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Title: Birds Illustrated by Color Photography, Vol 3. No 6, June 1898
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Birds Illustrated by Color Photography, Vol 3. No 6, June 1898" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

some images courtesy of The Internet Archive and the Online

Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

       *       *       *       *       *



VOL. III. JUNE, 1898. NO. 6.


 "What is so rare as a day in June?
  Then, if ever, come prefect days."

YES, Lowell, in a few words, describes the month of June, or, at least, he
indicates something of it. But, still, what are perfect days? We look for
them in April, when the birds, many of them, certainly the most attractive
of them, return from the south, and we find ourselves, when we visit the
woods and parks, disappointed that the sun does not shine, that the air is
not soft and balmy, and that the grass and leaves and buds do not show
themselves in spring attire, for, on the contrary, we find winter lingering
distressingly near, that the merry Warblers are silent, and that the
"greenery of young Nature" is very slow to indicate her presence or even
her early coming. We pull our wrappings about us and go home. April past,
we then fancy that her older sister, May, beautiful in literary
imagery--for do we not recall descriptive visions of May days of long ago,
when the human blossoms danced about the May pole, lolled luxuriantly in
the soft, tender grass, hid themselves in the deep-leaved trees, and at
last gratified our imaginations with the belief that she is altogether
perfect? Unfortunately a chill takes possession of us and we return home
disconsolate. May also has disappointed us. We have had an experience which
we shall not forget. We have seen and recognized many birds, but they have
not sung for us. They have been, as they almost always are, influenced by
the elements. And why should they not be? They have but one suit of
clothes. Have you observed the Robin in the early spring? He is worth
watching. We watched a fine specimen in south Washington Park in March
last. It was a comparatively mild day for the windy month. He perched on a
lateral limb of a leafless tree a few yards from Sixtieth street. Whether
he saw us or not we could not be sure, as he took little notice beyond
saying _Toot-tut, toot-tut_! He ruffled his suit and seemed as fat as
feathers could make him. They seemed as important to him as were buffalo
robes to the sleighing parties of a few days before. Still he was observant
and seemed to be looking for stray food that would warm him up. We had some
fresh crackers in our pocket, which we broke into fine fragments, and
scattered, withdrawing several yards away. To our surprise, not only the
Robin but several Nuthatches, some Brown Creepers, a number of English
Sparrows, three or four Bluejays, and a gray Squirrel, (from whence he came
I could not conceive, there being no large tree near in which he might have
had a winter home) came with great promptitude to feed on the unexpected
offering. Others, no doubt, have had this experience. Does it not suggest
that the birds which remain with us the whole year round--finding, of
course, during the spring, summer, and fall, sufficient for their
wants,--should be looked after a little bit, if only that they may be
permitted to escape from the sometime unusually severe storms of winter?
Nature has provided them with ample feathery protection from her ordinary
moods, but when she breaks out in icy blasts and snow that covers the very
face of her they suffer and they perish.

But April, with its weather uncertainties--although it has long been said
and believed that its showers bring May flowers--with its disappointments
to all those who wish that the balm of mild breezes would come--longed for
by the invalid and the convalescent, the lover of nature who would go forth
to visit her and to court her, April seems a sort of humbug. And is May
much better? How many days, "so calm, so sweet, so bright, the bridal of
the earth and sky," come in May? A few do come, and we remember them. But,
as Lowell says, perfect days are rare, even in June, when, if ever, come
"perfect days." We think that Lowell nevertheless lived a little too far
north to entitle him to state, even poetically, that perfect days are only
to be enjoyed in June. Had he, with the writer, lived in southern Ohio, on
the Little Miami river, and gone fishing in the month of May, he would, we
think, have changed his mind. Or had he read the little less than perfect
poem of W. H. Venable, which, it may be, however, was written later than
the verses of our, many think, greatest poet, "June on the Miami," he might
have put aside his books and his criticisms and his philosophy, and sought
out the beautiful river of western history--then the sweetest stream that
flowed in America, and even now, notwithstanding the giant sycamores have
largely disappeared and the waters of the river have greatly diminished in
volume, leaving only holes and ripples,--and modified his views of days
perfect only in June. There were perfect days in May on the Miami. There
were perfect days on all the streams that made it. The birds were
multitudinous; they sang in chorus; they were, indeed, almost infinite in
number--for the naturalist and the collector were unknown--the birds were
_natural_ residents, without fear of man, building their nests close to his
habitations. A year or two ago we stopped off the cars in May in order to
recall, if possible, in the shadow of a few remaining trees at a familiar
place on the vanishing river, in the expected voices of the well known
native birds, the delightful far-gone years. Verily we had our reward, but
it was not satisfactory. It seems to us we should do our best, through
legislation and personal influence to protect and multiply the birds.





  We've a charming new neighbor moved in the next door;
    He is hardly new either, he's lived there before;
  I should think he had come here two summers or more;
      His winters he spends far away.

  He is handsome and stylish, most fine to behold,
    In his glossy black coat and his vest of bright gold;
  He is "proud of his feathers," so I have been told,
      And I half believe what people say.

  His wife is a beauty, he's fond of her, too;
    He calls her his "Judy;" I like it, don't you?
  And he sings every day all the long summer through,
      Yet he is not a bit of a bore.

  For he's a musician of wonderful power;
    I could list to his beautiful voice by the hour,
  As he sings to his wife in their green, shady bower
      In the elm tree that shadows my door.

  He's a sociable neighbor, we like him full well,
    Although we've not called yet, and cannot quite tell
  All he says, tho' his voice is as clear as a bell,
      And as sweet as the notes of a psalm.

  Do you ask what his name is? Our dear little Sue
    Was anxious to know it, and asked him it, too,
  And this was his answer, I'll tell it to you--
     "My name is Sir Oriole, ma'am."
                --_L. A. P., in Our Dumb Animals._




THE nest of the mourning dove.--The nest of the Carolina or Mourning Dove,
which authorities place on the horizontal limb of a tree, is not always
found in this situation, as I can testify. Last year, while wandering in
early May through a piece of low woodland in Amherst, Mass., my eye was
caught by a pair of well-grown youngsters covered with bluish pin feathers.
The nest containing them--a loose affair of small sticks and leaves--was
placed on the ground, or rather on the decayed base of a stump, surrounded
by a ring of second-growth birches. Immediately suspecting their identity,
I merged myself in the landscape after the manner of bird-lovers, and was
soon rewarded by a sight of the parent Doves, who came sweeping down from a
neighboring tree, uttering their pensive call-note. The pair had been
frequent visitors about the lawn and drive-way for a few weeks previous.

I have heard of another similar instance of ground-nesting on the part of
Wild Doves.



Wrens--That clumsy little bunch of animated feathers, the Wren, is
undoubtedly the most contented of dwellers on the face of the earth. In
country or city he is never homeless. Anything hollow, with an aperture
large enough to admit his jaunty little self is sufficient, and so long as
it remains undisturbed he is a happy tenant. The variety of sites selected
by this agile little creature, is greater than that of any other bird.

