Bird Portraits

It is difficult to speak without enthusiasm of the song of a Thrush. He seems wholly to outclass all other birds. When a Rose-breasted Grosbeak, no mean singer as our birds go, has finished his song, let a Wood Thrush utter but a phrase of his strain, and the Grosbeak's warble seems commonplace. Except the Thrushes, we have few birds whose song appeals to the imagination as human music does. We listen curiously to the songs of the others, criticise them or comment on them, as we do on a landscape; but let a Thrush sing and we fall into a reverie, recalling sad, tender, or solemn ideas and associations.

The Wood Thrush and the Veery, or Wilson's Thrush, are the common Thrushes of all but the northern part of the Northern States. In the mountains, the Hermit Thrush is found. This bird is generally considered superior even to the Wood Thrush in the purity and solemnity of its cadences. It has one great advantage over its rival; it sings on mountain sides in clear, still air, so that the finest vibrations of its voice come to the ear with perfect distinctness. The song of the two Thrushes is readily distinguished by listening for the phrase ee-o-lee', with which the Wood Thrush regularly opens his chant. The Veery has received its name in imitation of its song, which resembles the syllables vee-ury, vee-ury, vee-ury, each phrase lower in the scale than the preceding.

The Wood Thrush arrives in the Northern States in May, and unlike the Veery, which is strangely silent on its first arrival, the male Wood Thrush announces his presence on the morning of his arrival, by chanting from some low limb his beautiful flute-like notes. In the Middle States, it is a common and almost familiar bird, building in the gardens even of large towns; but in wilder regions, it prefers copses, groves of young trees, and rocky glens, particularly if there is a stream near by. By the end of May the pair have finished their nest, which resembles that of the Robin, but is often composed of less coarse material and is generally placed in the fork of a sapling. The birds often take little trouble to conceal it, sometimes placing it close to a woodland path, and the passer-by becomes aware of its nearness by hearing the harsh, anxious chatter of the parents. The four eggs are blue like the Robin's. The Robin is, in fact, a near relative of the Thrushes, and the relationship is shown not only by the shape of the body and the bill, but by the spotted breast which the young Robins assume with their first plumage. In the Middle States, this relationship seems to have been recognized, as the Wood Thrush is there commonly called the Wood Robin.

While the female is brooding the eggs, the male may be heard day after day from some favorite perch, not too near the nest. The early morning and the late afternoon are the favorite times for all the Thrushes, but on cloudy days or in the cool shades of deep woods, they sing all day. Occasionally the song ceases for several days. Some calamity has befallen the nest; a squirrel or some other marauder has robbed the pair, and there are no more outpourings of joy, till with renewed courage they select some safer spot and build again. In midsummer, the Thrushes become very silent. Occasionally we come upon a group feeding in the cherry or viburnum bushes, but few are seen after August, and by November they are in the tropics. Only the nest filled with snow reminds us of the pair, whose return in May we await with impatience.

THE SCARLET TANAGER

In South America, the Tanagers form a large family, but they send to the more northern of our Eastern States only one representative, the well-known Scarlet Tanager. A sight of this splendid bird properly, therefore, suggests the tropics. The Tanager is considered a rare bird, but it can always be found in suitable situations, and in certain parts of the country is really a common bird. Oak groves are the favorite resort of the bird, and since it does not often visit our dooryards, even in migration, and since we, as a people, do not often visit oak groves, the sight of a Tanager remains for most people a rare and exhilarating experience. The bird, too, is of a rather sluggish disposition, so that even if we visit the spot where a pair are nesting, they display only a rather languid curiosity. The call-note used by both sexes is well worth learning, for by its means our attention is often attracted to a pair which we should otherwise overlook; it consists of two syllables, resembling the syllables tschip, tschurr, uttered in a hoarse voice. The song of the male is such as a Robin with a cold might produce.

Either because the Tanager breeds generally at some distance from man, or because he considers that his brilliant coloring will make up for other deficiencies, the bird has never, as far as I know, done much to win the affection of bird lovers. They have enthusiastic praise for his coat, but little to say of his manners. A story which Wilson tells of a male Tanager is, however, a worthy exception to this statement. Wilson found a young bird which had fallen out of the nest and, having brought it home, put it into a cage with some Orioles. They altogether neglected the orphan, and as it refused to be fed by Wilson, the latter was about to return it to the woods, when a male appeared and tried to enter the cage. Finding this impossible, he went off, but returned with food and fed the young one for three or four days. At last, he showed so unmistakably his desire for the release of the young one that the owner set it free, and the two flew off rejoicing. If this Tanager was a type of his kind, the species need not fear the application of the proverb, "Handsome is that handsome does."

