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

In many other places I find the memorials of many noble trees slain; here a hemlock that carried up its eternal green a hundred feet into the winter air; there, a huge double-trunked chestnut, dear old grandfather of hundreds of children that have for generations clubbed its boughs, or shook its nut-laden top, and laughed and shouted as bushels of chestnuts rattled down. Now, the tree exists only in the form of loop-holed posts and weather-browned rails. I do hope the fellow got a sliver in his fingers every time he touched the hemlock plank, or let down the bars made of those chestnut rails!

BATS IN BURMESE CAVES

INTERESTING caves exist at Hpagat, twenty-six miles up the Salween, from Moulmein. They are hollowed out in the base of an isolated limestone hill about 250 feet high, rising precipitously from the river. Capt. A. R. S. Anderson, the surgeon-naturalist, gives an interesting account of these caves in an Indian government report which is abstracted by "Natural Science." The entrance is about twelve feet high and is much ornamented by Buddhistic sculptures. As the sun was setting the party took their stand on the sand-spit facing the entrance of the caves and soon saw a pair of falcons leave their perch on the trees and fly to and fro over the river. They were speedily joined by other birds, including common kites and jungle crows, and the entire flock, to the number of sixty or a hundred, flew to the entrance of the caves, close to which they remained wheeling about in mid-air. A few minutes later the bats began to issue in ones and twos, and were soon pursued by the birds of prey, but appeared to have no great difficulty in eluding capture by their rapid and jerky flight, and their pursuers made no very determined or long-sustained efforts to capture them, but soon returned to their vigil over the cave. A minute or two passed and a sudden rush of wings was heard, and the bats were seen to emerge from the cave in a dense stream which slowly became more and more packed, and continued of about the same density for some ten minutes and then gradually thinned away, until, at the end of twenty minutes, the last had emerged. The stream of bats when at its maximum was ten feet square, and so dense as to closely resemble smoke pouring from a chimney in a gale of wind. This resemblance was increased by the slightly sinuous course pursued by the bats as they flew off into the afterglow. They were so densely crowded that they frequently upset each other and fell helplessly into the river below, where they succeeded in reaching the bank only to fall a prey to the expectant crow. When the great rush occurred the falcons, kites, and crows entered the stream of bats and, flying along with it and in it, seized as many bats as they required for food. Capt. Anderson, by throwing his walking-stick into the stream of bats, obtained six specimens. During the last twenty years the bats appear to have considerably diminished in numbers, owing to the depredations of their bird enemies and to their constant disturbance by collectors of bat manure.

A METAL BIRD'S NEST

IN THE Museum of Natural History at Soleure, in Switzerland, there is said to be a bird's nest made entirely of steel. There are a number of clockmaking shops at Soleure, and in the yards of these shops there are often found lying disused or broken springs of clocks. One day a clock-maker noticed in a tree in his yard a bird's nest of peculiar appearance. Examining it he found that a pair of wag-tails had built a nest entirely of clock springs. It was more than four inches across and perfectly comfortable for the birds. After the feathered architects had reared their brood, the nest was taken to the museum, where it is preserved as a striking illustration of the skill of birds in turning their surroundings to advantage in building their nests.

THE MOURNING WARBLER

(Geothlypis philadelphia.)

BASKETT, in his valuable "Story of the Birds," says that the warbler forms feed variously, but they use little vegetable matter. Some have ground-haunting, and even swamp-haunting habits; others have fringed tongues hinting of juices and nectars, while tree-trunk exploring, as in creepers, nuthatches, titmice, etc., also prevails. They have been described as at once the most fascinating and the most exasperating of birds. In the spring they come with a rush and although the woods may be full of them, only a faint lisp from the tree tops gives note of their presence, and unless you are a very good observer you will not know they are about at all. If you listen to other birds, instead of resolutely devoting yourself to warblers, you will lose the opportunity of the sight of a diminutive bird disappearing in a tree top. Some of the warblers dash about among the leaves on the ground hunting for gnats, others hunt over the branches of the trees, though some of them hop gaily on the ground, while others walk sedately, bobbing their heads or tilting their tails. The majority of the tribe fly northward to nest in pine forests. A few, however, remain and build in our parks, gardens and shrubbery. They are all insect-eaters, destroying ants, flies, caterpillars, larvæ, plant lice, canker-worms, and May flies. They are therefore of great value in the protection of vegetation.

