Birds and All Nature, Vol. VI, No. 5, December 1899

BIRDS GATHERED HIS ALMOND CROP

AN ALMOND-ROWER of this locality hit upon a neat device for gathering his crop last fall. His trees bore largely, and this early became known to the yellowhammers, a species of the woodpecker tribe of birds, and they had regularly stored away large quantities of ripe nuts taken from the orchard in the limb of an oak tree near by. The astute orchardist watched operations, and at last hit upon a novel nut and labor-saving plan, and he lost no time in putting it into execution.

The limb was sawed from the tree and replaced by a square-shaped funnel, long enough nearly to reach the ground; a bucket was then set underneath. A genuine robbing game then went merrily on. The birds gathered the nuts, which they dropped into the funnel and down into the bucket below, and as regularly as night came the almond-grower would in his turn empty it of its contents and set it back for a new supply. This was kept up until the entire crop had been gathered and the yellowhammers had departed broken-hearted at the heartless deception practiced upon them. —Sutler (Cal.) Enterprise.

STORIES FROM BIRDLAND

A SPECIMEN of the egg of that rara avis, the great auk, which was discovered after twenty-seven years in a disused attic in the house of Lord Garvagh in England, recalls to mind the fact that only about seventy of these zoölogical treasures are now known to exist. Of these G. F. Rowley of Brighton possesses half a dozen, while Prof. Alfred Newton of Cambridge, the well-known zoölogical expert, has half that number. The same gentleman discovered a splendid set of ten, labeled "penguin eggs," in the Royal College of Surgeons upward of thirty years ago, while the university museum at Cambridge possesses four, which were the gift of the late Lord Lilford, whose beautiful grounds at Oundle were a veritable paradise of bird life. One of these was brought to light in a farm-house in Dorsetshire, and another changed hands in Edinburgh for a mere trifle. It is a remarkable fact that, whereas in 1830 the market price of a great auk's eggs was no more than $1.25, Lord Garvagh's specimen was bought from Dr. Troughton in 1869 for $320; Sir Vauncey Crewe, in 1894, paid $1,575 for one; in 1897, another was knocked down in London for $1,470, and a slightly cracked specimen went about the same time for $840; not so long ago a couple of these eggs was purchased at a country sale for $19 and resold for $2,284.

Some few years ago a robin took up his abode near the communion table in the old abbey at Bath, England, and remained there for some considerable time; his victualing department being presided over by a friendly verger, he naturally had every inducement to remain, and remain he did. During sermon time, with the exception of an occasional chirp of approval, he preserved an exemplary silence, neither coughing nor yawning, but when the hymns were sung, and he perched himself on the communion rail, his voice could be heard high above those of the human singers. All redbreasts, however, do not behave so well, and one at Ely cathedral some time ago carried on in such a manner that he brought disgrace on his tiny head. During the service he behaved fairly well, but when the clergyman ascended the pulpit and began to speak, the robin deliberately perched himself on an adjacent pinnacle of the chancel screen and began to sing, and the louder the preacher spoke the greater volume of sound proceeded from the irreverent bird, till he had to be removed.

The first place in the ranks of birds was until lately given by naturalists to eagles and hawks. The low-foreheaded tyrants are now dethroned, and the highest development of the race is reached in the family of the sparrows, if the following story be true. A man was feeding with breadcrumbs a wood pigeon at his feet. One of the bird's feathers, which was ruffled and out of place, caught the eye of a sparrow; the little bird flew down, seized the feather in its beak and pulled its best. The feather did not yield at once, and the pigeon walked off with offended dignity. The sparrow followed, still holding on; and, in the end, flew off triumphant with the trophy to its nest.

DECEMBER

Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,From the snow five thousand summers old;On open wold and hill-top bleakIt had gathered all the cold,And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek;It carried a shiver everywhereFrom the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;The little brook heard it and built a roof'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof;All night by the white stars' frosty gleamsHe groined his arches and matched his beams;Slender and clear were his crystal sparsAs the lashes of light that trim the stars;He sculptured every summer delightIn his halls and chambers out of sight.* * * * *'Twas as if every image that mirrored layIn his depths serene through the summer day,Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky,Lest the happy model should be lost,Had been mimicked in fairy masonryBy the elfin builders of the frost.– Lowell.

