Birds and Nature Vol. 11 No. 5 [May 1902]

Once more the golden story, Oriole!

    – Lulu Whedon Mitchell.

THE ORCHARD ORIOLE

The first of May finds the trees and shrubs well clothed in tender green, the air laden with the perfume of many blossoms, and bird life abounding. The number has been rapidly increasing since the coming of the meadow lark and robin that proclaim the approach of the moving host. Since their songs of joyous anticipation first were heard reverberating through field and orchard, almost every day has brought some new arrival, till now the air is alive with feathered creatures and hilarious song is rife. With ever varying motions they search for food and sport among the tree branches, or course through the vault of heaven. Nidification is now in progress in various stages of advancement, according to the species of bird.

But many of our summer visitors are still absent, yet just now is the season that one of the most interesting should make his appearance and join in the general jubilee. This is the Orchard Oriole, and he is among the gayest of the gay of all this merry throng.

Being a soft-billed bird, or insect eater, he defers his migration until insects have become plentiful. He is remarkably uniform in migration. Wintering south of the United States, he enters our borders about the last of March and with unusual regularity steadily makes his way onward till he reaches the northern limit of his range the latter part of May.

In the southern states arid southern portion of the middle states east of the Rocky mountains this Oriole is one of the most abundant and familiar songsters that frequent the orchards and gardens.

He is a very conspicuous bird in both plumage and song. Although not quite so brilliantly attired as his cousin Baltimore, his coat of chestnut and black is very noticeable. His song is loud and gushing and resembles that of the rose-breasted grosbeak enough for the superficial observer to confound the two, but to the trained ear there is a decided difference. The notes, though uttered with force and rapidity, are varied, clear and sweet. His sojourn with us is short, but while here his rapturous refrain is heard almost incessantly. This sprightly bird is seldom, if ever, inactive, but with ever-moving pinion he flits from branch to branch, from tree to tree, and even when giving forth his gushing melody he quivers and sways.

Orchard Orioles are masters in the art of nest-building. The nest, a beautiful basket-like structure about three inches across and the same in length, is attached to half-upright or horizontal branches. Usually it is half pensile, though some are wholly pendent. It is always made of blades of long, slender grasses woven together in a most wonderful manner and lined with plant fiber and feathers. As the grass is invariably used while fresh and green, the nest is of a more or less green hue at all times, and consequently difficult to detect among the thick foliage. The four or five bluish-white eggs are spotted with a purplish color. At first the nestlings are fed on tiny insects and later on beetles and grasshoppers. The number of noxious insects a pair of these birds will destroy in a season is almost incredible.

    Addie L. Booker.

THE PRAIRIE WARBLER

(Dendroica discolor.)

This beautiful little Warbler cannot fail to awaken an interest in bird life in the mind of any person whose privilege it is to observe it in its chosen haunts. These are the shrubby pasture lands and the open woods of the eastern United States. It is more common in barren, sandy places of the Atlantic coast, where it seems to find an insect food suited to its taste. It not infrequently visits orchards, when in bloom, especially those in retired localities. Wilson, who wrote enthusiastically of the Prairie Warbler, says: “They seem to prefer open plains and thinly-wooded tracts, and have this singularity in their manners, that they are not easily alarmed, and search among the leaves the most leisurely of any of the tribe I have yet met with, seeming to examine every blade of grass and every leaf, uttering at short intervals a feeble chirr.”

Dr. Coues was also an ardent admirer of this little bird and during his college days frequently hunted and studied its habits. He found the “inflection of the Prairie Warbler’s notes a much more agreeable theme than that of a Greek verb,” and possibly quite as profitable. He says: “There was a little glade just by the college, a sloping sandy field run waste with scattered cedars, where we could be sure of finding the Warblers any day, from the twentieth of April, for two or three weeks. Ten to one we would not see the little creatures at first. But presently, from the nearest juniper, would come the well known sounds. A curious song, if song it can be called – as much like a mouse complaining of the toothache as anything else I can liken it to – it is simply indescribable. Then perhaps the quaint performer would dart out into the air, turn a somersault after a passing midge, get right side up and into the shrubbery again in an instant.”

The flight of the Prairie Warbler is neither strong nor protracted. Yet it is one of the most expert fly catchers among the Warblers. It is not a social bird and it is very seldom that more than two or three are seen together. A peculiar characteristic of this Warbler is that it does not try to lead an intruder away from the vicinity of its nest. Mr. Nuttall speaks of removing two eggs from a nest and replacing them in a short time. Each time he removed the eggs the female bird returned to the nest.

The Prairie Warbler is prettily colored. The back is marked with reddish-brown spots on an olive-green ground. Beneath the eye of the male there is a streak of black which is absent in the female. The throat and under parts are a rich yellow color, with small spots of black on the sides of the neck. The female is duller in color.

The nest is nearly always placed in the fork of a branch of either a tree or shrub and never far from the ground. A wild rose bush is sometimes selected. Mr. Welch describes one that he found in such a place. It was mainly constructed of “the soft inner bark of small shrubs mingled with dry rose leaves, bits of wood, woody fibers, decayed stems of plants, spiders’ webs, etc.” These were elaborately woven together and bound by “cotton-like fibers of a vegetable origin.” The nest had a lining of fine fibers and horse hair. He also calls attention to the upper rim of the nest, it “being a strongly interlaced weaving of vegetable roots and strips of bark.”

