthworms to kings, we are only brothers and sisters in wise old Mother Nature's great family.

"I once knew a little boy like you who used to salute every living creature he met with 'Good morning' or 'Good afternoon' or 'Good evening.' He said it made him feel more friendly toward them. In his spare moments he loved to watch the woodland creatures and learn the secrets of their busy, useful lives."

"Where does he live?" asked Charley.

"Well, when he is not rambling over the earth hunting for curious insects he lives in a big city, where he sometimes writes books about butterflies and moths and other insects, and people, who as a rule know very little about the humbler children of nature's family, give him credit for being a rather wise man; but he really knows very little – there is so much to learn. Some day, when you are a man, if you keep your eyes open to what goes on around you, you yourself may know how little. That boy is a man now and takes great pleasure in having introduced you to Master Chætopoda, one of the humblest but most interesting members of Mother Nature's household."

And then Charley smiled, for he knew the stranger was talking about himself. —Success.

THE MYRTLE WARBLER

(Dendroica coronata.)C. C. M

ONE of the most interesting facts concerning this beautiful warbler is that, though not common, it is a winter sojourner, and therefore of perpetual interest to the student of birds. About the last of March, however, multitudes of them may be seen as they begin to move northward. By the middle of April all but a few stragglers have left us, and it is not till the last of September that they begin to return, the majority of them arriving about the middle of October. The habitat of the myrtle warbler includes the whole of North America, though it is chiefly found east of the Rocky Mountains, breeding from the northern United States northward into the Arctic regions; and, what is regarded as strange for so hardy a bird, has been found nesting in Jamaica. Its winter home is from about latitude 40° south into southern Central America.

The adult female myrtle warbler is similar to the male, but much duller in color. In winter the plumage of the sexes is said to be essentially alike. The upper parts are strongly washed with umber brown, and lower parts more or less suffused with paler wash of the same. The young have no yellow anywhere, except sometimes on the rump. The whole plumage is thickly streaked above and below with dusky and grayish white.

The places to study these attractive warblers are the open woods and borders of streams. In their northern winter homes, during the winter months, spiders, eggs and larvæ of insects constitute their principal food, though they also feed upon the berries of the poison ivy, and in the early spring, as they move northward, upon "insects that gather about the unfolding leaves, buds, and blossoms." Col. Goss says that in the spring of 1880 he found the birds in large numbers on Brier Island and other places in Nova Scotia, feeding along the beach, in company with the horned lark, upon the small flies and other insects that swarm about the kelp and debris washed upon the shore. "They utter almost continually, as they flit about, a tweet note, the males often flying to the tops of the small hemlocks to give vent to their happiness in song, which is quite loud for warblers – rather short, but soft and pleasing."

These birds usually build their nests in low trees and bushes, but Mr. MacFarlane, who found them nesting at Anderson River, says they occasionally nest on the ground. Mr. Bremer says that in the summer of 1855, early in July, he obtained a nest of the myrtle warbler in Parsborough, Nova Scotia. It was built in a low bush, in the midst of a small village, and contained six eggs. The parents were very shy, and it was with great difficulty that one of them was secured for identification. The nest was built on a horizontal branch, the smaller twigs of which were so interlaced as to admit of being built upon them, though their extremities were interwoven into its rim. The nest was small for the bird, being only two inches in depth and four and a half in diameter. The cavity was one and one-half inches deep and two and a half wide. Its base and external portions consisted of fine, light dry stalks of wild grasses, and slender twigs and roots. Of the last the firm, strong rim of the nest was exclusively woven. Within the nest were soft, fine grasses, downy feathers, and the fine hair of small animals.

The eggs are three to six, white to greenish white, spotted and blotched, with varying shades of umber brown to blackish and pale lilac: in form they are rounded oval.

In autumn, when the myrtle warblers return from Canada, they mostly haunt the regions where the juniper and bayberries are abundant. The latter (Myrica cerifera), or myrtle waxberries, as they are frequently called, and which are the favorite food of this species, have given it their name. These warblers are so restless that great difficulty is experienced in identifying them.

TAFFY AND TRICKSEY

CAROLINE CROWNINSHIELD BASCOM

A FEW of my readers may know who Taffy and Tricksey are, but as more will not I think it best to introduce them.

