Birds and all Nature, Vol. VII, No. 4, April 1900

In mediæval times the use of these cakes was specially associated with the season of Easter and it is interesting to notice that in the diet rolls of St. Swithin's monastery at Winchester, which belong to the end of the fifteenth century, we come across the entry "tansey tarte." It has been said that the use of tansy cakes at this season was to strengthen the digestion after what an old writer calls "the idle conceit of eating fish and pulse for forty days in Lent," and it is certain that this was the virtue attributed to the plant by the old herbalists. "The herb fried with eggs which is called a 'tansy,'" says Culpepper, "helps to digest and carry away those bad humors that trouble the stomach." It seems more probable that the custom of eating tansy cakes at Easter time was associated with the teaching of that festival, the name "tansy" being a corruption of a Greek word meaning "immortality."

THE PARTRIDGE CALL

Shrill and shy from the dusk they cry,
Faintly from over the hill;
Out of the gray where shadows lie,
Out of the gold where sheaves are high,
Covey to covey, call and reply,
Plaintively, shy and shrill.

Dies the day, and from far away
Under the evening star
Dies the echo as dies the day,
Droops with the dew in the new-mown hay,
Sinks and sleeps in the scent of May,
Dreamily, faint and far.

    – Frank Saville in the
    Pall Mall Magazine.

OUR FEATHERED NEIGHBORS

BERTON MERCER

SOME few years ago, while living in the village of West Grove, Chester County, Pennsylvania, I observed an unusual number of different birds in our own immediate yard and garden, nearly all of which built their homes within the narrow limits of our property.

Being deeply interested in the bird kingdom, and appreciating their friendship and confidence, I carefully watched the progress of their daily labors and their respective traits and individual habits. Our buildings consisted of a house, small stable and a carpenter shop, and I was much gratified to observe so many pretty birds nesting at our very doors.

In the front yard stood three tall pine trees. In one of these a pair of black birds made their nest and reared two broods of young. A goldfinch also chose one of the lower branches of the same tree, in the forks of which the clever little fellow hung a most beautiful cup-shape nest. It appeared to be made of various mosses, lichens, and soft materials, closely woven and cemented together, and the lining inside consisted of thistle-down. Four pretty eggs were deposited in due course and, as far as I know, the young were safely raised and departed with their parents in the fall. I had the pleasure of seeing the entire family frequently perched on the seed salad stalks in our garden feeding in fearless content.

On both sides of the front porch was a lattice covered with woodbine. In the top of one of these a robin chose to build her home, and showed remarkable tameness during the entire nesting period. On the back porch, also covered with woodbine, a pair of chipping sparrows built their nest, a beautiful little piece of workmanship, displaying skill and good taste. A happy little family was raised here in safety. Not ten feet from the chipping sparrow's nest, we nailed up a little wooden box which was tenanted for several years by a pair of house wrens, in all probability the same two. These little birds afforded us many hours of pleasure watching their cunning ways and listening to their cheery song.

In another box raised on a high pole in the garden, we had a pair of purple martins for two seasons and they helped to swell the population of our bird community. Placed in a hedge row bordering the yard, I observed the nest and eggs of a song sparrow, and their happy notes were to be heard all day long. In a small briar patch in the corner of the garden a cat bird made her home, and became quite tame, raising four little ones successfully. In the eaves of the shop (although not wanted or cherished) the English sparrows held sway and we destroyed their nests on two or three occasions, as they repeatedly tried to drive away some of our other pets.

Summing up we have a total of nine different birds which nested within our small domain, and in each instance they seemed to feel a sense of security and protection from all harm. In addition to those nesting on our premises, we were favored with frequent visits from many more, such as vireos, orioles, cardinals, indigo birds, chickadees, nuthatches, snow birds, sparrow hawks, flickers, etc., according to the time of year.

Prior to the summer in question, my father had been very ill, and as he was then getting better he spent many days on the porch. This afforded ample opportunity for him to study our birds, and they in like manner became so accustomed to his presence that they were quite fearless. Especially was this the case with the chipping sparrows above mentioned. They became unusually tame during the season and the mother bird finally ate out of father's hand or would sit on the toe of his boot and pick crumbs from his fingers.

THE BLUE GROSBEAK

(Guiraca cærulea.)

THIS beautiful specimen of the finch family is found in the southern United States from the Atlantic to the Pacific, although very local and irregularly distributed. It is occasionally found north to Kansas, Illinois, Pennsylvania and Connecticut. The male is brilliant blue, darker across the middle of the back. The female is yellowish brown above, brownish yellow beneath, darkest across the breast, wings broadly edged with brownish yellow. Sometimes there is a faint trace of blue on the tail. The young resemble the female. Males from the Pacific coast region have tails considerably longer than eastern specimens, while those from California are of a much lighter and less purplish blue.