It has been said that "a Wren will build in anything from a bootleg to a
bomb-shell." And this seems to be so. Many an urchin can testify to having
found the neat nest of the Wren in his cast-off shoe or a tin can, and
nests filled with Wren eggs are frequent finds in odd places around the
battle fields of the South.

The home of a Wren, a few miles from Petersburg, Va., furnishes the
strangest case in the matter of queer habitations yet discovered. This
country is the site of one of the most dramatic epochs of the civil war,
and frequently the bones of unburied soldiers are picked up. Recently a
rusty old skull was found in which one of these Wrens chose a shelter. The
skull, when found, was hidden in a patch of shrubbery. The interior of the
one-time pate was carefully cleaned out, and nestled in the basin of the
bony structure was the birth-place of many a baby Wren. The skull made a
perfect domicile. A bullet hole in the rear formed a window. An eyeless
socket was the exit and entrance to the grim home. It is easy to imagine
that many a family feud had its origin in the desire of others to possess
so secure a home.

"I have myself," says A. W. Anthony, of San Diego, Cal., "watched Cactus
Wrens in New Mexico carrying grass and thickening the walls of their old
nests in October, for winter use, and have found them hidden in their nests
during a snowstorm in November. But there is another trait in bird nature
that I have seen very little of in print--that of building nests before or
after the proper season, seemingly for the sole purpose of practice or
pastime, the out-cropping of an instinct that prompts ambitious birds to
build out of season even though they know that their work will be lost."

[Illustration: BRUNNICHS MURRE.]




THIS species, which inhabits the coasts and islands of the north Atlantic
and eastern Arctic ocean, and the Atlantic coast south to New Jersey, has
the same general habits as the common Murre, which, like all the Auks,
Murres and, Puffins, is eminently gregarious, especially in the breeding
season. Davie says that tens of thousands of these birds congregate to make
their nests on the rocky islands, laying single eggs near one another on
the shelves of the cliffs. The birds sit side by side, and although crowded
together never make the least attempt to quarrel. Clouds of birds may be
seen circling in the air over some huge, rugged bastion, "forming a picture
which would seem to belong to the imaginary rather than the realistic."
They utter a syllable which sounds exactly like _murre_. The eggs are so
numerous as to have commercial value, and they are noted for their great
variation in markings and ground color. On the Farallones islands, where
the eggs were until recently collected for market purposes, the Murres nest
chiefly in colonies, the largest rookery covering a hillside and
surrounding cliffs at West End, and being known as the Great Rookery. To
observe the egg-gatherers, says an eye-witness, is most interesting. "As an
egger climbs his familiar trail toward the birds a commotion becomes
apparent among the Murres.  They jostle their neighbors about the uneven
rocks and now and then with open bills utter a vain protest and crowd as
far as possible from the intruder without deserting their eggs. But they do
not stay his progress and soon a pair, then a group, and finally, as the
fright spreads, the whole vast rookery take wing toward the ocean. In the
distance, perhaps, we see, suspended over a cliff by a slender rope, an
egger gathering the eggs from along the narrow shelves of rock, seeming
indifferent to the danger of the work." All this is now changed, the
authorities having intervened to prevent the wholesale destruction of the
eggs. The Western Gull, however, is another enemy of the Murre (the
California species;) it carries off and devours both eggs and young. Mr.
Bryant says the Gull picks up a Murre's egg bodily and carries it away in
his capacious mouth, but does not stick his bill into it to get hold, as is
stated by some writers, whose observations must have referred to the eggs
already broken by the Gulls or eggers.

The eggs of Brunnich's Murre cannot be distinguished from those of the
common species. They show a wonderful diversity of color, varying from
white to bluish or dark emerald-green. Occasionally unmarked specimens are
found, but they are usually handsomely spotted, blotched, and lined in
patterns of lilac, brown, and black over the surface.




Just a common Wild Goose of North America. In the spring and fall you will
see great flocks of us flying overhead, an old Gander in the lead, crying
_honk, honk_ as loud as he can. Our nests are only simple hollows in the
sand, on the shores of lakes and rivers, around which are placed a few
sticks and twigs, the five eggs laid on a layer of gray down.

"You're a Goose."

That's a polite way some people have of calling another stupid, but there
are Geese and Geese as well as men and men. I am going to tell you about
one Goose that dearly loved her master, and considering the way he treated
her you may conclude she _was_ a stupid Goose after all.

Well, this particular Goose took such a fancy to her owner that she would
follow him about like a dog, even to the village, where she would wait
outside the barber's or other shop which he might enter.

People noticed this, and instead of calling the farmer by his proper name
began to speak of him as "Mr. Goosey." This angered the man and he ordered
the poor loving Goose to be locked up in the poultry-yard. Shortly after he
went to an adjoining town to attend a meeting; in the midst of the business
he felt something warm and soft rubbing against his legs; he looked down
and there stood his Goose, with protruding neck and quivering wings, gazing
up at him with pleasure and fondness unutterable.

The people about shouted with laughter, which so enraged her master, that
seizing his whip, he twisted the thong of it about the poor bird's neck,
swung her round and round, and supposing her dead, angrily threw her body
out of the window.

A few days after Mr. Goosey was seized with a severe illness, which brought
him to the verge of the grave. He recovered, however, and was able at
length to sit beside the open window. There on the grass sat the Goose
gazing up at him with the same old look of affection in her eyes.

"Am I never to be rid of that stupid thing?" he cried, but when he was told
that through all his illness the faithful bird had sat there opposite his
window, scarcely touching food, his hard heart melted, and from thenceforth
Mr. Goosey treated his feathered friend with the greatest kindness.

[Illustration: CANADA GOOSE.]



 "Steering north, with raucous cry,
  Through tracts and provinces of sky,
  Every night alighting down
  In new landscapes of romance,
  Where darkling feed the clamorous clans
  By lonely lakes to men unknown."

NORTH America at large is the range of this magnificent bird. Common Wild
Goose and Grey Goose are its other names, and by which it is generally
known. The Canada Goose is by far the most abundant and universally
distributed of all North American Geese, and in one or other of its
varieties is found in all the states and territories of our country except
perhaps Florida and the Gulf States. In Texas, however, it is plentiful
during the winter months. According to Hallock, although by far the greater
portion of Wild Geese which pass the winter with us, go north to breed,
still in suitable localities young are reared all over the United States
from North Carolina to Canada. They nest in the wilder parts of Maine, and
are especially numerous in Newfoundland near the secluded pools and streams
so abundant throughout that island. There, remote from man, they breed
undisturbed on the edges and islands of the ponds and lakes. The Geese
moult soon after their arrival in the spring, and, says Hallock, owing to
the loss of their pinion feathers are unable to fly during the summer or
breeding seasons, but they can run faster than a man on the marshes, or if
surprised at or near a pond, they will plunge in and remain under water
with their bills only above the surface to permit breathing, until the
enemy has passed by. They feed on berries and the seeds of grasses. Both
the old and young become enabled to fly in September, and as soon after
that as the frost affects the berries, and causes the seeds of the grasses
on the marshes and savannas to fall to the earth, or otherwise when the
snow falls and covers the ground, they collect in flocks and fly off to the
southern shores of the island, and from thence to the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
where they remain until December, and then assembled, take flight in
immense flocks to the southern parts of America, to return in the spring.