Taffy is the handsomest tiger cat I have ever seen, and as he has the crook in his tail, he belongs to the Tabby breed. Taffy is very large, usually weighing fourteen pounds, but he has a very small head, and very small, finely shaped paws. The under parts of them look like black velvet. In color he is jet black and the other fur very much like a raccoon's, light tan at the ends shading into yellow, then into drab. As the sun strikes him every hair seems full of light and he is one mass of iridescent colors. His marking is most beautiful. The top of his head is black branching out into five narrow black stripes down his neck. A black stripe three inches wide (without one light hair) going all the way down the back and to the end of the tail and under two inches; of course, on the tail the stripe is much narrower. Then, narrow black stripes go down each side of his back and tail. His tail is not long, but very bushy like a nice boa. I never saw more exquisite coloring and marking than Taffy has underneath, from his throat to his tail. His coat is beautifully soft and thick, and shines like satin, and his eyes are very green. He is particular about his toilet, but insists upon my helping him to keep it glossy. His own comb is kept on my dressing-table, and he asks me to comb him twice a day, and sometimes oftener.

I can tell you nothing of Taffy's antecedents, as I found him one morning in our back yard starved almost to death, and about as thick through the body as a shingle. At first I thought he had dropped down from Heaven, but I soon learned from his sayings and doings that he must have been quite intimate with the inmates of the lower region. I tempted him with chicken but it was some little time before I could put my hand on him; and to tame any animal you must be able to touch it with your hand. After two or three pats he seemed to realize that I was a good friend. Soon I had him in the house and for three years we have been devoted to each other. I have had a great many cats, but never one who had so much of the wild animal in him. All of my friends said I never could tame Taffy and it was many weeks before I had much influence over him, and I never feel quite sure now whether I am to be loved or scratched, as he still has the temper and the actions of a tiger when anything goes the wrong way.

He usually lies down like a tiger with legs straight out in front, tail straight out behind, and when I speak to him he will always blink his eyes and speak to me. If you touch him in passing he will grab at your feet and spit and growl. He never mews when he wants anything to eat, but will chase me or my maid, and grab at our feet. If he does not like what is given him to eat, he will walk all about his plate, and scratch as if he were covering it up.

I am the only one Taffy ever shows much affection for, but to me he is very loving. He will lie as long as I will let him with his paws about my neck, and head on my shoulder. If he is sound asleep anywhere, and I begin to read aloud, sing, or whistle, he will get directly up, jump on my lap, put his paws about my neck, his face close to mine, and begin to purr. As he always looks very pleasant I flatter myself he likes the tone of my voice.

When I had my bird, Little Billie, it would make Taffy simply furious if I put him out of my room and closed the door. One morning he was so ugly my maid did not dare open the door to come in. After that when I wanted him to go down stairs, I had my maid come to the bottom of the stairs and call "Taffy!" then there was never any trouble. When he is in a tearing rage I can always quiet him, by taking tight hold of his paws, and kissing his eyes. I have told all of these things about Taffy so my readers will appreciate what I have been able to do with him. It is needless to say that when Little Billie went away, Taffy was the happiest cat in town. His devotion increased daily to me and he lived in my room, only going down to get something to eat.

I think by this time you are very well acquainted with Mr. Taffy, and I will present Tricksey to you. Of all the canary birds I have ever seen Tricksey is the prettiest, daintiest little bird you can possibly imagine. His color is light yellow with a much deeper shade between his wings, shading into almost an orange. His wings and tail are white with just a line of yellow on some of the feathers. His eyes are unusually large and bright, and his little legs and claws are very pink, and so slender they do not look strong enough to support his finely shaped body. Tricksey came from George H. Holden's, New York, so you will all know he is a very superior bird and sings like an angel.

Tricksey had never been out of his cage when he came to me, but before I had had him a week, he came out, perched on my finger, took things from my finger or mouth, would kiss me, and go all about my room on my finger, and very soon went all about the house with me. He was very fond of sweet apple, but I never let him have it inside his cage, but made him come to me for it. I kept a piece in a little dish on my table and he soon found out where it was and would help himself on the sly. I also kept on my table in a little china cup, some hemp seed which I gave to Tricksey as a great treat. Every time I would tap on the cup and make it ring, Tricksey would come out of his cage, down from a picture frame, or wherever he was, for a seed.