Mr. Nuttall describes the nest as not unlike that of a summer yellow-bird. He speaks of one that he examined as “being fixed in a trifid branch and formed of strips of inner red cedar bark and asclepias (milkweed) fibers, also with some caterpillar silk, and thickly lined with cud-weed down and slender tops of the bent grass (Agrostis.)”

It is difficult to understand why this bird should be called the Prairie Warbler, unless it is in order to distinguish it from those species that frequent less open places. A much more appropriate name is the Chestnut-backed Yellow Warbler. Though it is found in open places, this little bird would easily elude observation were it not for its peculiar notes, which Mr. Chapman describes as “a series of six or seven quickly repeated zees, the next to the last one the highest.”

APRIL BIRDS AND FLOWERS OF THE MISSISSIPPI GULF COAST

Fickle April, with its sullen showers and teasing, wayward moods, its alternate days of warm sunshine and chilling rain, still leaves us who live north of the fortieth parallel in doubt whether summer really intends to come or not. Not so on the gulf coast; langorous breezes incline one to take life easy, the sun high overhead has the true June fervor, and, if further evidence is needed to convince us, ripening strawberries and blooming roses tell us that summer is here. Gardens filled with huge, flaming amaryllis, fragrant calycanthus and a thousand and one shrubs strange to the northern eye, greet us in every yard. In front of the houses and along the streets, their purple fragrance welcoming every newcomer, stand the China trees, the haunt of busy bees and their indefatigable pursuer the kingbird, or bee martin.

In the lowlands a short distance back from the beach, the azaleas (Azalea nudiflora) are just dropping the last of their pink bloom, a bouquet thrown at the feet of all-conquering summer. Here and there in these jungles of yupon, bay, buttonwood, etc., appears a shrub clad in a filmy white mist. If this be the season for weddings, it must be that this is the bride that greets our eyes. A delicately beautiful bride she is, with arms that toss in the slightest breeze and now and then coyly shove aside the cloudy veil to take a farewell glimpse at the world she leaves.

The natives do not take this view of this shrub (Chionanthus virginicus). They have dubbed it “grand-daddy-gray-beard.” Usually popular names have much to justify them, but in the instance just mentioned, and that of the brilliant red flower which gazes at us from the underbrush, they are suggestive of African superstition rather than Saxon sentiment. The melancholy local fancy sees in these flaming orbs only the power of evil, hence the name “Devil’s eye.” If I could be assured that the devil’s eye is really as beautiful and kind in its expression as its floral representative I would be willing, like Emerson, to call its possessor “the dear old devil.”

Let us go back to the beach and stroll along the shell road, which parallels the shore all the way from Gulfport to Biloxi. Perhaps the glare of the white road is not pleasant to the eyes, but the deep green of live oak and long leafed pine is restful, the mingled fragrance of the salt breeze of the gulf, the resiny odor of the pine and the blossoming wisteria charm the senses and lull us into rapturous content. Only a few of the trees and shrubs which border the highway are of the kinds familiar to observers in Ohio and Illinois. Now and then a water oak or a sweet gum appears; but otherwise in the cypress, pine or live oak of the larger growth, or in the palmetto, Spanish dagger and rattan vine of the undergrowth, the eye looks in vain for old acquaintances.

The live oak certainly has individuality. Shorter and more spreading in its habit of growth than most of its kind, its limbs are gnarled and knotty, strong and muscular with its wrestling with the hurricanes that sweep the bosom of the gulf. It loves the white sand just a few feet above high tide, where it stands as a protector for the weaker growth between the tossing waters and the great pine forest. As is the case with human beings, this vigorous conflict with its surroundings does it good; for no place in the South that I have been have I found the live oaks as plentiful or as vigorous as on this strip of barren sand.

The birds know a good thing when they see it; hence they are well represented here at this season of the year. Our old acquaintance of the Maumee Valley, the Maryland yellow throat, with his cunning black mask and his cheerful if not wholly musical “Wichety, wichety, wichety,” greets us from a perch on a rattan vine, but on our nearer approach dives down into the palmettos, where only the noise made by his tiny feet indicates his whereabouts. Two other warblers, the hooded and the redstart, a little belated, perhaps, have stopped here on their way north to the old nesting grounds on the Kankakee and the Hudson. The most numerous as well as the most conspicuous element of the bird population is the summer tanager, whose intensely scarlet coat adds a touch of vivid color very grateful to the eye. Nearly every oak contains one of these redcoats, whistling a solo for our benefit or discussing the details of housekeeping with his more sober coated little wife.

Almost as numerous as the tanagers, and even more interesting, are the orchard orioles. Their song has more of the fire and ring of true music, a compensation probably for the comparative dullness of their garb. In nest building the orchard oriole is an artist. I remember one day finding in a small water oak a nest so carefully woven out of excelsior as to make me think the bird could knit if he would only turn his talent in that direction. Where twine and excelsior are not easily obtained, no doubt they utilize the long streamers of Spanish moss which hang from half the trees in the gulf country.