Tanagers arrive early in May, and may then be easily observed, as the trees are not yet in full leaf. Occasionally, in cold storms, all birds seem to keep near the ground, and on such occasions Tanagers are sometimes seen feeding on the ground itself, their splendid colors showing to wonderful advantage. The female is a very plain personage. Olive green above and greenish yellow below, with dull brownish wings, is a combination of color that serves very well to keep her concealed among the leaves. The nest is sometimes placed in orchard trees or even in low bushes, but frequently in tall oaks. It is loosely built of straw and twigs, and contains, by the end of May, from three to four eggs of a light greenish blue, marked with brown and lilac. The young are fed on insects gathered from the leaves. By the end of the summer, the male moults his bright red feathers and comes out in a suit resembling that of the female, but he keeps his black wings and tail. The whole family, clothed in these inconspicuous colors, migrate southward and remain in the tropics till the following spring.

THE ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK

To see a Grosbeak for the first time gives a student of birds almost the same feeling of exaltation as the first sight of a Scarlet Tanager. If one should hear, in the shade trees about the house, a Robin singing much faster and with a richer voice than ever before, and, after patient search, find the twig where the bird was singing, one's first thought would probably be, "Some escaped cage bird from the tropics." The head of the male Grosbeak is black, the tail and wings black and white, but in the center of the white breast is a triangle of pure rose, carried in some individuals far down the breast. When the bird flies, the white patches in the wings have a peculiar effect, like a circle of white. The large, almost monstrous bill, not only accounts for the bird's name, but explains why he is put into the same family with the sparrows. His nature, too, is eminently practical, as a sparrow's should be; a favorite food is the potato bug.

His mate lacks the black and rose, but her beak betrays her. She is not a particularly interesting bird, and does not even have the credit of excellence in household matters, at any rate as far as building her nest is concerned. It is made of a few coarse twigs loosely laid together, – a little platform through which the eggs sometimes show from below, and from which one would think they must certainly fall off. The nest is placed in a bush or low tree, and contains three or four greenish blue eggs, thickly marked with red. The young are out in July, and though a few Grosbeaks are occasionally seen in September, most of them have already left for the tropics by the end of the summer. The same joyous week of May which brings the Thrushes, Bobolinks, and Orioles brings them back again.

Just as a knowledge of the hoarse note of the Tanager will often betray the presence of that splendid bird, so an acquaintance with the sharp click, like that of a pair of shears, which the Grosbeaks make, will often attract the student and reward him with a sight of the beautiful rosy breast. Grosbeaks sing for a long time on one perch, – not on the uppermost spray of the tree, as that other tropical sparrow, the Indigo bird, loves to do, but, like the Tanager, on some branch well inside the canopy of leaves. In the first weeks of May, when birds of many species are mating, two and sometimes three male Grosbeaks may occasionally be seen pursuing each other, their white wing bars and spots making a showy contrast to the black. The victor in the struggle then returns to the tree near the female, and pours out a song of unusual vigor and sweetness. In May, the Grosbeak visits the blossoming fruit trees, snipping off the petals and the undeveloped fruit. Suspicion has therefore fallen on him, but it is now believed by the best authorities that this "budding" is not severe enough to injure the tree or the crop of fruit. Nor must we forget to throw into the other balance the result of his labors in the potato field.

When the adult male Grosbeak moults in summer, the rose on the breast becomes duller, and the black on the head and back is almost entirely replaced by brown. Like the Tanager, however, he retains his black wings and tail, and may thus be distinguished from the brown-winged young males.

