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LABORATORY

OF ORNITHOLOGY
LIBRARY

 

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CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

 
 
THE BLESSED BIRDS

OR

HIGHWAYS
and BYWAYS

BY ELDRIDGE EUGENE FISH.

PUBLISHED BY
OTTO ULBRICH
395 Main St., Burrato, N. Y. GORNI L |
UNIVERELDY

ELE KARY
CopyricuT, 1890.
BY

E. E. Fisx.

Press or Baker, Jones & Co., Burraro, N. Y.
CONTENTS.

Spring ARRIVAL oF THE BIRDS

A Day’s OvutTine In SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS
VENTRILOQUIAL AND ImiTaTIvE PowrER oF Birps
WRENS a

TREES AND TREES

INTELLIGENCE In Brrps

A Day In an OLD ORCHARD

Autumn VISITORS

Nustive Harts or Brrps

Marie Sucar Maxine

DANGER OF AN EaRLy Extinction or Sone Birps
A SEARCH FOR A WHIPPOORWILL’s NEST

A Summer Drive in THE LAKE CountTRY

ORNITHOLOGICAL NOMENCLATURE -

PAGE.

45
61
75
89
109
125
141
151
161
173
189
201
247
PREFACE.

Some of the following papers originally
appeared in the ‘Buffalo Sunday Courier,’ ‘Buf-
falo Commercial,’ Bulletin of the ‘Society of
Natural Sciences,’ and Chicago ‘Humane Jour.
nal” T hey were apparently so well received
that I have been persuaded to revise and
republish them, in connection with others of
more general interest, in book form.

What I have written of the birds in this little
volume has been ‘a labor of love’ Human
companionship excepted, these blessed creatures
have ministered to my happiness in a greater
degree than any other class of objects. About
home they have ever been a solace and a delight.
When I have been among human strangers I
have found the birds old acquaintances and inti-
mate friends, always giving so much, and exacting

so little in return. The continued persecution
vi PREFACE.

which they have received from the cruel and
unthinking has been the great sorrow of imy life.

Although in a humble way, ‘in season,’ and
perhaps, sometimes, ‘out of season,’ I have
worked and pleaded for a better and wiser treat-
ment of them, yet I shall ever remain their
grateful debtor.

If I have written anything that shall make
them better known and better loved—anything
that shall cause a woman to hesitate before
allowing any part of one to disfigure her gar-
ment—anything that will prevent the present
lavish waste of life by the collector of specimens—
anything that will check the wholesale destruc-
tion of nests by the thoughtless egg collector—
I shall feel repaid for the labor bestowed.

ac
SPRING ARRIVAL
OF THE BIRDS.
‘¢ The interest the birds excite ts of all grades, from that
which looks upon them as items of millinery, up to that
of makers of ornithological systems, who ransack the
world for specimens, and who have no doubt that the chief
end of a bird ts to be named and catalogued. Somewhere
between the two extremes comes the person whose interest in.
the birds is personal and friendly, who has little taste for
Shooting and an aversion for dissecting, who delights in the
living creatures themselves, and counts a bird in the bush
worth two in the hand : not rating birds merely as bodies,
but as souls.

“Others will discover in the birds of which I write many
things that I miss, and perhaps will miss some things
which IT have treated as patent or even conspicuous. It
remains for each to testify what he has seen, and at the
end to confess that a soul, even the soul of a bird, is,
after all, a mystery.”

BRADFORD TORREY’s ‘BIRDS IN THE BUSH.’
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS.

Marcu 27.—Among the fair gifts which the bright
days of spring will bestow upon us, none are looked
forward to with livelier anticipation of pleasure than the
coming of the birds. If there is a tender spot in the heart,
it will leap with a thrill of joy as the first musical note
of the robin or bluebird falls on the ear, an invocation
from awakening nature. It is the return of dear friends
from long and perilous journeys. The only flaw in our
enjoyment of them is the thought that only a fraction
of those which left us last summer and autumn will
return. Like the soldiers of an harassed army, many
fell on field and highway on their southern journey ;
others were destroyed for food in the land to which
they had gone to escape the cold of our winters, while
still a larger number were killed and are being killed on
their homeward journey. Each year these annual
migrations are beset with increased perils. The country
over which they pass offers fewer secure feeding places.
Forests have been cut down; swamps have been drained;
the freedmen who often watch for this small game are
becoming more generally provided with fire-arms ;
additional lighthouses have been erected along the
coasts. These latter are sources of peculiar danger to
10 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