THE WILD CAT

(Lynx rufus.)C. C. M

THE species of lynx found in forests in the United States is the red or bay lynx. Its popular name is wild cat, but it is a true lynx, with the ear tufts characteristic of that group, and differs from the other members of it principally in the color of its fur. It is a resident of every part of the United States from ocean to ocean. The general color is usually red, but darker, and sometimes nearly black along the backbone, while under the body it is whitish and on the breast pure white. The entire fur, except the breast, is covered with spots and streaks of darker fur. The length of the body and head is about fifty-three inches and the tail is six inches long. The color of the fur is of a brighter red in summer and a darker brownish-red in winter. Different writers have classified several species of the American lynx, including the Texas lynx, which is found in Texas, and southern California; the Oregon lynx, which inhabits northern Oregon and Washington. There is also a Florida lynx. It is believed there is not much justification for these divisions, which Brehm says are based principally upon the different markings of the fur, and that in a general way it may be said that the specimens obtained from southern climates have shorter fur, which is more brightly colored and more distinctly spotted than those from the northern regions; but otherwise these animals do not differ in their habits and characteristics, which are those of the lynx group in general.

The natural home of the wild cat is a dense forest abounding in deep thickets and game. It rarely seeks sparsely-wooded sections. Sometimes it will hunt the hare even on the plain, and a prairie fire will drive it to the neighborhood of settlements. It is capable of great endurance in walking, can leap an astonishing distance, climbs well, and is said to be a good swimmer. Its sense of hearing is very acute, and its sight keen. It is a night-prowler, hiding at the dawn of day, and remaining still until evening. The wild cat selects for its lair a deep thicket, a cavern, or hole in a tree trunk.

As the shades of evening fall, says Brehm, it becomes active. During the day it seems as rigid as a statue, but at night it sets out, and on the first part of its journey makes frequent pauses, like those made by the domestic cat previous to entering an enclosure that appears to threaten danger. Only a very inexperienced person could mistake the spoor of the lynx for that of any other animal. The imprint is very deep owing to the strength of the paw, which exceeds that of a large wolf. It is very round and, as the claws are hidden, it is blunt in front. The pace is short compared with the size of the imprints made. The spoor takes a form something like that of a row of pearls; any one who has once seen it is sure to recognize it again.

The wild cat seems clumsy; its body is heavy, but it possesses the agility of its kind and surpasses them in rapidity of movement and endurance. Almost all animals and birds are its prey, although only the strongest lynx will attack deer. In temperate climates it is detested by the farmer and sportsman as it kills more than it needs, for its sustenance, often merely lapping the blood of its victim, and eating only the choicest portions. In the south it will not return a second time to this food, but in the north, where game is scarce, it always returns, remaining near the carcass until it is all eaten.

The wild cat has been tamed but it has not been found to be a very attractive animal to handle when angry. Loewis gives the following report of a female that he kept. He says: "A few months sufficed to teach my young lynx her name, 'Lucy.' When, during a hunting expedition, I would call out this name, together with those of numerous dogs, she would always respond to her own name, but to no other. Her training had been very easy and had reached such a point that when she was engaged in a passionate, but forbidden chase of hares, sheep, or poultry, and I called her, she would stop instantly and return, like a guilty dog, crouching low on the ground and pleading for mercy. When she was too far away to hear our voices, the report of a gun was sufficient to call her back in breathless haste. Lucy took part in all my autumnal hunting-trips. When she got sight of a poor hare she at once engaged in hot pursuit, and, in spite of her great excitement, she always had enough reasoning power to gauge the distance and to approximate the difference between the hare's speed and her own. She would obey only my brother's and my own summons, and showed no respect to any other persons. When we were both absent for a whole day, nobody could control her, and then, woe be unto the careless chicken or the thought-less goose! During our absence she would, as soon as it became dusk, climb on the roof, lean against the chimney, and go to sleep. As soon as our carriage came into the yard, late at night, she sprang to the stairs in a few bounds. If I then called her name she would come to me quickly, put her strong fore-paws on my shoulders and, purring and rubbing herself against me, she would follow me into the room and prepare to pass the night on the bed or the lounge."

The fur of the lynx is very valuable. The Scandinavian specimens are counted among the largest and finest. Siberia and Russia furnish many thousands of skins. The flesh is said to be very palatable. It is light colored and tender, like the best veal, and is free from the disagreeable taste so common in game. The lynx was known to the ancients but was exhibited much more rarely in Rome than the lion and leopard, because even then it was so much more difficult to take alive. The one that Pompey exhibited had been captured in Gaul. The life of the wildcat in the natural state was shrouded in mystery which left room for many fables.

CHRISTMAS ONCE IS CHRISTMAS STILL

PHILLIPS BROOKSThe silent skies are full of speech,For who hath ears to hear;The winds are whispering each to each;The moon is calling to the beach;And stars their sacred wisdom teachOf Faith and Love and Fear.But once the sky its silence broke,And song o'erflowed the earth;The midnight air with glory shook,And angels mortal language spoke,When God our human nature tookIn Christ the Savior's birth.And Christmas once is Christmas still;The gates through which He came,And forests wild, and murmuring rill,And fruitful field, and breezy hill,And all that else the wide world fill,Are vocal with His name.Shall we not listen while they singThis latest Christmas morn,And music hear in everything,And faithful lives in tribute bring,To the great song which greets the KingWho comes when Christ is born?