THE REDSTART

Almost a fourth of the birds usually seen by a good observer in a morning's walk in May or June, belong to a family known as Warblers. If they were really as musical as their name suggests, people might know them better; but even as it is, their colors are often so bright that the birds well repay one who takes the trouble to make their acquaintance. Perhaps the best known of the family is the Yellow Warbler, not to be confused with the Goldfinch, from which the absence of the latter's black cap, wings, and tail will distinguish it. The Oven-bird, whose loud teach-er, teach-er, teach-er is so common a sound in dry woods in summer, is another member of the Warbler family. The gayest of them all, however, in most parts of our country, is the Redstart. His coal black head, with bright orange patches at the shoulders, and yellowish bands across the wings and tail, suggest a miniature Oriole.

The Redstart is a splendid bit of color; in Cuba he is known, according to Mr. Chapman, as "Candelita," the little torch. Black and orange is a not uncommon combination of color among birds, and never fails to be effective. The Redstart, moreover, makes the most of his color by keeping both wings and tail spread, so that the yellow and orange is constantly displayed. He flits from one twig to another, spreading his little black-and-yellow fan, flying out, turning his black head and glowing shoulders toward one, and continually uttering a little song, not much in itself, and only full of meaning and association to the bird's friends, to whom it suggests leafy shade near brooks in the summer heat.

The name of the family to which the Redstart belongs needs, perhaps, a word of explanation. It simply means that our Warblers are related to a family of European birds which have well earned their name, since the family includes the Nightingale and one or two other birds almost as musical. The name Redstart, too, is English, —start coming from the Anglo-Saxon word for tail. It was applied in England to a bird with a red tail, and since our bird has bright color in the tail, the name was transferred to it by the English settlers.

Many of the Warblers frequent the thick woods and are little noticed; the Redstart, however, often builds in the trees or shrubbery about the house, particularly if a brook or pool afford an abundance of insects. In the crotch of a sapling or on a limb, the female places a pretty nest built of bark and soft materials. The female resembles the male in the pattern of color, but the black is replaced by gray, and the orange by a faint yellowish shade. Males only one year old resemble the female so closely that the sharp little song often seems to proceed from the bill of a female; in reality it is a young male that is singing, one not yet arrived at the full splendor of his future gay plumage.

The Redstart is often victimized by the Cowbird, and one feels the imposition more keenly in its case than in that of almost any other bird, for we know that the big clumsy Cowbird is being reared at the expense of a whole family of these pretty warblers.

The Redstart comes early in May and stays through the summer. Some are seen even as late as October, but these are, very likely, birds which have bred far North, where the late summer did not permit them to rear their young so early as our own birds.

THE RUBY-THROATED HUMMING-BIRD

The restless activity and general appearance of the Humming-bird make one almost hesitate to believe that it is really a bird and not a brilliant tropical insect. It possesses no song; few people see it except on the wing, and its nest is so rarely found that to most people the bird is merely a sudden apparition, seen hovering over a flower, its ruby throat sparkling in the sun. When the Humming-bird's nest is discovered, it turns out to be a structure as delicate and rare as its little architect. It is often fixed on a lichen-covered twig, frequently in orchards, but as often on tall forest trees. To the outside of the nest, bits of gray lichen are fastened, so that at a distance the nest is mistaken for a knob of the twig itself. The eggs are always two, ridiculously small, like pea beans.

The Humming-bird is not a good father. He neglects all the domestic duties, being rarely seen near the nest after it is completed. The female brings up the two young birds unaided, feeding them by thrusting her long bill into their gaping mouths and pumping food into their throats. The process has been described as "a frightful-looking act." The food thus administered to the young consists, probably, of soft-bodied insects, for when Humming-birds visit flowers, it is not only to gather honey, but also to capture the smaller honey-gatherers.

Many charming stories have been told of the fearlessness of the Humming-bird. It had often been observed that birds fed from flowers held in the hand, but it remained for Mrs. Soule to make artificial trumpet-vine flowers, and by filling them with sugar water, to provide a daily feast for her Humming-bird neighbors. Though the birds are very irritable and pugnacious when wild, frequently attacking each other with the shrill squeaks which are their only notes, yet, in captivity, they prove very gentle and almost affectionate. The Humming-bird has discovered another method of obtaining the sweet liquor which it loves. The Sapsucker, or Yellow-bellied Woodpecker, is in the habit of drilling rows of small holes into the maples of the northern forests, and sucking out the sap which fills these little wells. Many insects are attracted to the sweet fluid, and the Humming-birds also come as uninvited guests to the feast; so that while the Woodpecker is drinking on one side of the tree, butterflies, bees, wasps, and Humming-birds are fluttering about the other.