the birds, as most of them fly during the nights; and if
these are dark, the lighthouses always attract great
numbers, which perish by dashing against them. Some
mornings hundreds have been picked up under one of
these false beacons to the birds. The city lights also
allure thousands on dark and stormy nights. Many of
these strike against the high buildings or against the
net-work of wires, now so generally distributed. But
the greatest danger, and the one for which all sensible
and humane people must blush, is the bloody gauntlet
these beautiful and innocent creatures have to pass, of
the thousands of heartless, greedy gunners who are on
the watch for their coming, and who kill countless
scores of them which stop for rest or food or by stress
of weather. The danger is all the greater, as the spring
migrations mostly occur before the leaves are thick
enough to screen from sight, and the birds are in bright
plumage, the more attractive and tempting to the most
destructive classes, the collectors of specimens and the
gatherers of bird skins for decorative and millinery
purposes. Between these two classes of outlaws,
assisted by the army of worthless tramps who kill for
the fun of killing, the innocent birds are subjected to
persecutions unknown to other living creatures. The
last few years have been those of great peril and
destruction to them, and they are disappearing surely
and more rapidly than the shy wild flowers over whose
loss the true botanist is so justly troubled. When we
realize the large number of men and boys whose sole
occupation is killing them, and when we see the hun-
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 11

dreds and thousands of their lifeless bodies in shops, on
hats and fans, in private cases and in museums, knowing
too that for every one preserved many more are wasted
and thrown away, we only wonder that any remain.
We may truly say of these, as was said of old of other
things, “Except these days be shortened, none shall be
saved.”

To those who truly love the birds and who make
pleasant companionship with them, a yearly chronicling .
of their first arrival in the spring is an agreeable recrea-
tion. The observing naturalist knows pretty well when
to expect the different species, although the weather
may hasten or retard for a few days the arrival of some
of the earlier migrants. A few of the hardier species
remain in this latitude the year round. Among these
are the snow-buntings, snow-birds, woodpeckers, nut-
hatches and titmice. The buntings and snow-birds feed
mostly from seeds of the tall weeds which stand above
the snow, while the others live on larve and insects’
eggs, hidden in the bark of shrubs and trees, so that all
weather is alike to them excepting when the trees are
covered with a coating of ice. Many a day during the
past winter, when the thermometer was near zero, and
sometimes even below, the little black-capped titmouse
(Parus attricapillus), cheerful and sprightly, lisped out
his chick-a-de-dee as he searched the limbs of the maple
trees for food. Occasionally on milder mornings, his
sweet, plaintive whistle, much resembling that of the
white-throated sparrow, was a grateful surprise, as this
whistle is his usual love-song, oftener heard at mating
12 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

time. He has still another song, not put down in the
books, which it has occasionally been my good fortune
to hear, a dainty little warble, clear and liquid as a rip-
pling brook.

Of the migratory birds proper, the shore larks
(Otocoris alpestris) are probably the first ones here from
the south. In moderate winters one may see them in
the city suburbs or outlying fields in February. They
often bring out the first brood in the latter part of
March, or early in April. Last year near the park
homestead a nest was found with four eggs, which were
hatched the first week in April. I have seen the young
birds running about as nimble as little partridges sev-
eral seasons as early as this. The late snows often cover
the bird while she is sitting on the nest, and it is a mys-
tery how she keeps herself and eggs from freezing.
These larks are so silent and retiring in manner that
their presence is less likely to be observed than that of
some of the later comers. In habit they are real
ground birds, but, unlike most such, they walk or run,
but do not hop. When closely pressed they take wing,
uttering a soft “cheep,” rise rapidly to some height,
and then suddenly drop down again near the place of
starting. They seldom alight on a tree or green bush,
but often perch on a rail or fence-stake by the roadside,
where, if undisturbed, they will sit silent for a long time.

While on the wing they often indulge in a low,
monotonous warble, but their real song, which is
sprightly and musical, is generally given from the
ground, or from a perch on a stone in the open field.
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 18

They may easily be recognized by the strong mark-
ings, particularly about the head, a black crescent under
the eye and a peculiar tuft of lengthened feathers on
each ear resembling horns—from which one of their
common names, “horned larks.” The color of the back
is a-pale brown, the under parts being white, with a
darker shading towards the upper breast, where it is
met by a crescent of black. The throat and chin are
yellow, and the tail black, with the outer edges tipped
with white.