One day he had had his one hemp seed, and teased for more, but I said "no" and he went flying about the room having a fine time. Soon he flew back on the table, hopped over to the cup, gave it two or three taps to make it ring, then hopped on to the top, reached down and helped himself to two seeds. Tricksey is a very vain little bird and likes nothing better than to go over on my dressing table, walk back and forth in front of the mirror or sit on my pin cushion and admire himself.

Tricksey came to me one afternoon and Taffy knew nothing about his arrival until the next morning. When he came upstairs and saw a little yellow bird in a house of gold, he was like the little girl's Bunnie, who "was not a bit afraid, but awfully much surprised," when she heard firecrackers for the first time. His eyes were like balls of fire, while his mouth opened and shut making a hissing sound, and his tail going at the rate of a mile a minute. He walked into my room like a wild tiger, with an air as much as to say, "If this is Little Billie come back dressed in yellow, die he must," and sprang at the cage. I took him firmly by the paws, looked straight into his big angry eyes and said in a soft, firm voice, "Taffy, this is Tricksey, and he is not to be eaten or hurt any more than my Little Billie who went away." I let go of his paws, he walked out of my room and downstairs without looking back. In about an hour I looked out into the hall, and there sat my dear old Taffy on the top step looking very meek and wishful. I spoke kindly to him and asked him to come in and see his new brother Tricksey. After a few moments he came in very slowly and went behind my bed. Soon he came from under the valance, (the cage sat on a chair and I in front of it) never looked at the cage, jumped into my lap, put his paws about my neck and began loving me. I took him to bed with me and he never moved until Tricksey began to sing in a most delightful way, then he looked at him and listened very intently. I talked to him, and "smoothed his feathers," and soon he snuggled down in my arms and went to sleep. When he got out of bed he never glanced at the cage, but went directly downstairs, and I felt I had made a good beginning. Everyone said I could never teach Taffy not to catch Tricksey, and the reason his catship did not kill Little Billie was because he was afraid of him, and so carefully watched. I knew there was not a place in the house I could hang the cage where Taffy could not get at it if he made up his mind to do so. Of course for days and weeks I felt anxious, and did not mean to leave them alone together. I never turned Taffy out of my room. If he went up to the cage and put up his paw I would say "Taffy, you must not put your paw on the cage," and as he always minds he would take it right down, sit by the cage, and I would talk to him kindly. Fortunately Tricksey was not at all afraid of Taffy.

Taffy always wears a yellow satin collar with bells all around. Often I would hear him coming upstairs when I was lying down and I would keep very quiet to see what he would do. Sometimes he would come over to the cage, look at Tricksey pleasantly, then lie down by the fire and go to sleep; more often he would lie down without even looking at him. But the moment he heard me talking to Tricksey he would get up and come to me to be petted, and I always gave him a great deal. One day when Taffy was in another room I let Tricksey out, and tried to be very quiet. I was sitting on the floor with Tricksey hopping about me. Before I hardly knew it Taffy was in my lap, and soon I had Tricksey on my knee eating seeds. If I took the cage on my lap with Tricksey inside Taffy would immediately jump up and crowd in between the cage and me.

Taffy was very much afraid the first time he saw Tricksey take his bath, and ran under the bed and peeped out from under the valance.

One morning the cage sat on the floor, and Tricksey was ready for his bath, when Taffy came in and sat close to the cage. Tricksey took a big drop of water into his bill and threw it into Taffy's face, Taffy moved back a little and looked all about to see where it came from. While he was looking Tricksey went into his bath, and splashed the water all over Taffy's face in a very roguish way. To say Taffy was surprised is speaking mildly. He turned to me with an angry cry and went out of the room. The next morning the same thing happened; but instead of going out of the room, he went on the other side, out of reach of the water, but where he could see all that went on.

After that he became so interested he did not mind if the water was splashed all over his face and would sit as close to the cage as he could get. While Tricksey was eating his breakfast he would lie down close to the cage and go to sleep. As I previously said I never meant to leave Taffy in the room with Tricksey, but he was often there hours before I knew it. When I found him he was always asleep in front of the cage or by the fire.

One morning after the bath I put the cage up in the window. Taffy did not seem to like it at all. He looked at me most wishfully, and began talking cat language, and I knew he was saying, "Please put Tricksey back on the floor." I did so, and Taffy began to sing, lay down with his back close to the cage, stretched out and went to sleep. He had been lying that way for an hour when some visitors came. It seemed too bad to disturb Taffy so I left him, and thought I would risk it.