By the end of September, the season for honey gatherers is about over in the North, and the wings which can support the little body for so many seconds in front of a flower, now take it southward to the tropics, where there are always flowers. It is not until May, not until the red blossoms of the Japan quince are open, that the Humming-birds return.

The Ruby-throated Humming-bird is the only species found on the Atlantic coast; the female, however, lacks the ruby throat, and is sometimes taken for another species. Humming-birds seen at dusk, if caught, will prove to be, not birds but clear-winged or Humming-bird moths. In South America, however, there are over four hundred different species of Humming-birds. A museum case full of these is a marvel of beauty and interest; the iridescent colors of their gorgets, or throat-pieces, the variety of shapes which their bills assume, the development of their throat and tail feathers, give one the impression of a show case full of fantastic jewels.

BOB-WHITE

Bob-white, unlike the majority of our birds, does not migrate southward in winter; the whole covey, unless they are killed, spend the whole year near the spot where they were born, feeding on the fallen grain, seeds, and various kinds of fruit. In hard winters, they become very tame, and if fed regularly, come to the barnyard almost like poultry. Most people are only too familiar with this bird, but not as he looks in life. Then he is full of energy and spirit; his pure white throat shows against the black of his head, and his rich reddish brown wings are ready to carry him off with a whirr that startles one. For one that we see alive, we see a thousand hanging, bloody and bedraggled, in the markets. Few people who become really acquainted with Bob-white, who see him sitting on a stone wall calling his name, or see his mate hurrying her little ones over the road into the blackberry vines, will care to make another meal off his little body. We must consider not only the wrong, if we acknowledge it to be one, done to the individual quail whose life has been taken, but the danger that threatens his whole race. The cheerful Bob-white is already a much rarer sound than it used to be, and the bird has many other dangers to contend against besides the pot-hunter's gun.

The greatest peril that besets quail in the North is the occasional midwinter blizzard, followed by intense cold. The quail at night huddle close together on the ground, their tails touching and their heads pointing out in a circle. After a great storm in a recent winter, the melting snow exposed a circle of quail, surprised and buried by the snow, like the people of Pompeii buried under the falling ashes.

In May, the male begins to whistle the two or three clear notes which have been translated into "Bob-white," or "More wet." This call is not only a summons to the female, but also a challenge to other males; if one hides near by and imitates the whistle accurately enough, a sudden flight will sometimes bring the angry bird directly to the spot. The surprise of the visitor is then amusing enough. Stone walls, fences, the low limbs of trees are favorite perches for the male, and his cheerful call has long been a familiar sound in farming country, from Massachusetts southward.

The nest is placed in some tangle of blackberry vines, along the edge of a field, and is a sight worth a long journey to see. The pure white eggs, often as many as fifteen, are laid close together in such a manner that the little body of the female may cover and warm them all. When the young are hatched, they are covered with down, and run at once, like chickens, and unlike the little blind naked young which we see in the nests of song birds. They follow their mother through the tangled grass or low bushes, feeding on fruit and insects, and later on the grain in the stubble fields. The whole family keep together, even when the young are able to care for themselves. When they hear any danger approaching, they keep close to the ground, relying on their brown coloring to conceal them. If the danger comes too near, they are off in half a dozen directions, over walls and bushes, coming quickly to earth again when they see some sheltering covert. Then, after an interval, one hears a note something like a guinea hen's, issuing from different parts of the field. Guided by these sounds, the whole covey reassemble.

THE GOLDFINCH

Not the most sullen sky nor the bitterest cold seems to discourage Goldfinches. They are always cheerful and affectionate, keeping together for the greater part of the year in larger or smaller flocks, which call to each other, if separated, by notes as sweet as those of a Canary. In summer, Goldfinches find an abundance of food in the seeds of many species of plants, but in winter also many remain even in the Northern States, searching cheerfully among the dry weeds and grasses, and uttering their sweet notes. Many people, however, do not notice them at this season, for when winter comes the head and body of the males of this species, as of many others, lose the bright black and yellow which marks them so distinctly in summer, and are clothed in dull brownish shades. About the first of April, one notices here and there in a flock a male that shows a few bright yellow feathers, and by another month, they have moulted their winter dress and are as gay as ever.