THE EUROPEAN SQUIRREL

(Sciurus vulgaris.)C. C. M

THIS is regarded as the typical species among the tree squirrels, and its character and that of the common species of American squirrels are very similar. The attitudes of the animals are familiar to all who have watched the antics of squirrels in their arboreal homes. It is widely distributed throughout all of Europe and across the Caucasus and Ural through southern Siberia to the Altai and eastern Asia. Brehm says it is not equally common everywhere or every year. Its favorite haunts are dry, shady forests with high trees and it is as much averse to dampness as to sunshine. When fruit and nuts are ripe it visits the gardens of villages, but only when they are connected with the forest by small tracts of trees or bushes. It will not attempt to forage far from the protection of the trees. Where there are many pine cones the squirrel makes its permanent home, and builds one or several habitations, usually in old crows' nests, which it improves very ingeniously. If it intends to make only a short stay, it uses the forsaken nests of magpies, crows, or birds of prey, just as it finds them, but the nests which it intends to serve as a permanent sleeping-place, a shelter against bad weather or a nursery, are built new, though the materials collected by birds are often utilized. It is said that every squirrel has at least four nests, though nothing has been definitely proven as to this. Hollows in trees, especially hollow trunks, are also frequented by them and occasionally built in. The open-air nests usually lie in a fork, close to the main trunk of the tree; the bottom is built like one of the larger bird's nests, while above there is a flat conical roof, after the manner of magpies' nests, close enough to constitute a perfect protection from the rain. The main entrance is placed sideways, usually facing east; a slightly smaller loop-hole for escape is found close to the trunk. Moss forms a soft lining inside. The outer part consists of twigs of various thicknesses, intertwined. Brehm says this squirrel especially likes to use the firm bottom of a forsaken crow's nest, filled with earth and clay, as a base upon which to construct a nest of its own.

A famous naturalist, describing this little creature, says that it is one of the principal ornaments of a forest. In quiet, fine weather it is incessantly active, keeping as much as possible to the trees, which at all times afford it food and cover. Occasionally it will deliberately descend a tree, run to another tree and climb that; doing this often in pure playfulness; for it need not touch the ground at all, unless it wishes to do so. He calls it the monkey of the woods of temperate climes, and it is possessed of many attributes which remind one of that capricious inhabitant of the warmer zone. There are probably few mammals which are possessed of such constant briskness and remain for so short a time in the same place as the squirrel does in tolerably fair weather. It is ever going from tree to tree, from top to top, from branch to branch; and even on the ground it is anything but clumsy or out of place. It never walks or trots, but always proceeds in longer or shorter bounds, and so quickly that a dog can hardly overtake it, and a human being has to give up the pursuit after a short time. "It glides up even the smoothest trees with wonderful ease and speed. The long, sharp claws on the toes stand it in good stead, for it hooks them into the bark, all four feet at once. Then it takes a running start for another leap and darts further upward; but one bound succeeds another with such rapidity that the ascent proceeds uninterruptedly, and looks as if the creature glided up the tree. Usually it ascends to the top of the tree without pausing, not infrequently reaching the highest point; then it goes out on one of the horizontal branches and generally jumps to the tip of a branch of another tree, covering in these jumps distances of four or five yards, always in a downward direction. How necessary the bushy tail is for leaping has been demonstrated by cruel experiments, which consisted in cutting off the tail of some captive squirrel. It was then seen that the mutilated creature could not leap half so far as one having a tail. The squirrel is an excellent swimmer, though it does not go into the water willingly."

The squirrel eats fruit or seeds, buds, twigs, shells, berries, grain, and mushrooms. The seeds, buds, and young shoots of fir and pine trees form its principal food. It bites pine cones off at the stem, comfortably sits down on its haunches, lifts the cone to its mouth with its fore-paws, and turning it constantly around, it bites off one little scale after another with its sharp teeth, until the kernel is reached, which it takes out with its tongue. Hazel nuts are a favorite dainty with it. Bitter kernels, like almonds, for instance, are poison to it; two bitter almonds are sufficient to kill it.

When food is abundant the squirrel lays by stores for less plenteous times. In the forests of southeastern Siberia it stores away mushrooms. "They are so unselfish," says Radde, "that they do not think of hiding their supply of mushrooms, but pin them on the pine needles or in larch woods on the small twigs. There they leave the mushrooms to dry, and in times of scarcity of food these stores are of good service to some roaming individual of their kind."