Of our three well-known favorites, the robin, bluebird
and song sparrow, it is a question which we will see
first, as it is sometimes one and sometimes another. In
favorable localities, individual robins make their appear-
ance in the advance, but the two other species generally
arrive in force a little the earlier. On his first arrival
the robin, in most cases, has only a call or a scold, and
the bluebird only a gentle twitter; but the song spar-
row comes with his sweet song in his throat ready to
break out in clearest cadence almost as soon as he
alights. The first mellow call of the robin, like that. of
the high hole, is as sweet as a song, and one of the most
pleasing sounds of spring. When he has been here a
day or two he will more than make amends for his first
silence, and all through the spring and summer, early
and late, he will fill the land with more rich melody
than any other living being. He is a companionable
bird, seeking the haunts of civilization, and may oftener
be heard in orchards, lawns and along shady highways

than in the forests.
2
14 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

March 9th, this year, blue birds were flying northward
over the city at intervals during the morning. They
had undoubtedly been on the wing all night, as it was
pleasant and moonlight. They were just visible to the
eye, and only uttured their plaintive “chee-ry,” but it
was the first real voice of spring, and sent a thrill of
pleasure through the heart of the listener, quickening
the pulses like some tender pathos in a poem. The fol-
lowing day, March 10th, robins were seen in different
parts of the city, and song sparrows in considerable
numbers were in the park and at Forest Lawn; these
were in full song, and not troubled, like their weather-
wise human friends, about the wintry weather still in
store for them. In turning over my note-book I read
“March 9 and 10, 1877, robins, song sparrows, blue
birds and purple grackle here in great numbers.” Only
one year since have they come as early. Last year it
was March 18th, and the year beforea week later. They
often arrive just before or soon after the spring equinox.
The date of the arrival of those that come later when the
weather is settled can be predicted with greater accuracy.

Aprit 8.—Closely following the robins, sometimes
accompanying them, are the purple grackles (Quzscalus
guiscula). Their cousins, the redwings (Agelais phant-
ceus), come a little later. Both are harbingers of
spring, bright spots of life and color in the naked land-
scape. On some bright, crisp morning in March we
generally first see the grackle, where, from his high
perch near the top of a tree, in a song, half gurgle, half
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 15

warble, he greets a companion sure to be near. The
grackles choose an elevated position from which to sing,
but,in feeding they are less ambitious, and walk about
leisurely on the ground searching for grubs and worms
and other earth insects. In the fields they often follow,
at a safe distance, the plow, eagerly devouring the
fat, wriggling morsels brought to light by the upturned
furrow. They are, to quite an extent, city birds, haunt-
ing lawns where are evergreens, and often nesting in
these if the trees are large and dense. Forest Lawn is
one of their favorite resorts, and hundreds of them
remain here during the season. Every summer they
nest in the evergreens of the old part of the cemetery,
and a few pairs in the clumps of pines near the clear
lake. When one of these nests is disturbed a dozen
birds will frequently become noisy and threatening,
making common cause against the intruder. They may
well be. watchful and unite forces, as they are not fay-
orites of the smaller birds, which they often rob of eggs
and young. One is sorry to even speak of any birds in
other than commendatory terms, and if feasting on the
delicious green corn of the farmers at the beginning of
the fall migrations was their only fault, far would it be
from me to expose their short-coming; but robbing
nests and killing innocent birds are grievous faults, and
the perpetrators, be they men, boys or birds, ought not
to be shielded from proper punishment. The grackles
are very handsome, with trim figures and rich suits of
black and purple, emerald ‘and bronze. These colors
are changeable, in different lights, often showing an
16 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

iridescence as rich and brilliant as that of the wood
duck or the wild pigeon.

The redwing, or American starling, is smaller than
the grackle or crow blackbird, and although less brill-
iant, has stronger markings. The male is black, with
the exception of the shoulders, which are bright scar-
let, with buff and orange edgings. These epaulets are
conspicuous, and give him a jaunty, military appear-
ance well in keeping with his character. On his first
arrival his habits are much like those of the grackle.
He likes a perch on an upper twig or limb, where he
will cluck and call, gurgle and whistle, as the mood
overtakes him. One seldom hears a pleasanter musicale
than was given one morning in Rumsey park by these
bright-colored minstrels. It was just after sunrise. A
robin began with his sweet old story of “Cherries,
cherries, to be ripe in June;” a grackle from an ever-
green interrupted with “Forme? Are they for me?”
Then some redwings from a neighboring willow
chimed in, “Oh! what glee we shall see.” One thought
of Emerson’s “May Day:”

Why chidest thou the tardy spring?
The blackbirds make the maples ring

With social cheer and jubilee:
The redwing flutes his ok-a-lee.