The blue grosbeak is a very inconspicuous bird. Unless seen under the most favorable circumstances the adult male does not appear to be blue, but of a dusky color, and Ridgway says may easily be mistaken for a cow blackbird, unless carefully watched; besides they usually sit motionless, in a watchful attitude, for a considerable time, and thus easily escape observation.

The blue grosbeak frequents the thickets of shrubs, briars and tall weeds lining a stream flowing across a meadow or bordering a field, or the similar growth which has sprung up in an old clearing. The usual note is a strong harsh ptchick, and the song of the male is a very beautiful, though rather feeble, warble. At least two broods are raised during a season.

ODD PLACES CHOSEN

GUY STEALEY

IT would seem that nature had provided enough space and a sufficient variety of nooks and corners for birds to choose from and build their nests in; yet it is a strange fact that many of them often prefer to follow man, and select, for their homes, some spot he has planned and made.

In the fields one often sees the nests of robins and blackbirds built between the rails of pole fences, and sometimes catbirds choose this situation for a home. Around the barns will be found the swallows and their curious nests of mud. Then there are those cheerful and always friendly little birds, the wrens, which think that our houses are just the homes they would like, too; and any box or can, or what is prettiest of all, a miniature cottage placed on a fence, will rarely ever remain unoccupied during the summer. Even the shy bluebirds, whose sheen of feathers seems to be borrowed from the sky, like to peep into these.

Of all the wild birds, I believe I love the wrens the best. They are always so busy and yet so companionable. Last spring, when the days began to get warm, I left the window of my room open to admit the fresh free air; and on going in there one day I spied one of these spry little fellows peeping and hopping around the curtains, which were looped up, forming a cozy recess. He did not seem to be alarmed at my presence, but calmly went on with his inspection; and would you believe it, the next morning the pair of them were busy constructing their nest in this nook. I let the window remain open all summer, and they raised their family there.

But the strangest of all strange sites in which I ever found a nest was nearly at the bottom of a deep well! This well was walled up with rock and a couple of brown field birds carried twigs and grass down it and formed their nest on a projecting spur of stone. Why they should choose such a location as this it is hard to tell.

THE YOUNG NATURALIST

THERE are other armies in South Africa besides the Boers and the British; armies of very little folk, which go out on foraging expeditions when their colonies stand in need of supplies – forays planned and executed with military precision, and, as a general thing, uniformly successful.

I speak of an army of ants.

A close observer, residing in South Africa, describes one of these forays in the following way:

"The army, which I estimated to number about fifteen thousand ants, started from their home in the mud walls of a hut and marched in the direction of a small mound of fresh earth, but a few yards distant. The head of the column halted on reaching the foot of the mound and waited for the rest of the force to arrive at the place of operations, which evidently was to be the mound of fresh earth. When the remainder had arrived and halted so that the entire army was assembled, a number of ants detached themselves from the main body and began to ascend to the top of the mound, while the others began moving so as to encircle the base of the mound.

"Very soon a number from the detachment which had ascended the mound, or lilliputian kopje, evidently the attacking party, entered the loose earth and speedily returned, each bearing a cricket or a young grasshopper, dead, which he deposited upon the ground and then returned for a fresh load. Those who had remained on the outside of the mound, took up the crickets and grasshoppers as they were brought out and bore them down to the base of the hill, returning at once for fresh victims. Soon the contents of the mound seemed to be exhausted, and then the whole force returned home, each ant carrying his burden of food for the community."

My very young readers will be surprised, no doubt, to hear me speak of wasps as cement-makers, or paper-makers, but such, in truth, they are. You can form no idea of the industry and toil these little folk expend upon the structure they call home. Nothing pleases them better than to find an old fence rail covered with a light gray fuzz of woody fiber loosened from decaying wood by excessive soakings of rain. Dozens of these little pulp-gatherers will descend upon the rail, and as fast as each of them obtains a load away he flies to the place where the home building is already going on.

This may be in a clump of bushes near a stream, and as fast as they deposit their load of fiber down they fly to the stream, and having secured a mouthful of water back they go to the nest to beat the fiber into a thin sheet, which they deftly join to the main body, the jointure being imperceptible. Such a throng of workers coming and going, some to the fence, some to the nest, some to the brook, each addition to the structure being the tiniest mite, yet growing perceptibly under the united efforts of the little builders.