In the spring and early summer, the Goldfinches are extremely musical, spending hours in uttering a simple but pleasing song. Several males now engage in what seems to be a musical contest, flying out from a tree and circling about with set wings, all the time keeping up a continual strain. When flying through the air at a considerable height, they go in long curves, and utter during each undulation three or four simple notes. As they seem constantly to have business in one part or other of the country, the wave-like flight and characteristic notes become a common feature of the summer landscape.

Though the Goldfinches are here all winter, they delay nesting till very much later than the other resident birds; the Chickadees have their first brood already out in the world by the time the Goldfinches determine on building. The female is a modest-colored little body, as is often the case where the male is bright. The pair generally build in July, and choose some thick leafy tree, often a maple or poplar, and there, on a limb at a considerable height from the ground, construct a very neat nest, deep and cup-shaped, built of fine materials and lined with down from plants like the thistle. Here five or six bluish white eggs are laid, and when in another month the young Goldfinches begin to fly, it is at once evident from their sharp, insistent crying. As the calling of the young Orioles is a mark of late June, so the notes of the young Goldfinches become associated with August.

Goldfinches are very fond of the seeds of many kinds of composite flowers; they bite holes in unripe dandelion heads and take out the seeds; thistles are another favorite food, and a row of sunflowers planted in the garden will not fail to attract them. In winter, besides the seeds of weeds, they feed on birch seeds, scattering the scales over the snow, and they even pull out the seeds of the pitch pine, when the scales begin to loosen toward spring.

No bird has livelier, more cheerful ways than our Goldfinch, and none becomes a greater favorite. People are often at considerable pains to remove the dandelion plants from their lawns; if the gay flowers themselves do not repay one for their presence, many would certainly allow them to remain in order to have the pleasant spectacle, in summer, of a flock of yellow Goldfinches scattered about the grass and feeding on the seeds.

THE BLUE JAY

Most people are surprised when they first learn that the Blue Jay is a near relative of the Crow. The difference in color is certainly marked, but in other ways the resemblance is striking. Neither bird can utter its most characteristic note without gesticulation. Watch a Crow from a car window when the caw is inaudible, and the bowing and opening of the wings are all the more noticeable. The motions which the Jay makes when screaming are not so well known, as the sound generally comes from a screen of leaves. Both birds are thieves and seem to relish their thieving life; both can live on almost any food; both are heartily hated by their neighbors in bird world. The Jay is more bitterly detested by the other birds than the Crow. He is himself suspicious, and at the approach of a hawk, owl, or man, warns the woods by his cries. Besides the ordinary djay, djay, the loud scream so familiar in the autumn woods, the Jay has other cries; a note like a wheelbarrow turning on an ungreased axle, a high scream exactly like the Red-shouldered Hawk's, and such a variety of lesser notes that one never is surprised to find that any unusual sound heard in the woods is produced by the Blue Jay.

Though one of the noisiest of birds when pursuing an intruder, the Jay has learned to slip through the trees without a sound, and conceals its bright blue and white in a remarkable way. A pair of Jays may be nesting in some evergreen in our very garden, and unless we happen to see the female slip into the tree, we may remain entirely unaware of their presence. The nest is roughly constructed of twigs and roots, and is placed in a tree from six to twenty feet from the ground. On a lining of finer roots are laid four or five brownish or greenish eggs, spotted with yellowish brown. The young are hatched by the middle or end of June.

The Jay in spring is undoubtedly a reprobate. He cannot resist the temptation to sneak through the trees and bushes, and when he finds a nest of eggs temporarily left by its owner, to thrust his sharp bill through the shells; even young birds are devoured. In the autumn, however, the Jay is a hearty, open fellow, noisy and intent on acorns and chestnuts. The woods ring with his loud screams, as he travels through them with his companions. It is amusing at this season to observe them obtaining chestnuts, a favorite food. They drive their powerful bills into a nut and wrench it out of the burr, then fly off with it to a convenient limb and hammer it open. Many Jays spend the entire winter in the northern woods, subsisting on nuts, but the large numbers observed in the fall are evidence that many others are moving southward, where food is more plenty.

Jays and squirrels are curiously associated; both live in the autumn and winter, innocently enough, on nuts and acorns; both, in spring, poach on the eggs and young of birds. One becomes fond of each of these rascals in spite of his undoubted villanies, and is glad that though neither Squirrel nor Jay is protected by law, and in some states both are constantly persecuted, neither seems to be diminishing in numbers.