Four weeks after the breeding-season the female gives birth to from three to seven young, in the softest, best located nest; the little ones remain blind for nine days and are tenderly nurtured by the mother. After they have been weaned the parents leave the young to their fate. They remain together for a while, play with each other and soon acquire the habits of their parents. By June it is said the female has another family, and when they also are so far grown up that they can roam around with her, she frequently joins her first litter, and one may see the entire band, sometimes consisting of from twelve to sixteen members, gamboling about in the same part of a wood.

The squirrel is a very cleanly animal, licking and dressing its fur unceasingly.

The finest squirrel skins come from Siberia, and the farther east they are procured the darker and more valuable they are. The back and under part of the furs are used separately. Russia and Siberia annually furnish from six to seven million skins, valued at about one million dollars. Most of these skins are manufactured in Russia and exported to China. Besides the skins, the tails are employed as boas, and the hair of the tail makes good painters' brushes. The flesh is white, tender, and savory, and is much esteemed by epicures.

"IN ORDERS GRAY."

E. F. MOSBY

VERY demure is the soft gray of the catbird's garb, but under it is hidden a spirit ever ready for frolic and fun. His liquid, shining eyes are very innocent, yet they are full of mischief. He always looks to me as if he had a secret – one, however, that he is willing to share with any friendly looker-on. Not even the chat takes a more genuine delight in sport. Hide-and-seek is a favorite game with the whole tribe, and in their shadowy gray, how they glide through the branches and lurk in the thick leaves! What mischievous peering out, sometimes clinging to a tree-trunk like a nuthatch, sometimes sitting absolutely still and almost invisible on a bend of a crooked bough! When discovered, a wild and reckless chase ensues; they skim in rapid flight over the level fields, or dash through the shrubbery in excited pursuit.

The catbird dearly loves to tease. I often saw one hide near the approach to an orchard oriole's nest, watching him with shining eyes of mischief. He never actually molested the oriole, and would fly away to some slender, swinging twig, after he had succeeded in startling the nest owner into a state of nervous alarm, so that he would complain to his mate for a half hour. The little scamp seemed thoroughly to enjoy his fright. He has keen vision, and darts down with wonderful swiftness on a worm far below his perch, while he can wheel and turn with surprising ease in pursuit of any victim. One of his most amusing performances is the way in which he nips off a shining, juicy blackberry with his sharp beak, glancing at you as if to ask, "Did you want that? You can't have it," and presto! the prize vanishes down his throat, and he hops to another cluster with an air of triumph. I love the little fellow in spite of his squawks and whims and naughty tricks. He looks so neat and trim with his soft gray and velvety black, and has such a pretty way of running along a bough with quick, short, pattering steps like a little child's, and such lovely, clear, musical tones when he chooses to be good, that it is hard to resist him. He has also a very warm heart for his mate and nestlings, and for his comrades as well. A gentleman relates that on one occasion, going too near a catbird's nest, the little owner aroused the others by his sharp cries, and they made such an attack upon him that he had to defend his face with his hat. They fear nothing when the nest is in danger.

The first alarm-note is usually a sort of cluck! cluck!– rather low and anxious. I saw my nephew one day take a young bird just out of the nest in his hand. Instantly the parents flew to him with their disturbed note. He put it down and went away, and a gray cat appeared. The place rang with the anguished cries of snake! snake! and the "taunt song," for so it seemed, was taken up by others in the depths of the woods. We did not succeed in saving all the brood from the stealthy cat, and it was pitiful to hear the birds lamenting. In a frenzy the mother-bird drove off furiously a Carolina wren that came to see what the trouble was, and even a female cardinal, that added her cries of resentment at her rough handling, until the whole bird world seemed in turmoil. The male cardinal appeared to answer his mate in soothing tones, but neither approached again the mourning catbirds.

Last summer there was a most beautiful singer in my neighborhood that added to his own melodies a marvelous mimicry of other birds. In one morning I have heard him repeat over and over the aoli of the wood thrush, the cardinal's notes, the songs of the indigo bird, the Maryland yellow-throat, the yellow-throated vireo, and the orchard oriole. Sometimes there would be a contest in song between the oriole and the catbird. The first was always the one to cease first, but each usually looked very dissatisfied – a ruffled ball of feathers at the end.

The loveliest experience was hearing on a spring morning a song so liquid, so sweet, so varied, and yet so low, scarce above a whisper, that it seemed a dream. I stole to the window – and there sat my little bright-eyed singer in shadowy gray, singing, as if all to himself, a shadow-song.

1

Cvea on plate, typographical error; Coca correct. – Ed.