TAR. – One of the commonest substances met with in city or town is tar. A paper roof covered with tar makes a very good protection against sun and rain provided a suitable amount of gravel covers the tar. The kind of tar most used is called coal-tar or gas-tar. This is made at the gas factory from the distilling of soft coal. Tar that comes from different varieties of pine and spruce is used to cover ropes and hulls of ships. It is from his having some of it usually clinging to his hands and clothes that the sailor boy came to be called "Jack Tar," and from his fondness for the sea one of the royal family of England got the pet name of "Royal Tarry Breeks." It is strange that there has been no change in the work of getting this kind of tar from the wood for over twenty-three hundred years. The wood is placed in holes dug in the ground and covered carefully with turf so as to keep out the air and prevent too much burning. Some of the wood is left free so the air may get at it and burn it enough to make heat enough to distil the pitch from the rest of it. This is gathered into barrels and is black because of the smoke that gets into it. It was this sort of tar that Benjamin Franklin had his experience with one time in Philadelphia. He was running along on the tops of tar barrels on the wharf one fine day with his Sunday clothes on. The head of one barrel was not in good condition, and so Benjamin went down into it. The next issue of his paper had a very amusing account of the accident in which Franklin used his powers to make puns to great advantage in making fun at his own expense.

ANTS. – Would you like to get a clean skeleton of any small animal? Place the body near or upon an ant hill and the little workers will clean it off for you perfectly, picking every bone as clean as if they were under contract with a forfeit for every scrap of flesh, skin, or sinew left upon any bone. They like meat so well that they will attack animals that are many times larger than themselves and carry the work to a successful end. There are three kinds of ants in an ant hill – males, females, and neuters. The males and females have wings and do no work to speak of. They are always waited upon very carefully by the neuters who have no wings, but are noted for their industry, skill, and strength. It has been said that the ant stores up large quantities of grain in the summer for winter use. Whoever said that was not well acquainted with his subject. In winter the ants neither eat nor work. Some of the neuters have their jaws, or mandibles, made much larger than the rest. These are the soldiers, and they fight with greater fierceness than any other creatures. Huber, the blind naturalist who told the world so many astonishing things about bees, describes a great fight he once saw between two colonies of these little warriors. "I shall not say what lighted up discord between these two republics, the one as populous as the other. The two armies met midway between their respective residences. Their serried columns reached from the field of battle to the nest, and were two feet in width. The field of battle, which extended over a space of two or three square feet, was strewn with dead bodies and wounded; it was also covered with venom, and exhaled a penetrating odor. The struggle began between two ants, which locked themselves together with their mandibles, while they raised themselves upon their legs. They quickly grasped each other so tightly that they rolled one over the other in the dust. When night came they stopped fighting, but the next morning they went at it again and piled the ground with slain and wounded." Their stings hurt because they carry a liquid that is like that found in nettles and in the hairs and other parts of certain caterpillars. This is called formic acid, and is made by chemists for certain purposes. The red ant dislikes to work if he can get slaves to do it for him. Perhaps we should say if she can get it done for her, because these neuters are rather more like females than like male ants. They make war purposely to get into the homes of other colonies to carry away their eggs and baby ants. They bring these up to wait upon them. When they go on a journey the slaves have to carry their owners, and sometimes they even feed them until they refuse to feed themselves. They have been known to die of hunger with plenty of food within easy reach, but with no slave at hand to place it before them. In going out to fight for the offspring of other ants they go in regular columns, and those that are left after the slaughter return home in the same order, their solid trains sometimes extending more than a hundred feet. Some ants keep cows. Plant lice have honeydew in their bodies, and when well fed they give out a great deal of it. Ants are fond of it. They sometimes confine the plant lice, feed them, and milk the honeydew from the bodies of their captors. A German scientist named Simon, has recently returned from Australia with some great stories about ants. He says he suffered much from their attacks. In trying to get rid of them in many ways he at last hit upon the idea of spreading a poison where they would have to pass across it. He used prussiate of potash which is sometimes used in photography. Another name for it is cyanide of potassium. He says, "How astonished was I when I saw the whole surface of the heap strewn with dead ants like a battle-field. The piece of cyanide, however, had totally disappeared. More than one-half of the community had met death in this desperate struggle, but still the death-defying courage of the heroic little creatures had succeeded in removing the fatal poison, the touch of which must have been just as disagreeable to them as it was dangerous. Recklessly neglecting their own safety, they had carried it off little by little, covering every step with a corpse. Once removed from the heap, the poison had been well covered with leaves and pieces of wood, and thus prevented from doing further damage. The heroism of these insects, which far surpasses what any other creature, including even man, has ever shown in the way of self-sacrifice and loyalty, had made such an impression on me that I gave up my campaign, and henceforth I bore with many an outrage from my neighbors rather than destroy the valiant beings whose courage I had not been able to crush." In the extreme southwest of the United States are colonies of ants that have a peculiar custom of setting apart some of their number to give up their lives for their fellows in a strange way. They feed upon honey until they are unable to walk. Then their fellows take the greatest care of them and feed them so their bodies are distended enormously. A number of these ants when fed so highly look very much like a bunch of little grapes, they are so round and translucent. When food is scarce later the other ants come to their heavy mates and eat them with great relish.

