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

One afternoon, about three weeks after this, the family were seated on the piazza when they were startled at seeing John come around the corner of the house bearing the hawk on his wrist. Over the bird's head was drawn a gay-colored hood adorned with tiny bells and tassels – John had read how hawks were dressed in medieval times, and had made the hood himself. A long string was tied to one of the hawk's legs, and, setting the bird down gently, the boy tied the string to a small tree. All were watching him to see what he would do next, and all kept silence as he lifted a warning hand and uttered a low "H-u-s-h!" He then removed the hood from the bird's head, when it immediately began tearing at the string, snapping viciously at objects near it, and running to and fro in an excited and angry manner.

John seated himself on the ground before the bird and began clucking to it softly, with the index finger of his right hand extended and pointing straight at the bird's eyes; then he turned quietly in whichever direction the bird moved, slowly waving his hand round and round in a circle and never taking his eyes off the bird's eyes.

Gradually the hawk ceased to run about, then stood still gazing steadily, as though fascinated, at John's finger. It would shut its eyes slowly, then open them suddenly, only to shut them again more slowly than before. At first the bird stood perfectly erect; then its head began gradually falling over on its shoulder, and, without any warning, it tumbled backwards, its eyes shut, its legs sticking straight up in the air, its body perfectly rigid. John continued for a time to wave his hand in a circle with the index finger extended; then he walked over to the porch leaving the hawk on the ground, where he lay for nearly thirty minutes, when he gradually returned to consciousness.

A number of persons walking by had stopped in the street to look at John and the bird, and now exclamations of surprise were heard as they saw the actions of the hawk.

"What did you do to that bird?" asked a gentleman of John; "I never in my life witnessed so strange a performance."

"I call that hypnotism," said the lad. "I have been working with him every day since I brought him home, and for a week I have never failed to bring him under my influence and put him to sleep in this way. If I go to the cage to feed him, he flies at me in a great rage at first, but if I pass my finger in a circle before him several times he becomes quiet, and will take a mouse from my hand without biting or tearing me with his talons. Sometimes I partly hypnotize him and lay the mouse at his feet, and although he may be very hungry he will not touch the food until I let him out from under the influence of my finger. When he is over being hypnotized he is as fierce as he was when I brought him home, and I do not believe he can ever be made tame like other birds. Perhaps if I had captured him when he was young, with the down still on him, I could have tamed him, but now he is too old and fierce."

"Well, my lad," said one of the men, laughing, "if he is not tamed you have him pretty well under your thumb and finger at least."

John's wonderful hypnotic influence over the hawk was soon known throughout the town and crowds of people often gathered to see him go through this truly wonderful feat of hypnotizing the fierce hawk.

The hawk belongs to the family of the Falconidæ, which is so called from the Latin word falcis, meaning a scythe, the talons of the Falconidæ being curved in the form of a scythe, thus giving the name to the species.

The wings of the hawk are so short they do not extend to the tip of the tail, for which reason it is called an ignoble bird of prey, to distinguish it from the true falcon, the wings of which extend to the tip of the tail and which is called a noble bird of prey. The hawk's bill is short, curved from the base, often terminating in a sharp point called a tooth. They have rather short, exceedingly strong legs and long incurved talons with which they tear their prey.

The species are numerous and widely distributed over the world; the goshawk and the sparrowhawk are the best known and most important. The hawk is a diurnal bird of prey, which means that it hunts in the day time. It flies with exceeding swiftness, having been known to travel a distance of 1,350 miles in twenty-four hours.

The hawk has very acute vision; hence the expression, "Keen-eyed as a hawk." It soars to a great height, always endeavoring to get above the bird it is pursuing in order to swoop down upon it from above. It soars in a series of arcs and against the wind, which helps it to rise as it does a kite. The hawk does not attack its prey with its beak, as is generally supposed, but with its talons. After securing its prey by swooping on it and fastening its claws in its victim it gently descends to the ground.