The mourning warbler, whose common name is black-throated ground warbler, has its habitat in eastern North America, breeding from northern United States northward; more rare in the Atlantic states. It winters in south-eastern Mexico, and Costa Rica, and thence south to Colombia. During the spring migration this bird is very common. Early in May, 1881, they were found in abundance near wheat lands in Indiana, most of them being observed about brush piles in a clearing, and along fences in the immediate vicinity. In the early part of June, 1871, a pair were seen in a thicket along the border of Fox Prairie, in Richland Co., Illinois, and it was presumed at the time that they were breeding there, but they may have been merely late migrants. It is known to breed in mountainous portions of Pennsylvania, New England, New York, Michigan, Minnesota, and eastern Nebraska, northward. It has been found nesting in Illinois south of latitude 39. Its nest is built on or near the ground in woods. One discovered by Burroughs in the state of New York was built in ferns about a foot from the ground, on the edge of a hemlock wood. It contained three eggs. The nests are usually composed of fine strips of bark and other fibrous material, lined with fine hair. The eggs are white, with a sprinkling of reddish dots near the larger ends.

The feeling that all life is one life slumbers in the child's soul. Only very gradually, however, can this slumbering feeling be transfigured into a waking consciousness. Slowly, through a sympathetic study of nature and of human life, through a growing sense of the soul and meaning of all natural facts and of all human relationships, and through recreating in various forms that external world which is but the objective expression of his own inmost being, the individual attains to a consciousness and unity of life and to a vision of the Eternal Fountain of Life. —The Nest.

THE RAVEN AND THE DOVE

ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE

YEA, master," croaked the raven, "I understand," and spreading his sable wings over the waste of waters he flew, anxious, as was Noah, for a sight of dry land.

The day passed, evening fell, and the raven had not returned.

"An ill-omened bird," gloomily said Shem, "so black and uncanny looking. His croak, even, hath to mine ear an evil sound."

"What thou sayest is true, brother," returned Ham. "Verily the raven hath a wicked look. A bird of more cheerful aspect, it seemeth to me, might well have been chosen. The albatross, so majestic, with powers of flight excelling all other creatures of the air; the eagle, or better still the stormy petrel, so light of body, its webbed feet enabling it, with expanding wing, to rest at will upon the face of the waters."

"Coo-o-o," came a low, plaintive call from a far corner. "Coo-o-o."

"Ah, my turtle dove," responded Japheth, "so loving, so true! Had the choice of a messenger been left to me, my brothers, verily would I have chosen the dove. Naught but death would have kept it, believe me, from its mate and us."

Noah turned from the window and gazed sternly upon his three sons.

"What signifieth the complexion of bird, beast, or man," he demanded gravely, "when one standeth in need of courage, intelligence, strength? Among all the winged creatures of the air within the ark, canst thou name one with instinct more subtle than the raven's? Black and uncanny looking, forsooth! Witness his speech, I tell thee," decisively, "the bird hath understanding."

As Noah ceased speaking, there came a low, faint tapping at the window. With a glad countenance he hastened to open it, and in flew the raven, quite exhausted.

"Water, water, everywhere," croaked the bird, and after wearily eating the food Noah gave him, tucked his head beneath his wing and was soon fast asleep.

Upon the morning of the next day, Noah again sent the raven forth, also the next, and the next.

"Water, water, everywhere," croaked the raven, as before, upon his return, and after wearily eating of the food which Noah gave him, tucked his head beneath his wing and was soon fast asleep.

"Verily," sneered Ham, who with his brothers had grown very impatient, "the sable-plumaged bird which thou dost insist upon sending forth daily, knoweth naught, to my mind, but the words which he so glibly speaketh. Surely he hath heard them uttered an hundred times."

Noah reflected. "What thou sayest, my son, may be true," he responded, "for of a surety when gazing from the window these many, many months, those words of our speech have been the daily burden. To-morrow, then," his gaze fixed upon the stormy petrel, "we will send forth – "

"Coo-o-o" came a plaintive call from the corner. "Coo-o-o."