AIR. – The wear and tear in our bodies is replaced by new material carried to the spot by the blood. The heart forces the blood out along the arteries in a bright red current. It comes back blackened with the refuse material. It passes to the lungs, where it comes into contact with the air we breathe. It does not quite touch the air, but is acted upon by the air through very thin partitions much as the cash business is carried on in some houses and banks with the cashiers all placed behind screens, where they may be seen and talked to but not reached. Purified in the lungs by contact with fresh air, the blood goes back to continue the good work of making the body sound. But if the air has been used before by someone in breathing it has become bad and the blood does not get the benefit from contact with it in the lungs that nature intended. Ordinarily a man breathes in about four thousand gallons of air in a day if he is taking things easily, but when he is hard at mental or physical work he needs much more than this. Air that has been hurt by being breathed is restored to the right condition by the leaves of trees and plants. In large cities where people are crowded together there is a lack of good air. But nature is continually rushing the air about so that new may take the place of what has been used, rain washes it out, and the storm brings in from the country just the kind of air the city man needs in his lungs.

BIRD LIFE IN INDIA

IN INDIA bird-life abounds everywhere absolutely unmolested, and the birds are as tame as the fowls in a poultry yard. Ring-doves, minas, hoopoes, jays and parrots hardly trouble themselves to hop out of the way of the heavy bull-carts, and every wayside pond and lake is alive with ducks, geese, pelicans, and flamingoes and waders of every size and sort, from dainty beauties, the size of pigeons, up to the great unwieldy cranes and adjutants, five feet high.

IRELAND'S LOST GLORY

THERE is perhaps no feature of Irish scenery more characteristic and depressing than the almost universal absence of those tracts of woods which in other countries soften the outlines of hills and valleys. The traveler gazing on its bald mountains and treeless glens can hardly believe that Ireland was at one time covered from shore to shore with magnificent forests. One of the ancient names of the country was "The Isle of Woods" and so numerous are its place-names derived from the growth of woods, shrubs, groves, oaks, etc., that (as Dr. Joyce says) "if a wood were now to spring up in every place bearing a name of this kind the country would become clothed with an almost uninterrupted succession of forests." On the tops of the barest hills and buried in the deepest bogs are to be found the roots, stems and other remains of these ancient woods, mostly of oak and pine, some of the bogs being literally full of stems, the splinters of which burn like matches.

The destruction of these woods is of comparatively recent date. Cambrensis, who accompanied Henry II. into Ireland in the twelfth century, notices the enormous quantities of woods everywhere existing. But their extirpation soon began with the gradual rise of English supremacy in the land, the object in view being mainly to increase the amount or arable land, to deprive the natives of shelter, to provide fuel, and to open out the country for military purposes. So anxious were the new landlords to destroy the forests that many old leases contain clauses coercing tenants to use no other fuel. Many old trees were cut down and sold for twelve cents. On a single estate in Kerry, after the revolution of 1688, trees were cut down of the value of $100,000. A paper laid before the Irish houses of parliament describes the immense quantity of timber that in the last years of the seventeenth century was shipped from ports in Ulster, and how the great woods in that province (290,000 trees in all) were almost destroyed.

The houses passed an act for the planting of 250,000 trees, but it was of no avail, and so denuded of timber had the country become that large works started in Elizabeth's reign for the smelting of iron were obliged to be stopped at last for want of charcoal. The present century has continued the deplorable story of destruction. In forty years, from 1841 to 1881, 45,000 acres of timber were cut down and sold. Every landlord cut down, scarcely anyone planted, so that at the present day there is hardly an eightieth part of Ireland's surface under timber.

BIRDS AND REPTILES RELATED

FOSSIL remains have been found of birds with teeth and long bony tails, and also of reptiles, with wings; great monsters they must have been – veritable flying dragons.