The Canada Goose also breeds in great numbers on the Mississipi river, in
which region it often places its nest in trees, choosing generally a
cottonwood stub not more than thirty feet in height. The young are said to
be carried from the nest to the water in the mother's bill, as are the
young of the Wood Duck. (See BIRDS, vol. ii, p. 21).

The Wild Goose is often domesticated, and in many portions of the country
they are bred in considerable numbers. When these birds return south at the
commencement of winter they are generally very thin and poor, being quite
worn out by their long journey. They soon recuperate, however, and in a
short time become fat and are delicious eating. A full and excellent
account of the method of capturing the Canada Goose may be found in
Hallock's "Gazetteer."




I'm not a showy looking bird like my friend the Woodpecker, but my habits
are something like his--and so is my tail. He uses his, you know, to aid
him in climbing trees, and so do I. They call me the _Creeper_ because I am
always creeping over the timber in search of insects. If you ever see a
brown-streaked little fellow, resembling a Wren, traveling up a tree in
short stages, now stopping to pick out an insect lurking in the crevices of
the bark, or returning head downwards to pounce on an unwary fly, that is
your humble servant the _Brown Creeper_. Up again, you will then see me
creep, just like a little mouse, uttering now and then a low plaintive
note; clear to the top I go, exploring every nook and cranny, never using
my wings once.

Last summer a little boy in the park wanted to get a good look at me, so he
very slyly crept up to the tree which I was exploring, thinking, perhaps,
that I was too busy to notice that he was there. But I did see him, for we
little birds have to be always on the watch against our human, as well as
feathered enemies, so I just stood still and peeked out at him from the
other side of the tree. Very slily then he moved around to that side, and
very slily did I move around to the other, keeping the tree trunk all the
time between me and his bright blue eyes.

"He's playing hide and seek with me, Mama," he shouted, and so pleased was
the little fellow that it was quite a while before I flew away.

Like the Woodpecker, I prefer a hole in a tree in which to build my nest,
but instead of boring I look for a tree that has some of its bark loose
enough for me to squeeze in. I line it with dry grass, moss, and feathers
and see to it that the overhanging bark shelters me and my four, or six,
white, red-speckled eggs.

[Illustration: BROWN CREEPER.]



A LITTLE mite of a bird is this pretty creature, which many observers claim
is seldom seen, or, indeed, is known to few besides the special student of
ornithology and the collector. We venture to assert that any one with
fairly good eyes can see it almost any day creeping over the timber in
search of its insect food. Besides seeing it in the deepest woods, we often
notice it in the open places in parks, and in gardens and orchards it is
quite common. It commences operations at the foot of a tree, and travels
upwards in short stages, "now stopping to pick out an insect lurking in the
crevices of the bark with its long, slender bill, or returning head
downwards to pounce on an unwary fly. Up again it creeps, more like a mouse
than a bird, occasionally uttering a low and plaintive note; right to the
top of the tree it mounts, exploring every nook and cranny likely to reward
its search as it goes. Now it creeps on the under side of a projecting
limb, then again on the top, and although it will explore an entire tree,
still it but rarely uses its wings to convey it from one part to another.
You will also find that it, like the Woodpecker, endeavors to be on the
opposite side to you, and carry on its explorations unseen." Curiosity,
however, often seems to get the better of the Creeper, and you will see its
light colored breast and sharp little head peep trustfully at you and again
vanish from sight.

The Creeper is admirably adapted to its ways of life. Its bill is formed
for obtaining its insect food, and its tail supports it while climbing.

The Brown Creeper nests in early summer, when insect life is most abundant,
and, like the Woodpecker, prefers a hole for the purpose. This it lines
with dry grass, moss and feathers, and makes a very warm and comfortable
home. The eggs are from five to eight, white, spotted and speckled with
red. The Creeper is not migratory, and we see it in the woods throughout
the year. It is hardy and lives sumptuously the winter through. One who was
very fond of the little creatures said: "If the Swallow were to visit us at
this time, it would undoubtedly perish, for the air in winter is almost
clear of insect life; but the little Creeper can live in ease when the sun
is at Capricorn, just because he can climb so dexterously, for the bark of
trees abounds with insects, and more particularly their eggs and larvae,
which lie there torpid until called into life by the genial presence of the
vernal sun."




Another Woodpecker? Yes, there are such a tribe of us, you know; more than
you can count on your fingers and toes, as my cousin the Red-Bellied
Woodpecker said in the February number of BIRDS.

The word toes reminds me that I am not one of the three-toed fellows he was
so anxious to tell about. I have four, as you see, two before and two
behind. So have most of the Woodpeckers. Should you be looking out for me
this summer you will recognize me by my four toes, the white band down my
back, and the two white stripes on the side of my head.

My tongue you can't see, but it is small, flat, short, and horny, armed
along the edges with hooks. When I catch an insect I do it by throwing my
tongue forward, out of my mouth. I have an idea the insects consider my
treatment of them rather rough. If I didn't eat them, the wood-boring ones,
would destroy all the trees. My bill isn't strong enough to bore in the
hard wood; I only injure the bark, no matter what some people may say. The
wood-eating beetles, caterpillars, spiders, daddy longlegs, grass-hoppers,
and flies, are all grist for my mill--or bill, rather. I like beechnuts,
too, when I can find them.

I'm the smallest of all the Woodpecker family, quiet and unobtrusive they
say, in my manners. I am sociable, however, and go about a great deal in
the company of other birds. Mr. Nuthatch, Mr. Brown Creeper, Mr. Titmouse,
and Mr. and Mrs. Wren are my especial friends.

Can I drum?

Indeed, yes. I wouldn't belong to the Woodpecker family if I couldn't. All
I need is the stub of a dead limb whose center is hollow and whose shell is
hard and resonant. I will drum on that with my bill for an hour at a time,
stopping now and then to listen for a response from my mate or a rival.

Early in the spring we "Downies" pick a hole in a dead tree, or in a post
or rail of a fence, in which we lay four, five, or six glossy white eggs.
Sometimes it takes us a whole week to chisel out that hole, and we are so
busy that a little boy or little girl can get very near without our minding

[Illustration: DOWNY WOODPECKER.]



  Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound,
  Save a Wood-drummer tapping on a hollow beech tree.