"The dove," finished Noah, thoughtfully, "for verily it doth seem to answer me. Though devoid of speech, its affectionate nature may yet prompt it to devise some way by which its message may be interpreted."

And so upon the morning of the next day Noah opened the window of the ark and, the dove, poising upon his finger, spread her beautiful wings and over the waste of waters took her joyful flight.

The day passed, evening fell, and the dove had not returned.

A dark frown was settling upon the brow of Ham, when a faint tapping was heard at the window.

"Water, water, everywhere," croaked the raven, maliciously, as Noah hastened to open it and draw the exhausted bird within. "Water, water, everywhere."

"Verily, oh, raven!" despondently said Noah, "it doth appear that the dove, not more than thou, didst find a place for the sole of her foot. I will wait yet another seven days," he added thoughtfully, "ere I send her forth again."

And Noah waited seven days, and on the morning of the eighth he sent the dove forth again in quest of dry land.

The day passed, but ere evening fell the bird returned, bearing in her bill, as a token that the waters had abated, a freshly-plucked olive leaf.

"Thou art God's own messenger," joyfully said Noah, tenderly caressing the dove. "Verily something more than instinct guided and prompted thee in thy flight this day."

And Noah waited yet another seven days ere he again sent forth the dove.

This time, to the ark, the dove returned no more.

"Coo-o-o," more plaintively than usual, called her mate the next morning. "Co-o-o-o."

"He mourns for his lost love," pityingly said Japheth, the youngest son. "Verily, something hath befallen the bird!"

"Nay," responded Noah, "liberty is sweet. After long captivity in a dark, close house-boat, freedom might well try the fidelity of e'en a turtle dove. She awaits his coming, perchance, in the nearest pine or willow tree. Open then the window and let him forth."

And Japheth did as his father commanded, but sorrowfully, for it chanced that in close companionship, lo, these many days, with these innocent children of nature, Japheth had come to acquire a tender love and care for both beast and bird.

"Go, thou mourning dove," he said, unconsciously bestowing a fitting name upon the gentle bird. "Go!" And, spreading his beautiful wings, off the dove joyfully flew, following with unerring instinct the path in the air yesterday taken by his mate.

And yet a few days and Noah removed the covering from the ark and looked, and behold, the face of the ground was dry.

THE MAYFLOWERS

(The trailing arbutus, or Mayflower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their fearful winter.)

Sad Mayflower! watched by winter starsAnd nursed by winter gales,With petals of the sleeted sparsAnd leaves of frozen sails!What had she in those dreary hours,Within her ice-rimmed bay,In common with the wild-wood flowers,The first sweet smiles of May?Yet, "God be praised!" the Pilgrim said,Who saw the blossoms peerAbove the brown leaves, dry and dead,"Behold our Mayflower here!""God wills it: here our rest shall be,Our years of wandering o'er,For us the Mayflower of the seaShall spread her sails no more."O sacred flowers of faith and hope,As sweetly now as thenYe bloom on many a birchen slope,In many a pine-dark glen.Behind the sea-wall's rugged length,Unchanged, your leaves unfold,Like love behind the manly strengthOf the brave hearts of old.So live the fathers in their sons,Their sturdy faith be ours,And ours the love that overrunsIts rocky strength with flowers.The Pilgrim's wild and wintry dayIts shadows round us draws;The Mayflower of his stormy bay,Our Freedom's struggling cause.But warmer suns ere long shall bringTo life the frozen sod;And through dead leaves of hope shall springAfresh the flowers of God!– Whittier.