The redwings often stop several days in or about the
city in the localities favored with tall trees, but on the
arrival of the females, which is frequently two or three
weeks later, they are off to low meadows, marshes or
swamps, in which to nest, probably influenced by the
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 1%

food supply more readily obtained in these places. With
the exception of the cow-bunting, the blackbirds are all
companionable, and later gregarious, gathering in large
flocks, seemingly organized and under the direction of
chosen leaders. Those bright little gems, the golden-
crowned wrens (Regulus satrapa), began to arrive about
the middle of March. They first made their presence
known by a slight chirping as they hopped about the
branches of the low trees in quest of food. They have
stout little feet with sharp claws, and can cling to the
trunk of a tree or on the under side of a limb much in
the manner of the chicadees and creepers. They are
the smallest of our song birds, genteel in figure, rich in
color, with gentle and confiding manners. They are
more frequently called “kinglets,” and they answer
well to the name “little kings,” among the birds. They
are courageous and har<y little creatures, braving cold
and snows and long journeys. They seem to have little
fear of man, and will allow one to stand within a few
feet of them without showing any sign of apprehension.
Their limited acquaintance doubtless accounts for this
too often misplaced confidence.

A few days ago I was standing under an old oak,
watching the graceful movements of three or four of
these beautiful creatures as they chirped and twittered
while searching the bark and twigs for food.

To attract their attention I commenced in low tones
to talk to them. Suddenly one began to descend, hop-
ping from one limb to another, and finally alighted on
my head. It was only for an instant, however; as his
18 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

“feet touched the hat it startled him, and with a quick
chirp he flew to another tree. I could not again coax
him within reach, although he watched me curiously for
some time. :

Most of them pass the winter months in the south-
ern forests, and the summer in the northern woods
away from the haunts of men; though some of them
pass the summer in Central and Western New York.
Ornithologists do not credit them with breeding as far
south as this, but I have little doubt that they nest in
the woods at Portage, Idlewood and Angola, as I have
found them here in pairs, and in full song, from April
till the middle of July. The golden-crowned wren is
olive green above, darker between the wings; the outer
webs of the wings and tail feathers are bright green;
the under parts of the body a grayish white; the wings
marked with black, with two white bars across them.
There is a patch of bright orange on the crown, mar-
gined with yellow and black. This bright: crown spot
the bird can obscure by a movement of the yellow
feathers surrounding it, so that it sometimes appears to
flash like the sparkle of the firefly. The female and
young have only the yellow in the place of the bright
crest of the adult male. Their stay is often prolonged
several days in the city and open country. During this
time they have only a soft twitter or.chirp, much like
that of the little chippy, only shorter and lighter. Their
fine songs are reserved for their summer home in the
deep woods. This song is a sweet, vibrating whistle,
and can be heard at a great distance. Burroughs calls
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 19

it the “needle song,” it is so finely drawn. Its wild,
sylvan melody, like that of the winter wren, hallows
the woods, investing their shadowy recesses with an
additional charm.

The high wind that partially wrecked Music Hall one
night last October played mischief with these kinglets,
which in great numbers were making their southern
journey. They were compelled to alight; some were
dashed to the ground, and others flew against windows
where lights were left burning; some of these were
taken in and cared for till morning. The following day
the shade trees were alive with these bright little
strangers, which immediately made themselves at home.
It was pleasant to watch them as they busied them-
selves searching the tree for larvae and insects’ eggs.
When they found an infected limb they did not leave
until it was entirely cleared. The English sparrows
watched them inquisitively, following them about, not
knowing whether to regard them as visitors or intruders.
They were so tame and unsuspecting that many were
killed with sticks and stones by gangs of bad boys in
different parts of the city, who went from tree to tree
in pursuit until dispersed by policemen.

The past week has been one of extreme hardship to the
venturesome birds. The drenching rain froze as it fell,
coating everything with ice, thus cutting off the natural
supply of food. This was followed by a fall of snow and
severe cold. The robins have been silent and dumpish.
Many of the blue birds perished, and others have disap-
peared. Even with those hardy little wrens the problem

a
20 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

of existence has been a close one, but the presence of
so many of them shows that they have satisfactorily
solved it.