In Europe, the Crow and the Jay have several relatives, many of whom, such as the Magpie, Rook, and Jackdaw, share the family characteristics. They are all thieves, clowns, and impudent fellows, and yet win, if not affection, yet a certain degree of good-humored toleration.

THE BROWN CREEPER

In the bands of little birds which in winter visit the trees about the houses, there are often three different species, all of which find their food on the trunks or large limbs of trees, but by such different methods that a study of their habits is not only interesting but also extremely instructive. The little Downy Woodpecker, like all its tribe, hitches up the trunk or along the upper side of the limb, using its stiff tail feathers as a support, and holding on to the bark by its two pairs of sharp claws. The Nuthatch, with a short weak tail, and toes arranged as in all song birds, three in front and one behind, has the toes, however, spread so wide that it can climb head downward, over, under, or around the limb. Least known of the three is the Brown Creeper. It, too, has three toes in front and one behind, but although not related to the Woodpeckers, it has developed stiff and pointed tail feathers. It therefore clings to the bark in an upright position, and it commonly begins at the bottom of the tree and works steadily upward, often in a spiral.

During the winter months, the Brown Creeper probably visits every village street and every city park in the Northern States, but as it is just the color of the weathered bark and moves close to it, it escapes the notice of nearly every one. If one learns to distinguish the fine wiry note, and watches the tree from which it proceeds, one sees the bird flutter to the base of a neighboring tree and begin again its steady ascent. When two birds are together, they sometimes indulge in a very pretty flight, and tumble in the air like pigeons. As a rule, however, the Creeper is solitary, and, in this respect, offers a marked contrast to its companions and relatives, the sociable Chickadees and Kinglets.

The eyes of a Creeper are so near the bark which it is inspecting, that it is not strange that it finds food where we should look in vain. It has, besides, a very long curved bill which will reach into crevices in the bark, and before the end of the winter, it has undoubtedly stripped the trees of a large proportion of the dormant insects and their eggs, especially as, like the other winter birds, it seems to have a very regular beat, visiting the same groups or rows of trees every day. Few birds are so strictly arboreal as the Creepers. The writer has only once seen one alight on the ground, when the bird flew to a little stream to bathe. In the ice storms which occasionally clothe every trunk and limb with a glassy covering, the Creeper has to confine itself to the leeward side of the trees. Occasionally the Creeper, on account of its practice of beginning at the bottom of the trunk, flies to a spot on the tree below the band of tarred paper, which protects the shade trees from the visits of the canker-worm moth. On reaching the band, the bird makes a circuit of the trunk, in a vain attempt to find a passage. It is better provided, however, than the wingless moths, and when the circuit has been made, a short flight carries it over.

In April, the Creeper leaves its winter quarters for the North, and joins many other species in the great spruce forests of northern New England and Canada. Occasionally, on warm mornings before its departure, the male indulges in a little song, of the thinnest quality imaginable. When the pair reach their northern home, they hunt for a crevice under some great flake of loose bark, and there construct their nest. The bark of trees, therefore, furnishes the Creeper with a cradle at birth and a home for the rest of its life.

THE BUTCHER BIRD

Every one who observes the habits of birds soon notices with astonishment the regularity with which they return each summer to the same spots to breed. This is perhaps not so strange in the case of breeding birds; they may be so fastidious in their selection of food or of a nesting site that only a few places suit them, or the spot where they bred one year may appeal to their affection and so be selected again. It is no less evident and more remarkable that birds that spend only the winter in our neighborhood often have as well defined a home as those that spend the summer. Every autumn, about the first of November, if one looks carefully at the topmost twigs of the small trees that are scattered about the edges of some marsh, the eye may finally catch, perched on the very top, the figure of a plump gray bird, with black wings and tail, about the size of a Robin. Its tail often moves as if the bird were balancing itself. A nearer view would show that its bill was stout and slightly hooked, like a hawk's. Among song birds, it is our largest regular winter visitor, and will remain near the same spot till the end of March, when it retires northward to breed. The same trees serve year after year as look-out posts; no doubt the bird remembers where to find the fattest mice and grasshoppers.