THIS little Woodpecker is the smallest of all those inhabiting the United
States. In the shade trees about houses and parks, and especially in
orchards, he may be frequently seen tapping or scratching on the limb of a
tree within two or three yards' distance, where he has discovered a decayed
spot inhabited by wood-boring larvae or a colony of ants, his food
consisting of ants, beetles, bugs, flies, caterpillars, spiders, and
grasshoppers. The late Dr. Glover of the Department of Agriculture, states
that on one occasion a Downy Woodpecker was observed by him making a number
of small, rough-edged perforations in the bark of a young ash tree, and
upon examination of the tree when the bird had flown, it was found that
wherever the bark had been injured, the young larvae of a wood-eating
beetle had been snugly coiled underneath and had been destroyed by the
bird. Beechnuts also constitute a considerable portion of the food of this
bird. Dr. Merriam says that in northern New York they feed extensively on
this nut, particularly in fall, winter, and early spring.

This miniature Woodpecker is very social in its habits, far more so than
other species, and is often found associated with other birds, in the
woods, the orchards, along fence rows, and not infrequently in the cities.
He is often seen in company with the White-breasted Nuthatch (See Vol. II,
p. 118) and the Brown Creeper (Vol. III, p. 214).

Early in the spring the "Downies" retire to the woods to make their nests,
preferring the vicinity of running water. The nest is begun about the
second or third week in May, and consumes from two days to a week in
building. The holes are usually excavated in dead willow, poplar, or oak
trees, and the height varies from four to thirty feet, generally about
fifteen feet. The entrance to the nest is about two inches in diameter, and
the depth of the nest hole varies from eight to eighteen inches. The eggs
are four or five, rarely six, and are pure glossy-white.

We know of no more interesting occupation than to observe this bird. It is
fond of drumming on the stub of a dead limb whose center is hollow, and
whose shell is hard and resonant. Upon such places it will drum for an hour
at a time, now and then stopping to listen for a response from its mate or
of some rival. At all times it is unsuspicious of man, and when engaged in
excavating the receptacle for its nest it continues its busy chiseling,
unheeding his near approach.

The Woodpecker is wrongfully accused of boring into the sound timber, and,
by letting in the water, hastening its decay. As Dixon says: "Alas! poor
harmless, unoffending Woodpecker, I fear that by thy visits to the trees
thou art set down as the cause of their premature decay. Full well I know
thy beak, strong as it is, is totally incapable of boring into the sound
timber--full well do I know that, even if thou wert guilty of such offense,
nothing would reward thy labors, for thy prey does not lurk under the bark
of a healthy tree. Insects innumerable bore through its bark and hasten its
doom, and it is thy duty in Nature's economy to check them in their
disastrous progress."






  And now the little Wrens are fledged
    And strong enough to fly;
  Wide their tiny wings they spread,
    And bid the nest "good-bye."

Such a chattering as greeted Mrs. Wren when she returned with a fine black
spider in her bill. All the children talked at once. Bobbie alone never
uttered a word.

"You naughty boy," exclaimed Mrs. Wren, turning to the crest-fallen Pierre,
"did I not tell you to take care of your brothers and little sister? The
idea of trying to fly before you have had a lesson! I have a good mind to
whip every one of you," and the irate Mrs. Wren very unjustly did indeed
peck every little head sharply with her bill.

Bobbie cowered in the nest much too frightened to whimper or even mention
the injury to one of his legs which he had sustained in his fall.

Mr. and Mrs. Wren the next day proceeded to give the children a lesson or
two in flying.

"My tail is so stubby," wailed Emmett at the first trial, "it brings me
right down to the ground."

"Tho doth mine," lisped little Dorothy, "dess wish I had no tail at all, so
I do," at which the others laughed very heartily.

Bobbie made a heroic effort to do as did the rest, but at the first
movement sank back into the nest with a cry of pain.

"Such fortitude!" exclaimed Mrs. Wren when it was found one of his legs was
broken, "not a whimper has the little fellow made since his fall. How
heroic! How like my dear, dear papa!" and Mrs. Wren laughed, and then
cried, from mingled pity and joy.

"H'm," commented Mr. Wren, "if Bobbie had remembered the motto I gave them
before I left yesterday morning, this accident wouldn't have happened. Can
you repeat it?" turning to the eldest of the brood.

"Be sure you're right, then go ahead," shouted Pierre, totally forgetting
he had not heeded the rule any more than Bobbie.

"Yes, a safe rule to go by," said Mr. Wren, gravely stroking his chin with
one claw. "Dear, dear," ruefully examining the injured limb, "now the the
child will go stumping through life like his grandpa. I only hope," with a
dry cough, "that he'll not turn out a rowdy and lose one eye, too."

"'He jests at scars who never felt a wound,'" loftily replied Mrs. Wren,
who seemed never to forget a quotation. "For my part I am proud that one of
my boys should turn out to be such a spirited little fellow. But there, Mr.
Wren, the children are calling you from that bunch of weeds over yonder. Go
down to them, while I fetch a nice canker-worm for Bobbie."

After a few days the lame Bobbie was able to leave the nest and go hopping
around with the other children, adding his feeble _chur chur_ to theirs.
Mr. and Mrs. Wren led them from one place to another, always among the
weeds and shrubbery where they were soon taught to earn their own

"Moths, butterflies, gnats, flies, ants, beetles, and bugs constitute our
bill of fare," said Mrs. Wren as they went whisking along, "together with
thousand-legs, spiders, and worms. If we didn't eat them they would destroy
the fruits in their seasons, so you see, my children, what valuable
citizens we are in the world."

At nightfall Mr. and Mrs. Wren, with their brood, flew to the crotch of a
tree, and in ten seconds every little head was under a wing, and every
little Wren sound asleep.

"Well," said Mr. Wren one day, "the children are old enough now to take
care of themselves, and we must begin, my dear, to build a nest in which
once more to begin housekeeping."

"It will not be in an old tin pot this time," replied Mrs. Wren, with a
toss of her head, "and furthermore, Mr. Wren, I intend to have entirely new

"Of course, of course," assented her mate, "whoever heard of a Wren raising
a second brood in the same nest? We are much too neat and nice for that, my

"We," sniffed Mrs. Wren, ever ready for quarrel. "I'd like to know, Mr.
Wren, what you had to do with building the nest, I would, really! Humph!"
and Mrs. Wren flirted her tail over her head and laughed shrilly.

"I brought the first sticks, my dear," he answered mildly, "and didn't I do
all the house hunting? Besides, I forgot to tell you, that when looking
about in April, I found two other apartments which, if the tin-pot had not
appeared suitable, I intended to offer you. In order to secure them I
partly furnished each, so that other house hunters would know they were not
'to let.'"

"Humph!" returned Mrs. Wren, though exceedingly well pleased, "I'll wager
we'll find a Sparrow family in each one of them."

"No we won't," chuckled Mr. Wren "for the houses I selected were much too
small for Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow to squeeze in."

"You clever fellow," exclaimed Mrs. Wren, pecking him gleefully with her
bill. "I am proud of my hubby, I am, indeed," and Mr. Wren laughed, and
hopped about, never hinting to his innocent spouse that all the gentlemen
Wrens did the same thing every year.

The next day, while preening their feathers, and getting ready for a visit
to the apartments Mr. Wren had spoken of, a cry of distress smote upon
their ears.

"That sounds like our Dorothy's voice," said Mrs. Wren, her little knees
knocking together in fright.