Arrit 10.—The ruby-crowned wrens (Legulus calen-
dula) are a little tardier in coming than their cousins,
the golden-crowned. In habit, size, color and markings
they bear a close resemblance. The distinguishing
physical feature is the redder patch on the crown of the
former, which is often obscured by the loose feathers
surrounding it. This patch is bright red instead of
orange. The songs of the two species are very differ-
ent. That of the ruby-crowned is a broken warble,
while the golden-crowned is a slender whistle; both are
on high keys and far-reaching. The former sing dur-
ing their transient stay; the latter not till their arrival
at their summer home in the woods. I know of but
one other so small bird, and that is the winter wren,
whose notes are so resonant and far-sounding as those
of the ruby-crowned. To hear his song is a favor well
worthy of chronicling. I shall not soon forget my glad
surprise on first hearing it to know it. I was standing
under one of the large larches in Forest Lawn when I
heard sharp, vibratory call notes, much resembling
those of the oriole, immediately followed by a warble
of wonderful power, as clear, rich and ringing as that
of the purple finch. My first thought was that it was
the purple finch. And so very near! Looking up I
saw the little Orpheus in feathers, his bright crown
glowing in the sunlight; his throat swelling as the
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 91

sweet notes welled out in wild rhythm, while his whole
body vibrated in ecstasy at his own music. Instead of
appearing disturbed at my presence, he seemed to
understand that he was giving pleasure, for he poured
out song after song, all the time coming down on the
limbs, nearer and nearer, until I could have reached
him with my hand. On leaving I only regretted my
inability in some measure to reward the gifted minstrel
for the rare entertainment he had given, making, as it
did, the world brighter and better.

The Hudsonian sparrow (Junco hiemalis) arrived here
several days ago. Although few in number, they are
conspicuous by their rich color and peculiar markings.
The back is a dark slate, almost blue black, while the
lower part of the body, and also the bill, are nearly
white. The lateral quills in the tail are white, and show
in flight much like those of the grass finch. They gen-
erally make their appearance in the morning, coming
in small flocks during the night. They choose ravines,
thick copses, hedges, or other sheltered places, during
this weather, but those that do not go farther north
for the summer will soon separate in pairs to begin nest
building. Until recently these sparrows have not been
credited with remaining through the summer in any
considerable numbers as far south as this, but I have
found their nests in several different counties in Central
and Western New York, though generally in cooler,
damper regions. Here they often raise two broods in
a season, sometimes three. Their nests are placed on
the ground ,and are always models in form and finish,
22 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

and lined with fine hair or other soft material. These
nests much resemble those of the oven bird, except the
artificial covering, but they are always so placed in tus-
socks, or on the side of knolls or banks, as to make a
natural shelter that will completely hide from view the
sitting birds. They have somehow learned that their
conspicuous color makes this precaution necessary, while
the neutral or ground-colored sparrows nearly all nest
in open places, their resemblance to the surroundings
proving their natural safeguard.

The common song of the junco is merely a succession
of clear, tinkling notes like the rhythmic clinking of
pieces of silver. I have also occasionally heard it
indulge in a low warble, always pleasing, because unex-
pected. The Hudsonian sparrow has almost as many
local names as the “flicker.” Among them are “slate
sparrow,” from its color; “black chippy,” from its
chirping notes so similar to those of the chipping bird;
and “snow bird,” from its occasional appearance in
company with the snow-bunting in midwinter.

The latter part of March small flocks of cedar birds
(Ampelis cedrorum) put in a brief appearance. They
were evidently on a tour of inspection, “spying out the
land,” as they soon returned south to await milder days
and a better supply of food before settling for the sum-
mer. They are readily recognized by the tuft of crown
feathers or “top-not;” and also by the little scarlet
beads upon the wing feathers, resembling bits of red
sealing wax. They are hardly classed among the sing-
ing birds, but their presence adds a charm to the sur-
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 23

roundings. Elegant in form and graceful in motion,
with a plumage of soft, rich groundwork delicately
tinted with brighter hues, these birds well harmonize
with the fruits and flowers with which they are so often
associated, for, although usually insectivorous, they eat
more or less of ripe cherries, and also petals of blossoms,
especially those of the red maple and hawthorn. They
call attention“to their presence by a faint lisping note
unlike that of any other bird. They also indulge in a
little warble so low as seldom to be noticed, except by
the attentive ear. These pretty creatures are very gen-
tle and affectionate among themselves, going about in
little flocks and caressing and feeding one another like
the turtle doves. If one of a pair is caught the other

ill allow itself to be taken also, rather than leave its
imprisoned mate. These birds were formerly plentiful
and very tame, but, to a great extent, they have shared
the fate of so many others of bright plumage.