THE CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER

(Dendroica pennsylvanica.)LYNDS JONES

FOR one reason or another we come to think of this or that bird as an exquisite. This may be due to color pattern, form, carriage or song, but whatever it be, the bird's presence adds color and beauty to all our surroundings. It is not easy to tell why the chestnut-sided warbler impresses me as an exquisite. His colors are not so bright, nor their pattern in either the contrast or harmony that may be found with other warblers, but there seems to be something about the bird that makes the day brighter, the wearing field-work easier, and hours of fasting forgotten when he flits into view. I have sometimes half suspected that he was more than half conscious of my admiration from the manner in which he displayed his pretty colors and trim form. But no doubt this is base slander. The slightly opened wings, spread tail, and quick movements give an alertness to the little fellow which adds to his otherwise bright appearance. The females and fall birds lack the distinct contrasts of color found in the male in his spring dress, but they usually have some trace of the chestnut on the side of the body, which, with the small size, will serve to distinguish them from all others.

The tree-tops seem to possess few attractions for this warbler, but in village parks he may often be found well up among the branches gleaning from the buds and new leaves for insects and their eggs. In the woods he gleans much nearer the ground, but I have never seen him upon the ground searching among the fallen leaves. Many times he may be found among the low underbrush, preferably not at the edge of the woods, but usually a few rods in. He seems rather partial to damp woods, but may often be found among the uplands as well, where insect life is abundant.

The song is uttered while feeding, the bird seldom arresting his search for food, but turning his head this way and that scanning each leaf and stem. It is often a less spirited song than that of many other warblers, seeming to be a sort of soliloquizing accompaniment to the pressing duties of sustaining life, but it is none the less a pleasing song. There is a somewhat close resemblance to some phrases of the yellow warbler's song in the rendering of the chestnut-side, but a little attention and a discriminating ear will readily distinguish the difference both in quality and in quantity. The song is more often heard on the college campus here than in the woods, and there it sounds something like this: "Wee-chee wee-chee wee-chee-e-e-e," with the accent on the first syllable of each phrase. This, in common with other warbler songs, cannot be well represented by a whistle, but rather by hissing or whispering the syllables between the closed teeth. The pitch is too high for my whistle. In the woods a common form of the song is, "te te te te wee chu;" and occasionally, "to wee to wee to wee tee e-e-e." In the woods the song seems to be far more spirited than in the village, as well as being different. This difference may be rather due to the fact that the first migrants are those that visit the village, while the later ones are found in the woods. It is well known that with many of the warblers the first singers, or at least the first songs heard, are often different from the later ones.

In the vicinity of Oberlin, Ohio, this little warbler makes his appearance about the fifth of May and does not leave for the north until the last week of May. It can not be called common at any time, some years not being seen at all, but may usually be found in the shrubbery fringing woods, or in the shade trees in the village. None have been found during the summer months, and it is doubtful if any remain to nest. The winter is spent in the Bahamas and Mexico, and from there southward. The species ranges north to Manitoba, Ontario, and Newfoundland, and west to the plains, being a bird of eastern North America. It breeds from New Jersey and Illinois northward. I once found it breeding in central Iowa.

The nest resembles that of the yellow warbler, both in situation and composition. It is usually placed in the fork of a bush or shrub from two to eight or nine feet from the ground, made of the fibrous bark of the milk-weed, or some other hempen material, grass and sometimes leaves, lined with some sort of plant down and long hairs. The bark fibers are wound about the bush twigs, securely lashing the nest into the crotch. The four or five eggs are of a creamy-white color, with a wreath of reddish and dark brown spots and dots around the larger end, the spots becoming smaller and less numerous both ways from this wreath. They average about .66 × .50 of an inch.

In the fall they are among the first warblers to appear, often being seen early in August, and continuing in the region for several weeks. At this time of year their bright colors are wanting, but they are the same birds for all that, and may be readily recognized by their trim form and animated carriage.

NATURE STUDY – HOW A NATURALIST IS TRAINED

SOME VIEWS OF JOHN BURROUGHS

THE knowledge of nature that comes easy, that comes through familiarity with her, as through fishing, hunting, nutting, walking, farming – that is the kind that reaches and affects the character and becomes a grown part of us. We absorb this as we absorb the air, and it gets into our blood. Fresh, vital knowledge is one thing; the desiccated fact is another. Do we know the wild flower when we have analyzed it and pressed it, or made a drawing of it? Of course this is one kind of knowledge and is suited to certain minds; but if we cannot supplement it with the other kind, the knowledge that comes through the heart and the emotions, we are poor indeed.