"It _is_ Dorothy calling for help," assented Mr. Wren. "I left the children
in the orchard. Come, let us fly over there as quickly as we can."

On the ground, under some bushes, they found huddled their frightened group
of little ones, while above, on a limb of a tree, perched Mr. and Mrs. Jay,
uttering at intervals their harsh cry of _jay, jay, jay_.

"Its our Bobbie," cried Mrs. Wren, aghast, after she had counted her brood
and found one of them missing, "look at him fighting over there with that
young Jay."

"That's it, give it to him," screamed the delighted Mr. Jay to his young
son, "hit him in the eye, my boy, hit him in the eye."

Mr. and Mrs. Wren flew about Bobbie uttering cries of distress.

"Fair play, fair play," cried papa Jay, flying down almost upon Mr. Wren's
back. "Give the young ones a chance, or----"

A loud, sharp twitter from the tree top caused Mr. Jay to glance up.

"My old enemy," he exclaimed, his crest falling at once, as a low crown
encircling a pompon of orange-red showed itself among the green branches.
"That tyrant, Mr. Kingbird. He's always meddling in other people's affairs,
he is. I'd like to wring his neck. Come, Mrs. Jay; come, my son," he
screamed, and off they flew to boast of the victory among their neighbors.

"I hope your little boy is not much hurt," said Mr. Kingbird rather
pompously, "I arrived just in the nick of time, I think."

"Oh, my Bobby," wailed Mrs. Wren, wiping the blood from his face, "that
dreadful Jay has scratched out one of his eyes."

"How did it happen?" sternly inquired Mr. Wren, "tell me the truth or----"

Dorothy interrupted her father with loud sobbing.

"I--I was flirting," she stammered "just a _little_, with young Mr. Jay,
papa--you know how handsome he is, and bold--when Bobby steps up, and he
says--he says--"

"Well, go on, my little miss," said Mr. Kingbird, deeply interested, "what
did your brother say?"

"He said," wiping her eyes with a corner of her wing, "that 'birds of a
feather flock together,' and a girl with such a grandpa as I had should be
ashamed to associate with the son of a robber and coward like Mr. Bluejay,
and so----"

"And so young Mr. Jay pitched into me," interrupted Bobbie, "and I pitched
into him. I'd a licked him, too, Pop," he added, flourishing his crippled
leg, "if his old pa and ma hadn't come up when they did and told him to hit
me in the eye."

"A chip off the old block, ma'am," said Mr. Kingbird, who had heard of Mrs.
Wren's fighting papa, "a chip off the old block, I see. Well, good-day all,
good-day. As your son wisely says 'birds of a feather flock together,' and
it wouldn't look well, you know, for a person of my aristocratic appearance
to be seen in such humble company. So good-day, good-day," and off the
pompous fellow flew leaving Mr. and Mrs Wren decidedly angry though

Another week found the pair building a nest in the cavity of a maple tree
near the study window. To the sticks and straws which Mr. Wren had placed
therein early in the season, Mrs. Wren added spider webs and cocoons,
lining the nest, or furnishing it as she called it, with horsehair and the
downiest goose and duck feathers she could procure.

"There!" said she, when all was completed and the first egg laid, "Mrs.
John can't sneer at our home now. No coarse chicken feathers, or stable
straw this time, Mr. Wren. We will use the other apartment you chose for
the third brood, for three we are to have this summer as well as Mrs. John.
When we go south in November, our family I intend shall be as large as

Mr. Wren made no answer, but, possibly being such an uncommonly wise bird,
inwardly marveled over that imperious force, that wonderful instinct which
made it necessary for them and all the feathered tribe to reproduce their

Very carefully, one winter's day, Bridget removed the nest from the tin-pot
and wreathing it in ribbons, hung it above her chest of drawers in the the

"It do same," said she to the children, who prided themselves upon their
knowledge of the looks and habits of the House Wren, "that in sthudoin the
birds this summer I do be afther learnin' a lesson I wasn't expectin'
meself at all."

"A lesson?" said they curiously.

"Indade! Its young ye's aire, me darlint's, to be thinkin' of the same, but
sure its not meself that'll ever be forgetten the patience, ingenuity,
industhry, and conjoogal love of the wee pair. Faith but it was a purty
sight. Dumb animals indade! Niver sphake to me of _dumb_ animals, for be
St. Patrick, if them two blessed little crathers didn't talk, schold, make
love, and sing in a langwidge all their own, then me grandfather's name
wasn't Dinnis, and I'm not Bridget O'Flaherty, at all, at all."


[Illustration: OLD SQUAW DUCK.]



HERE is an instance where the female is the head of the family indeed, for
by common consent the name includes the male of this species. It has
numerous other names, however, as Old Wife, South-Southerly, Long-tailed
Duck, Swallow-tailed Duck, Old Injun (Massachusetts and Connecticut;) Old
Molly, Old Billy, Scolder, (New Hampshire and Massachusetts.)

The habitat of the Old Squaw is the northern hemisphere; in America, south
in winter to nearly the southern border of the United States. It is
distributed throughout the northern portions of the globe, but makes its
summer home in Arctic regions. George Harlow Clarke, Naturalist, Peary
Polar Expedition, in a recent article mentioned that, "in June the Old
Squaw's clanging call resounded everywhere along shore, and the birds
themselves were often perceived gliding to and fro amid the ice cakes
drifting with the tide between the main ice-floe and the land." It is a
resident in Greenland and breeds in various places in Iceland. The nests
are made on the margins of lakes or ponds, among low bushes or tall grass,
are constructed of grasses, and generally, but not always, warmly lined
with down and feathers. The eggs are from six to twelve in number. In the
United States the Long-tail is found only in winter. Mr. Nelson found it to
be an abundant winter resident on Lake Michigan, where the first stragglers
arrived about the last of October, the main body arriving about a month
later and departing about the the first of April, a few lingering until
about the last of the month.

The words _south--south--southerly_, which some have fancied to resemble
its cry, and which have accordingly been used as one of its local names,
did not, to the ear of Dr. Brewer, in the least resemble the sounds which
the bird makes; but he adds that the names "Old Wives" and "Old Squaws" as
applied to the species are not inappropriate, since when many are assembled
their notes resemble a confused gabble. Hallock says that most of the
common names of this Duck are taken from its noisy habits, for it is almost
continually calling.

Mr. E. P. Jaques, asks, in _Field and Stream_, "What has become of our
Waterfowl?" assuming that their numbers have greatly diminished. "The
answer is a simple one," he goes on to say; "they have followed conditions.
Take away their breeding and feeding grounds and the birds follow. Bring
back their breeding and feeding grounds and lo! the birds reappear. For the
past five years waterfowl have been about as scarce in the Dakotas as in
Illinois or Indiana. The lakes were dry and conditions were unfavorable for
them. In the spring of 1897 the lakes filled up once more. For the most
part the bottoms of the lakes were wheat stubbles. This furnished food for
the spring flight and thousands of birds nested there. When the wheat was
gone the aquatic growth took its place and for every thousand Ducks that
tarried there in the spring, ten thousand appeared in the fall."