Flying about in the gardens, as tame as robins on northern lawns, or sharing the live oaks with the tanagers and orioles, are a multitude of mocking birds. There must be something in Maurice Thompson’s suggestion in “By Ways and Bird Notes” that along this coast the mocking birds find those berries and seeds best adapted to develop a high degree of musical ability and artistic expression, for these birds certainly surpass their brethren found a few hundred miles to the north.

Besides these land birds there are a multitude of sea birds more conspicuous on account of noise and numbers than bright coloring or attractive ways. The herring gull is very plentiful on this coast, wherever sand flats and shallow water offer attractive feeding grounds. It is a pleasant sight to see a dozen of these pearl gray creatures turning and wheeling, as free and easy as the wind. Just in shore from where the gulls are flying are some fish crows, a thoughtless, noisy set, contented to feast on the crabs and stray minnows which have eluded the watchful gulls. At the edge of the water, just where the wavelets of the receding tide curl and swish before turning back to join their fellows, a couple of sandpipers are running a race, now and then stopping to pick up some tidbit left by the water. A shadow flits along the sand. We look up. A great fish hawk or osprey soars seaward. He sails past the noisy crows, past the graceful gulls and steers for Ship Island, that line of darker haze where sky and ocean meet. Truly, April is the season to visit this coast.

    James Stephen Compton.

BIRTH STONES

From the earliest times and among all peoples there seem to have been sentiments and superstitions connected with gems. The ancient use of gems is proved by their being found in the oldest tombs of Egypt and by their mention in the earliest books of the Bible, and no less ancient seem to be the mystic properties and powers ascribed to them.

Not only was the power of driving away evil spirits and producing all sorts of “luck” long attributed to them, but as late as the beginning of the eighteenth century reputable physicians were accustomed to mix fragments of them in their medicines and to use them as charms. The study of the uses of gems in this way forms a subject of much interest, but we may confine ourselves here simply to the custom which made a particular gem appropriate to a corresponding month of the year.

The first arrangement of gems into a group of twelve of which we have any record is that in the Book of Exodus. Here in the twenty-eighth chapter, verses 17-19, are prescribed in order, twelve precious stones, which shall be set in the breastplate of the High Priest. The list is repeated in the thirty-ninth chapter of the same book, verses 10-12. In the context it is prescribed that the stones shall be set in four rows and that upon them shall be engraved the names of the Children of Israel, one for each stone. As to the particular stones as they are known to the modern world, which are indicated by the Hebrew words, authorities differ, but in the authorized version of the Bible they are given as follows:

Sardius, topaz, carbuncle,
Emerald, sapphire, diamond,
Ligure, agate, amethyst,
Beryl, onyx, jasper.

It is not probable, however, that these names indicate in each case the corresponding stones of modern usage. Thus it is quite unlikely that the Hebrews could have engraved a name upon the diamond even if they could have obtained one of sufficient size. Again, the words emerald and carbuncle are undoubtedly interchanged in the above list and the ancient topaz is known to have been the modern chrysolite. In the revised version the word jacinth is substituted for ligure and amber is given as a marginal rendering for the same. There are also given marginal renderings for others of the gems, as follows: ruby for sardius, emerald for carbuncle, carbuncle for emerald, sardonyx for diamond, chalcedony for beryl, and beryl for onyx. The modern equivalents of the terms recognized by secret orders which use them in symbolism are:

Carnelian, chrysolite, emerald,
Ruby, lapis-lazuli, onyx,
Sapphire, agate, amethyst,
Topaz, beryl, jasper.

Two lists of precious stones quite similar to those of the Book of Exodus are given in other places in the Bible, one in Ezekiel 28:13, where “every precious stone” is said to have been the covering of the King of Tyre, and again in Revelation 21:19-20, where twelve different precious stones are mentioned as garnishing the foundations of the wall of the Holy City. The names and order of these in Ezekiel are, in the authorized version, as follows:

Sardius, topaz, diamond,
Beryl, onyx, jasper,
Sapphire, emerald, carbuncle.

To these the Septuagint adds the following:

Chrysolite, ligure, agate.

The revised version gives marginally, ruby for sardius, carbuncle for emerald, and emerald for carbuncle. In Revelation the list as given in the authorized version reads as follows —

Jasper, sapphire, chalcedony,
Emerald, sardonyx, sardius,
Chrysolite, beryl, topaz,
Chrysoprase, jacinth, amethyst.

The marginal renderings give lapis-lazuli for sapphire and sapphire for jacinth.

Though in each of these lists only twelve precious stones are mentioned, there is nothing to indicate that their use was in any way connected with the months of the year. Just when it became the custom to designate each month by a particular gem or how the custom originated is impossible to determine. The custom seems to have sprung up in modern Europe some time during the fifteenth or sixteenth century. Whether it originated in the twelve gems of Aaron’s breastplate as many believe, or was introduced by astrologers from the Arabians as others think, is not yet known.