I recently had a letter from the principal of a New England high school putting some questions to me touching these very matters: Do children love nature? How shall we instil this love into them? How and when did I myself acquire my love for her? etc. In reply I said: The child, in my opinion, does not consciously love nature; it is curious about things; about everything; its instincts lead it forth into the fields and woods; it browses around; it gathers flowers; they are pretty; it stores up impressions. Boys go forth into nature more as savages; they are predaceous, seeking whom they may devour; they gather roots, nuts, wild fruit, berries, eggs, etc. At least this was my case. I hunted, I fished, I browsed, I wandered with a vague longing in the woods, I trapped, I went cooning at night, I made ponds in the little streams, I boiled sap in the maple-woods in spring, I went to sleep under the trees in summer, I caught birds on their nests, I watched for the little frogs in the marshes, etc. One keen pleasure which I remember was to take off my shoes and stockings when the roads got dry in late April or early May, and run up and down the road until I was tired, usually in the warm twilight. I was not conscious of any love for nature, as such, till my mind was brought in contact with literature. Then I discovered that I, too, loved nature, and had a whole world of impressions stored up in my subconscious self upon which to draw. I found I knew about the birds, the animals, the seasons, the trees, the flowers, and that these things have become almost a grown part of me. I have been drawing upon the reservoir of youthful impressions ever since.

If nature is to be a resource in a man's life, one's relation to her must not be too exact and formal, but more that of a lover and friend. I should not try directly to teach young people to love nature so much as I should aim to bring nature and them together, and let an understanding and intimacy spring up between them. —The Outlook.

JOHN'S HAWK

EMMA YARNALL ROSS

JOHN came home one evening from a ramble in the country with a peach-box under his arm. He set the box very carefully on the back porch and then sat down himself on the top of the box.

His mother was watering some geraniums in a bed near by and paused in her work to look at the lad.

"Where did you get those peaches, John?" she asked, coming toward him with a pleasant smile.

John gave a low laugh. "This is a peach box, mother," he said, "but if what is in it is a peach, it belongs to a new variety, I think. Look at him, he is a beauty!"

"John Bonham, I hope you have not brought another pet to this house! Where in the world are we to stow away all these creatures on one little town lot? There is your groundhog, your owl, the crow, the coot, the tub of fish, the big dog, the little dog, and three Christopher Columbus cats."

"Now, mother, please stop; poor Chuck stays most of the time in his hole under the corner of the house, and the owl keeps the mice out of the cellar, and Jim Crow has not stolen anything for a month except that half dollar and your piece of lace and sister's red ribbon. You said I might have the wash boiler to make a swimming-pool for the coot, and I am going to feed the fish to him, so they will soon be gone and you can have your tub again. I heard you tell Mrs. Bland that our dogs guarded the whole neighborhood from burglars, and my Christopher Columbus cats are cute enough for anyone to be glad to have them. Mrs. Goodall says she 'wants one of them real bad.' You see, mother," said John, persuasively, "this fellow was such a beauty I just had to bring him home. Jake Timmons shot him through the wing as he was carrying off a dove; he was going to wring the hawk's head off, but I told him I would give him ten cents for it, for I wanted to try an experiment with the bird. I know I can tame him and make a pet of him; see, he can move around even if his wing is broken."

John's mother looked through the bars of the peach crate and saw a full-grown hawk with a beautiful brown head, eyes with blood-red rims, a strong, hooked beak, and long talons which he struck angrily into the stick John thrust at him through the bars.

"I never saw a more fierce, cruel-looking bird," she said. "See him tear at that stick! He will be tearing you next."

"I shall give him no chance to tear me, mother, for I intend to tame him."

"You might as well try to tame a tiger."

"Well, I am going to try taming him," said John, in a low, determined tone. When his mother heard him speak in that way she knew his mind was made up to succeed, and he had never yet failed in taming any of his pets.

John put the hawk in his dog-house, the front of which was formed of strong iron bars, and the next day his mother saw him sitting before this improvised bird-cage, going through some fantastic motions with his hands and gently chirping to the bird. No accident happened to the young naturalist in his care of the hawk, and gradually his mother ceased to think of it.