Ibises, of which there are about thirty species, are distributed throughout
the warmer parts of the globe. Four species occur in North America.
According to Chapman, they are silent birds, and live in flocks during the
entire year. They feed along the shores of lakes, bays, and salt-water
lagoons, and on mud flats over which the tide rises and falls.

The beautiful, lustrous White-faced Glossy Ibis inhabits the south-western
United States and tropical America. It is found as far north as Kansas, and
west through New Mexico and Arizona to California. In southern Texas it is
very abundant, and in some localities along the banks of the Rio Grande
swarms by thousands. Dr. J. C. Merrill in May, visited a large patch of
tule reeds, growing in a shallow lagoon about ten miles from Fort Brown, in
which large numbers of this Ibis and several kinds of Herons were breeding.
The reeds grew about six feet above the surface of the water, and were
either beaten down to form a support for the nests, or dead and partly
floating stalks of the previous year were used for that purpose. Dr.
Merrill states that it was impossible to estimate the number of Ibises and
different Herons nesting here. "Both nests and eggs of the Ibises were
quite unlike those of any of the Herons, and could be distinguished at a
glance. The nests were made of broken bits of dead tules, supported by and
attached to broken and upright stalks of living ones. They were rather well
and compactly built, quite unlike the clumsy platforms of the Herons. The
eggs were nearly always three in number, and at this date were far advanced
toward hatching; many of the nests contained young of all sizes."

The walk of the Ibis is quiet and deliberate, though it can move over the
ground with considerable speed whenever it chooses. Its flight is lofty and
strong, and the bird has a habit of uttering a loud and peculiar cry as it
passes through the air.

The Ibis was formerly invested with sacerdotal honors by the ancient
Egyptians, and embalmed and honored after death with a consecrated tomb, in
common with the bull and the cat. The bird probably owes its sacred
character to the fact that its appearance denotes the rising of the Nile,
an annual phenomenon on which depends the prosperity of the whole country.

The food of the Ibis consists mostly of mollusks, both terrestrial and
aquatic, but it will eat worms, insects, and probably the smaller reptiles.

The sexes have similar plumage, but the female is smaller than her mate.




  Our Music's in the Hills.--EMERSON.


  The groves were God's first temples.--BRYANT.


  Nature, the vicar of the Almighty Lord.--CHAUCER.


  The liquid notes that close the eye of day, (the Nightingale).--MILTON.


  When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.--BISHOP


  O, for a seat in some poetic nook,
  Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook.--LEIGH HUNT.


  By shallow rivers, to whose falls
  Melodious birds sing madrigals.--CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.


  To me the meanest flower that blows can give
  Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.--WORDSWORTH.


  To him who in the love of nature holds
  Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
  A various language.--BRYANT.


  And this one life, exempt from public haunt,
  Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
  Sermons in stones, and good in everything.--SHAKESPEARE.


  And now 'twas like all instruments,
  Now like a lonely flute;
  And now it is an angel's song,
  That makes the heavens be mute.--COLERIDGE.


  There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
  There is a rapture in the lonely shore,
  There is society, where none intrudes,
  By the deep sea, and music in its roar;
  I love not Man the less, but Nature more.--BYRON.


  In June 'tis good to be beneath a tree
  While the blithe season comforts every sense;
  Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart,
  Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares,
  Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow
  Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up
  And tenderly lines some last-year's Robin's nest.--LOWELL.




ONE of the difficulties of the scientific ornithologist is to differentiate
species. This bird is often confounded with the Flycatchers, and for a very
good reason, its habits being similar to those of that family. It is almost
a counterpart of the Kingbird, (See BIRDS, vol. ii, p. 157) possessing a
harsher voice, a stronger flight, and, if possible, a more combative,
pugnacious spirit. It is a summer resident, is common in the western United
States, and occasionally a straggler far eastward, migrating southward in
winter to Guatemala.

Col. Goss, in his history of the birds of Kansas, one of the most
comprehensive and valuable books ever published on ornithology, says that
the nesting places and eggs of this species are essentially the same as
those of the Kingbird. They are brave and audacious in their attacks upon
the birds of prey and others intruding upon their nesting grounds. Their
combative spirit, however, does not continue beyond the breeding season.
They arrive about the first of May, begin laying about the middle of that
month, and return south in September. The female is smaller than the male
and her plumage is much plainer.

Mr. Keyser "In Birdland" tells an interesting story which illustrates one
of the well known characteristics of the Kingbird. "One day in spring," he
says, "I was witness to a curious incident. A Red-headed Woodpecker had
been flying several times in and out of a hole in a tree where he (or she)
had a nest. At length, when he remained within the cavity for some minutes,
I stepped to the tree and rapped on the trunk with my cane. The bird bolted
like a small cannon ball from the orifice, wheeled around the tree with a
swiftness that the eye could scarcely follow, and then dashed up the lane
to an orchard a short distance away. But he had only leaped out of the
frying-pan into the fire. In the orchard he had unconsciously got too near
a Kingbird's nest. The Kingbird swooped toward him and alighted on his
back. The next moment the two birds, the Kingbird on the Woodpecker's back,
went racing across the meadow like a streak of zigzag lightning, making a
clatter that frightened every echo from its hiding place. That gamy
Flycatcher actually clung to the Woodpecker's back until he reached the
other end of the meadow. I cannot be sure, but he seemed to be holding to
the Woodpecker's dorsal feathers with his bill. Then, bantam fellow that he
was, he dashed back to the orchard with a loud chippering of exultation.
'Ah, ha!' he flung across to the blushing Woodpecker, 'stay away the next
time, if you don't fancy being converted into a beast of burden?'"

Eggs three to six, usually four, white to creamy white, thinly spotted with
purple to dark reddish brown, varying greatly in size.

[Illustration: ARKANSAS KING-BIRD.]



AN English terrier, despoiled of her litter of puppies, wandered around
quite inconsolable. A brood of ducklings one day attracted her attention.
Notwithstanding their quacks of protest, she seized them in her mouth, bore
them to her kennel, and with the most affectionate anxiety followed them
about, giving them, in her own fashion, a mother's care.

When the ducklings at length took to water, her alarm knew no bounds. "You
dreadful children," her sharp barks seemed to say when they returned to
land, and taking them in her mouth bore them one by one back to safety, as
she thought, to the kennel.

The year following, when again deprived of her puppies, she adopted two
cock-chickens, rearing them with the same care she had bestowed upon the
ducklings. Their voices, however, when they grew older, greatly annoyed
her, and by various means their foster-mother endeavored to stifle their


A hen that had selected an unused manger in which to lay her eggs, and rear
her brood, found that the barn cat had also selected the same place in
which to pass her hours of repose. The hen made no objection to the
presence of Mrs. Tabby, and _vice-verse_, so that a strong frendship in
time grew up between the two.

Things went on very smoothly, the hen placidly sitting on her eggs, while
Mrs. Tabby came and went at will, spending at least half her time beside
her companion as friendly as though she were a sister cat.