Two hours passed before I went back, and you may imagine my delight when I found my two boys (so different in color, size and disposition) as happy as two kittens. Tricksey was singing merrily. Taffy had wakened, changed his position, and looked as if he felt very proud, being left to take care of his small brother. His eyes were as soft as velvet, and he spoke to me in a soft, cooing tone. Since then I have never felt there was any danger in leaving them together. I regret to say Tricksey has a strong will of his own and almost as bad a temper as Taffy.

At different times I had three wee baby birds brought in to me, but they all died. Tricksey was very jealous of them, and when he saw me feeding them he would become very angry, beat his wings against his cage, and beg for me to let him out. One day I put one of the little strangers on the floor and let Tricksey out. He flew at the waif and tore feathers out of the top of his head. I took the poor little frightened thing in my hand. Tricksey flew on my finger and pecked at him. I put him in my other hand and Tricksey flew at him more angry than ever. Then I put him on the floor, and Tricksey was so happy he flew on my head, hopped about my shoulders and kissed me in the mouth. In the middle of the performance in walked dignified Mr. Taffy with a look which plainly said, "What more are you going to bring into this room?" He sat by my side looking at the newcomer and, before I knew what he was going to do, reached out his paw, and gave him a good slap which sent him off my lap onto the floor.

Early in the fall before I had any fire in my room I would bring Tricksey down in the morning and keep him until evening, and for two weeks Taffy never went near my room during the day, but stayed down there with Tricksey. The first day I had a fire in my room I did not bring Tricksey down as usual. After I gave Taffy his luncheon I missed him, but did not go to my room until five o'clock, and there was faithful Taffy sound asleep close to Tricksey's cage, and now he stays in my room all day. He has plainly shown that if Tricksey stays there he stays too.

I find that animals want to be treated very much like children. The more intelligent they are the easier it is to influence them, and the quicker they are to read you. First give them a great deal of love and kindness, always be firm, very patient, and above all never deceive them in the most trivial thing. I hope this little sketch of Taffy's and Tricksey's life may be of some help to those who love cats and dogs, but have felt they could not teach them to live in harmony together.

A SUGGESTION TO OOLOGISTS

FRANK L. BURNS,In Oberlin Bulletin

BEFORE we enter upon another active campaign of bird-nesting, it is fitting that we should pause a moment to reflect upon the true aim of our toil, risks, and trouble, as well as delight and recreation. How many of us can define the phrase "collecting for scientific purposes," which, like liberty, is the excuse for many crimes?

If it is true, as has been asserted, that oology as a scientific study has been a disappointment, I am convinced that it is not on account of its limited possibilities, but simply because the average oologist devotes so much time to the collection and bartering of specimens that no time is left for the actual study of the accumulating shells. In other words, he frequently undertakes a journey without aim or object.

The oologist has done much toward clearing up the life-history of many of our birds, but as observations of this nature can often be accomplished without the breaking up of the home of the parent bird, it alone will not suffice as an excuse for indiscriminate collecting. After preparing the specimen for the cabinet his responsibility does not end but only begins. A failure to add something to the general knowledge is robbing the public as well as the birds. He who talks fluently of the enforcement of strict laws for the preservation of our wild birds, their nests and eggs, and fails to protect and encourage those about his premises, falls short of his duty; and if his cabinet contains bird skins or egg shells which might just as well have remained where Nature placed them, he is inconsistent, demanding that others abstain that he may indulge.

In conclusion I would say that when an oologist constantly keeps in mind and acts under the assumption that the birds are his best friends and not his deadly enemies, he cannot go far wrong, and the means he employs will be justified in the light of subsequent study and research of data and specimens. If any of us fall short in this we have only ourselves to blame. Let us then collect with moderation and fewer eggs and more notes be the order of the day.

THE BLUE-WINGED YELLOW WARBLER

(Helminthophila pinus.)

NOT a great deal is known about many of the warblers, and comparatively little has been observed of this member of the very large family, comprising more than one hundred species. This specimen is also recognized by the name of the blue-winged swamp warbler. Its habitat is eastern United States, chiefly south of 40 degrees and west of the Alleghanies, north irregularly to Massachusetts and Michigan, and west to border of the great plains. In winter it lives in eastern Mexico and Guatemala.