The young hawk yet in the nest is called an eyas, one that can hop is a brancher, and a young hawk able to catch game is called a soar hawk. Young hawks taken in flying are called passage hawks, and the training of these is called reclaiming.

Hawking was for many years a sport followed by kings and the nobility in Europe. It is of very ancient origin, having been followed in Asia and Europe before the time of the Christian era.

The hawk builds its nest in the forks of a tree or on some inaccessible cliff. The female is larger than the male and lays two or three eggs.

CURIOUS TREES

1. In Malabar, a tree called "the tallow tree" grows; from the seeds of it, when boiled, is procured a firm tallow which makes excellent candles.

2. The "butter tree" was discovered by Park in the central part of Africa; from its kernel is produced a nice butter which will keep a year.

3. The palo de vaca, or "cow tree," grows on rocks in Venezuela, South America. It has dry and leathery leaves, and from incisions made in its trunk a kind of milk oozes out, which is tolerably thick and of an agreeable balmy smell. At sunrise, the natives may be seen hastening from all quarters furnished with large bowls to receive the milk.

4. A tree of Madagascar, called the "traveler's tree," yields a copious supply of fresh water from its leaves, very grateful to the traveler. It grows in the most arid countries, and is another proof of the tender care of our Heavenly Father in supplying all His creatures' wants. Even in the driest weather a quart of water can be obtained by piercing a hole at the bottom of the leaf stalk, and the liquid is pure and pleasant to the taste. The leaves are of enormous size, varying from ten to fifteen feet in length.

5. The date tree is a species of palm, and almost every part of it is valuable. Its fruit is delicious and it is also esteemed for the palm wine drawn from its trunk. Its leaves are made into hats, baskets, fans, and many other articles, and the fibres of the leaf stems are made into cord and twine. A department store might almost be furnished from this tree.

6. The "sorrowful tree" is found on the island of Goa, near Bombay. It is so called because it flourishes in the night. At sunset no flowers are to be seen, but soon after it is covered with them. They close up or drop off as the sun rises. It has a fragrant odor, and blossoms at night the year round.

7. There is a tree in Jamaica called the "life tree," whose leaves grow even when severed from the plant. It is impossible to kill it save by fire. —Normal Instructor.

THE BLACK-THROATED BLUE WARBLER

(Dendroica cærulescens.)LYNDS JONES

THE bird-lover has many red-letter days in his calendar, particularly when the birds are moving northward. The earliest arrivals, while snow still covers the ground, give their own peculiar thrill of delight, and waken in him new energy and great anticipations for the coming season of bird study. But these early arrivals soon become a part of the landscape and cease to lend any peculiar delight. Not so with the host of warblers, for they are here one day and may be up and away the next, not to be seen again for two or three months or even a year. One must be on the alert during warbler time if he expects to catch a glimpse of the passing host. But there are distinctively "warbler days" during this warbler time. These vary in different years with the weather and the advance of vegetation, from late April to the second or even third week of May, in northern Ohio and central Iowa, and proportionately later or earlier north or south of that latitude.

The subject of our sketch is not among the early migrating warblers nor yet among the later ones. He usually travels with the second large flight, and may then be expected late in April or early in May. The earliest Oberlin, Ohio, record falls on April 27, 1896, and the latest on May 10, 1897. Whether the birds arrive early or late they usually remain in the vicinity two weeks, the males being present during the first week and the females during the second. I have never found the two sexes present on the same date. The species cannot be said to be common even during the height of the spring migration, nor yet are they rare. Few are seen during the fall migration at Oberlin, and they during the last week of September and the first week of October. Further west in the Mississippi valley the fall migrants seem greatly to outnumber those of spring.