Vainly did the hen sit, vainly did she turn her eggs. All the warmth in the
world would not have hatched a chick from the stale eggs beneath her.

Mrs. Tabby, however, had better luck. To the hen's amazement she found
beneath her very nose one morning five squirming furry little creatures
which might have been chicks but were not. Certainly they were young of
some sort, she reflected, and with true motherly instinct she lent her aid
to their proper bringing up.

The kittens thrived, but unfortunately, when still of tender age were
deprived, by death of their mother. All but one of her offspring found
comfortable homes elsewhere, and that one received the devoted attention of
the hen during the whole of that summer.

"To see it going between the house and barn clucking for the kitten," says
Dr. Beadner in _Our Animal Friends_, "was indeed a funny sight, and quite
as remarkable to see the kitten run to her when she made the peculiar call
that chickens understand means something to eat. At night and during the
resting hours of the daytime, kittie would crawl under the warm wings of
her foster mother; and the brooding hen and her nestling kitten were happy
and contented, little dreaming and caring less that they were so far from
being related to each other."




FIVE hundred invitations were sent out for a novel reception by the
Wisconsin Audubon Society a while ago. One of the directors lent a large,
handsome house, and six milliners were invited to send hats unadorned with
aigrettes or birds. Ostrich plumes, quills and cock's-tails were not
disbarred. Twenty-five other milliners applied for space, "everybody" went,
and a great many tastefully trimmed hats were sold. People who had never
before heard of the Audubon Society became, through the newspaper reports
of the affair, greatly interested in its object, and the society itself
greatly encouraged through the fact that by their hats and bonnets many of
the "best" people of Milwaukee were ready to proclaim it no longer good
form to wear the plumes or bodies of wild birds.

"Certificates of heartlessness," a writer in _Our Dumb Animals_ calls them
and we know of no better appellation to apply. Women of fashion, says the
same writer, have been urged to use the power which they possess--and it is
a power greater than that of law--to bring this inhumanity to an instant
stop. The appeals for the most part were in vain. Birds continue to be
slaughtered by millions upon millions, simply for the gratification of a
silly vanity of which intelligent women should be ashamed. Whole species of
the most beautiful denizens of field and forest, woodland and shore, have
been almost or quite exterminated. Song birds have been driven further and
further from the dwellings of men; our country is stripped of one of its
least costly and most charming delights and all that women may deck
themselves in conformity with a fad.

A bill for the protection of birds was passed on March 24, by the Senate of
the United States, introduced into the House of Representatives on March
25, and referred to the Committee on Agriculture. It is entitled "An Act
for the Protection of Song Birds."

We confess, says the same writer, to a feeling of humiliation when reading
this bill, because it seems a just indictment of the women of America on a
charge of willful, wanton, reckless inhumanity. That such legislation
should be made necessary, through vanity alone, ought in our estimation, to
bring the blush of shame to every good woman's cheek.

"I didn't think," is the usual reply of the fair sex, when approached on
the subject. "I didn't think." Aye you didn't think, but that plea can no
longer avail when press and pulpit, in the name of humanity, so earnestly
and eloquently plead with you to spare the birds.

If compassion for the little creature whose life went out in agony, to
supply that ornament above your brow does not move you to abstain from
wearing such in the future, then the knowledge that some of the "best"
people in the country consider it "bad form," perhaps will.

--E. K. M.

  The lady has surely a beautiful face,
    She has surely a queenly air;
  The bonnet had flowers and ribbon and lace;
  But the bird has added the crowning grace--
    It is really a charming affair.

  Is the love of a bonnet supreme over all,
    In a lady so faultlessly fair?
  The Father takes heed when the Sparrows fall,
  He hears when the starving nestlings call--
    Can a tender woman _not care_?
         --SUSAN E. GAMMONS, _Our Dumb Animals_.

[Illustration: EGGS.]

  1. Cat Bird.
  2. Robin.
  3. Chickadee.
  4. Long-billed Marsh Wren.
  5. Brown Thrasher.
  6. Yellow Warbler.
  7. Red-eyed Vireo.
  8. Loggerhead Shrike.
  9. Cedar Waxwing.
  10. Cliff Swallow.
  11. Martin.
  12. Rose-breasted Grosbeak.
  13. Scarlet Tanager.
  14. Towhee.
  15. Song Sparrow.
  16. Chipping Sparrow.
  17. Vesper Sparrow.
  18. Great-tailed Grackle.
  19. Bronzed Grackle.
  20. Baltimore Oriole.
  21. Orchard Oriole.
  22. Meadow Lark.
  23. Red-winged Blackbird.
  24. Blue Jay.
  25. Prairie Horned Lark.
  26. Wood Pewee.





  ... In mid-play the boy would oft-times pause,
  Letting the deer pass free; would oft-times yield
  His half-won race because the laboring steeds
  Fetched painful breath; or if his princely mates
  Saddened to lose, or if some wistful dream
  Swept o'er his thoughts. And ever with the years
  Waxed this compassionateness of our Lord,
  Even as a great tree grows from two soft leaves
  To spread its shades afar; but hardly yet
  Knew the young child of sorrow, pain, or tears,
  Save as strange names for things not felt by kings,
  Nor ever to be felt. But it befell
  In the royal garden on a day of spring,
  A flock of wild Swans passed, voyaging north
  To their nest-places on Himâla's breast.
  Calling in love-notes down their snowy line
  The bright birds flew, by fond love piloted;
  And Devadatta, cousin of the prince,
  Pointed his bow, and loosed a willful shaft
  Which found the wide wing of the foremost Swan
  Broad-spread to glide upon the free blue road,
  So that it fell, the bitter arrow fixed,
  Bright scarlet blood-gouts staining the pure plumes.
  Which seeing, Prince Siddârtha took the bird
  Tenderly up, rested it in his lap--
  Sitting with knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits--
  And, soothing with a touch the wild thing's fright,
  Composed its ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart,
  Caressed it into peace with light kind palms
  As soft as plantain leaves an hour unrolled;
  And while the left hand held, the right hand drew
  The cruel steel forth from the wound, and laid
  Cool leaves and healing honey on the smart.




Page 206.

BRUNNICH'S MURRE.--_Uria lomvia._

RANGE--Coasts and islands of the north Atlantic and eastern Arctic oceans,
south on the Atlantic coast of North America to New Jersey.

NEST--On the bare rock, often on the narrow shelves of cliffs.



Page 210.

CANADA GOOSE.--_Branta canadensis._ Other names: "Common Wild Goose," "Grey
Goose," "Honker."

RANGE--North America at large.

NEST--Of dried grasses, raised about twelve inches from the ground; has
been found in trees.

EGGS--Generally five, of a pale dull greenish color.


Page 214.

BROWN CREEPER.--_Certhia familiaris americana._

RANGE--Eastern North America, breeding from northern border of United
States northward.

NEST--In holes of trees lined with dry grass, moss, and feathers.

EGGS--Five to eight.


Page 218.

DOWNY WOODPECKER.--_Dryobates pubescens._ Other name: "Little or Lesser
Sapsucker." This, however, is a misnomer.

RANGE--Northern and eastern North America, and sporadically the western
portions--Colorado, Utah, Nevada, California, etc.

NEST--In an excavation in a tree.

EGGS--Four or five, rarely six, pure glossy white.


Page 223.

OLD SQUAW DUCK.--_Clangula hyemalis._ Other names: South Southerly;
Long-tailed Duck; Swallow-tailed Duck; Old Injun (Mass. and Conn.) Old
Molly; Old Billy; Scolder (New Hampshire and Massachusetts.)

RANGE--Northern hemisphere; south in winter to nearly the southern border
of the United States.

NEST--On the margins of lakes and ponds, among low bushes or low grass,
warmly lined with down and feathers.

EGGS--From six to twelve, of pale, dull grayish pea-green.


Page 227.

WHITE-FACED GLOSSY IBIS.--_Plegadis autumnalis._

RANGE--Tropical and sub-tropical regions generally; rare and of local
distribution in the southeastern United States and West Indies.

NEST--Of rushes, plant stems, etc., in reedy swamps on low bushes.

EGGS--Three, rather deep, dull blue.


Page 231.

ARKANSAS KINGBIRD.--_Tyrannus verticalis._ Other name: Arkansas Flycatcher.

RANGE--Western United States from the plains to the Pacific, and from
British Columbia south through Lower California and western Mexico to

NEST--On branches of trees, in open and exposed situations, six to twenty
feet from the ground; built of stems of weeds and grasses.

EGGS--Three to six, white, thinly spotted with purple to dark redish-brown.




  Apple Blossom Time, 153
  Audubon Society, One, 234
  Aviaries, 121-2

  Birds, Foreign Song Birds in Oregon, 123
  Birds, in the Schools, 20
  Birds, Hints on the Study of Winter, 109
  Birds, Interesting Facts About, 100
  Birds' Answer, The, 83
  Bird Study, The Fascinations of, 164
  Birds, Let Us All Protect the Eggs of the, 154
  Birds, Pairing in Spring, 189
  Bird, Only a, 73
  Bird Superstitions and Winged Portents, 172
  Bird Day, 82
  Birds, a Friend of, 43
  Bird, The Mound, 114
  Bird Lovers, Some, 81
  Bittern, Least, _Botaurus exilis_, 46-47
  Bob White, _Colinus virginianus_, 16-18-19-34
  Buddha, The Youth of, 237

  Christmas, Where Missouri Birds Spend, 84
  Cockatoo, Rose, _Cacatua leadbeateri_, 29-30-31
  Coot, American, _Fulica americana_, 96-98-99
  Contentment, 163
  Crane, Queer doings of a, 44
  Creeper, Brown, _Certhia familiaris americana_, 212-214-215

  Dickcissel, _Spiza americana_, 146-147-149
  Duck, Bald Pate, _Anas americana_, 48-50-51
  Duck, Black, _Anas obscura_, 86-87
  Duck, Pintail, _Dafila acuta_, 176-8-9
  Duck, Old Squaw, _Clangula hyemalis_, 223-5
  Duck Farms, Eider, 113

  Egg, What is An, 60
  Eggs, 155-195-235

  Feathers or Flowers?, 180
  Finch, Purple, _Carpodacus purpureus_, 54-55
  Flycatcher, Arkansas, _Tyrannus verticalis_, 230-231

  Gnat-catcher, Blue-gray, _Polioptila caerulea_, 94-95
  Goose, Canada, _Branta canadensis_, 208-210-211
  Goose That Takes a Hen Sailing, 194
  Grouse, Dusky, _Dendragapus obscurus_, 150-151

  Hawk, Sparrow, _Falco sparverius_, 105-6-7
  Heron, Great Blue, _Ardea herodias_, 190-1-3

  Ibis, White-Faced Glossy, _Plegadis guarauna_, 226-7
  I Can but Sing, 186

  June, 201-202

  Kindness, a Foster Brother's, 194
  Kingbird, Arkansas, _Tyrannus verticalis_, 230

  March, 82
  Memory, Bird Songs of, 124
  Murre, Brunnich's, _Uria lomvia_, 206-7
  Music, Color in, 161-2

  Nature, Some Lovers of, 229
  Neighbor, Our, 203
  Nests, Birds', 204
  Nest, Life in the, 69
  Nightingale, _Motacilla luscinia_, 136-8-9
  Nightingale, To a, 141

  Ovenbird, _Seiurus aurocapillus_, 126-7
  Owl, The Early, 12
  Owl, Saw-Whet, _Nyctala acadica_, 61-2-3
  Owl, Short-eared, _Asio accipitrinus_, 25-6-7

  Paradise, Birds of, 140
  Partridge, Mountain, _Oreortyx pictus_, 34-35
  Parrot, Double Yellow Headed, _Conurus mexicanus_, 181-2-3
  Partnership, a Forced, 60
  Partridge, Scaled, _Callipepla squamata_, 114-115
  Petrel, The Stormy, _Oceanites oceanicus_, 88-90-91-92
  Pheasant, Silver, _Phasianus nycthemerus_, 110-111
  Pigeons, The, 4
  Pigeon, Crowned, _Columbidæ goura_, 6-7
  Pigeon, Passenger, _Ectopistes migratorius_, 21-22-23
  Pleas for the Speechless, 33
  Plover, Snowy, _Aegialitis nivosa_, 70-71
  Prairie Hen, Lesser, _Tympanuchus pallidicinctus_, 74-75

  Queer Relations, 233

  Rhea, South American, _Rhea americana_, 166-7-8

  Sandpiper, Bartramian, _Bartramia longicauda_, 134-5
  Sparrow, English, 175
  Sparrow, Fox, _Passerella iliaca_, 14-15
  Spoonbill, Roseate, _Ajaja ajaja_, 142-3-5
  Spring Thoughts, 185
  Stilt, Black-necked, _Himantopus mexicanus_, 174-5
  Summary, 40-80-120-160-200-238
  Superstitions, Irish Bird, 132
  Swan, Black, _Cygnus_, 65-66-67

  Tenants, The New, 37-77-117-157-197-220
  Thoughts, 146

  Vireo, Red-Eyed, _Vireo olivaceus_, 8-10-11

  Warbler, Bay-breasted, _Dendroica castanea_, 170-171
  Warbler, Magnolia, _Dendroica maculosa_, 186-187
  Woodpecker, Arctic Three-toed, _Picoides arcticus_, 128-130-131
  Woodpecker, Downy, _Dryobates pubescens_, 216-218-219
  Woodpecker, Ivory-billed, _Campephilus principalis_, 101-102-103
  Woodpecker, Red-bellied, _Melanerpes carolinus_, 56-58-59
  White, Gilbert, and "Selbourne", 41
  Wooing Birds' Odd Ways, 52

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Birds Illustrated by Color Photography, Vol 3. No 6, June 1898" ***

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