This is not a tree-top inhabiting species, but seems to prefer the middle branches of the trees or the tops of shrubbery, often descending to the ground and gleaning there much after the fashion of the Maryland Yellow-throat. In the higher woods free from underbrush he seems to prefer ground gleaning, but where low underbrush affords a place for low gleaning he is seldom seen on the ground. In village parks he is fond of a much higher perch, and must be looked for there well up in the trees, even to the topmost branches, where he gleans among the bursting buds and new leaves. On the Oberlin College campus he is a regular spring visitor in early May, and here seems to appreciate his environment and rare opportunities, for he sings his best to the accompaniment of the medley of pianos in the Conservatory of Music across the way, and the deeper tones of the great pipe organ in the chapel hard by. Here I have heard him singing at all hours of the day, while in the woods his song is less often given. One is at a loss to assign a reason for the decided preference for the college campus, which is in the center of the village activities. Rumbling wagons and tramping feet cause the birds not the slightest alarm, but swiftly moving bicycles act upon the birds' nervous system much as upon that of an elderly woman.

The song of this warbler is variously rendered by the various writers upon bird songs. None of these renderings seems to describe the song as I hear it on the college campus. It is singing as I write: "Tu euu euu e-e-e-e-e!" A variation sounds, "C'weu, c'weu, c'wee-e-e-e;" sometimes "c'weu, c'weu, c'w', c'w', c'wee-ee-e-e-e." There is also often a single phrase which sounds more like a scolding note than a song. It is: "Tw', tw', tw', tw', twee'e-e-e-e-e," or even "Z-z-e-e-e-e," rarely it may sound simply "Z-z-z-z-z-z." The song is uttered in a spirited manner while the bird is feeding and flitting about in the foliage, it interfering with the feeding only as a sort of after-thought, causing a momentary pause as the bird raises his head and straightens his body for the effort. It is one of the warbler songs that are easily recognized and not readily forgotten.

Were it not for the white spot or patch on the wing of both male and female at all seasons of the year and in all plumages, this warbler would easily escape the notice of all but the alert ornithologist. His black throat and breast, white belly and blue back and wings and tail are not conspicuous in the trees and foliage.

The black-throated blue warbler spends the winter months in Guatemala and the West Indies, and migrates north to Labrador and Hudson's Bay, nesting there and in the northern parts of the United States. It ranges west to the border of the plains.

The nest is placed in low shrubs or bushes from a few inches to two feet above the ground, and is composed of dry fibrous bark, twigs, and roots, lined with black rootlets and hair. The outside is often more or less covered with cocoons. The thick swampy woods with an undergrowth seems to be the favorite resort for the nesting birds. The four eggs are buffy-white to greenish-white, rather heavily blotched with varying shades of brown. They average about .69 × .50 of an inch.

THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S NEST

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,With his swarthy, grave commanders —I forget in what campaign —Long besieged, in mud and rain,Some old frontier town of Flanders.Up and down the dreary camp,In great boots of Spanish leather,Striding with a measured tramp,These Hidalgos, dull and damp,Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather.Thus, as to and fro they went,Over upland and through hollow,Giving their impatience vent,Perched upon the Emperor's tent,In her nest, they spied a swallow.Yes, it was a swallow's nest,Built of clay and hair of horses,Mane or tail, or dragoon's crest,Found on hedge-rows east and west,After skirmish of the forces.Then an old Hidalgo said,As he twirled his gray mustachio,"Sure this swallow overheadThinks the Emperor's tent a shed,And the Emperor but a macho!"Hearing his imperial nameCoupled with those words of malice,Half in anger, half in shame,Forth the great campaigner cameSlowly from his canvas palace."Let no hand the bird molest,"Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!"Adding then, by way of jest,"Golondrina is my guest,'Tis the wife of some deserter!"Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft,Through the camp was spread the rumor,And the soldiers as they quaffedFlemish beer at dinner, laughedAt the Emperor's pleasant humor.So unharmed and unafraid,Sat the swallow still and brooded,Till the constant cannonadeThrough the walls a breach had madeAnd the siege was thus concluded.Then the army, elsewhere bent,Struck its tents as if disbanding,Only not the Emperor's tent,For he ordered, ere he went,Very curtly, "Leave it standing!"So it stood there all alone,Loosely flapping, torn and tattered,Till the brood was fledged and flown,Singing o'er those walls of stoneWhich the cannon-shot had shattered.– Longfellow.