The present general discussion of this subject must
necessarily eventuate in wiser dealings with these
friends and better protection of them. Sensible women
are quite generally discarding these unbecoming deco-
rations. A change in public sentiment is apparent. A
conversation I recently overheard between two little
girls on the subject was a hopeful sign and worth
noting. A sweet-faced little nine-year-old girl, seeing
one of these ornaments on the hat of her companion,
asked her why she wore it. ‘“O! it is so pretty,” she
answered; “but,” said the first, “would it not be much
‘prettier alive, in a tree where it could sing?”
24 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Apriz 17.—Langille says: “Not many hours earlier
or later than April 7th we hear the vesper sparrow
(Poocetes gramineus), and almost at the same hour they
are here in great numbers; and throughout our latitude
the fields and pastures are everywhere enlivened by
their appearance.” My experience is that April weather
has much to do in determining the day of the arrival of
this species, as well as of many others. This year none
of them were here before the 11th, and then only in
limited numbers. Some years you may not hear onein
this vicinity before April 20th, while in other seasons
the latter part of March may bring them. A record in
my note-book for fifteen years gives the middle of April
as the average date. As remarked in a former paper,
the weather has much to do in hastening or delaying
the arrival of the earlier migrants, just as it has on the
opening of the first wild flowers. But early or late in
coming, the presence in any considerable numbers of
these delightful birds brings glad tidings and a promise,
not often broken, of real spring weather. They are not
like the song sparrows, cheerful amid snow and sleet,
singing with the weather at zero, but delight rather in
the genial days of spring and summer. In other char-
acteristics these two bear a close resemblance. They
are about the same size and shape, and much the same
general color. The vespers are a little lighter gray,
less rufus on the back, and not so strongly marked.
They have the distinguishing feature of two or three
white lateral tail quills, which show plainly when they
fly. They are less city birds in summer than the melo-
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 25

dia, but are more plentiful in grassy fields and along
country highways, where they are particularly musical
on warm, cloudy days and just at dusk. The songs of
the melodia and gramineus differ in continuity and
time; in other respects their similarity makes it diffi-
cult for many persons to distinguish the one from the
other. The theme of the song sparrow is broken, and
consists of from three to five bars or strains; that of
the vesper is continuous, the notes beginning slowly,
but rapidly accelerating in time until near the close,
when the song diminishes in volume, the last notes
becoming abnost inaudible. The vesper sparrows are
classed among the ecstatic singers, as they pour out the
notes in the same fervent manner as do the veeries and
quavering, or field sparrows. They are gregarious and
sociable even during’ the nesting season, several pairs
generally living in the same immediate neighborhood.
At twilight their concerts are a delightful feature of coun-
try life. One will sing his sweet, though somewhat
plaintive song, then another will take up the strain,
and perhaps another and another, until half a dozen or
more will be engaged in this vesper service, making
almost a continuous strain of melody. These sparrows,
unlike most of the family, usually nest in open places,
making a carefully constructed nest on the ground in a
little excavation without any cover or shelter. Perhaps
this is a cunning ruse to deceive the little animals that
go about nights probing around every tussock and
hillock in quest of eggs and young birds. We know
this clever bird, when scared from the nest, will run
26 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

very rapidly a few steps, and then fall and flutteyalong
as though wounded until she has drawn the intruder
from the nest, when she will suddenly arise and fly to
a safe retreat, uttering as she goes a complaining note
much like that of the song sparrow. I have found a
few of these nests in brush heaps, and also in low, thick
bushes. This sparrow is perhaps oftener known by the
name of grass finch or bay-winged bunting.

April 14th I heard both the white-throated sparrows
(Zonotrichia albicollis) and the white-crowned (Zono-
trichia leucophrys). It was a surprise, as these spar-
rows are seldom seen in this neighborhood before the
latter part of this month. During the spring and fall
migrations these beautiful species are abundant. In
spring they remain several days, singing very sweetly
in the sunny mornings. In their breeding haunts
farther north, they are said to sing in all’ kinds of
weather, but I have never heard them sing here except-
ing on the pleasantest days. Their songs’ are simple
but very pleasing. That of the white-throated consists
of six or seven clearly whistled notes, in quality resem-
bling those of the chicadee, but there are more of them
and of greater variety.

The song of the whitescrowned is peculiar. It begins
with a clear, though subdued whistle, and ends with
three or four detached, bell-like notes, unique but very
delightful. If in sight these sparrows are easily identi-
fied by their conspicuous markings. The leucophrys
has a white crown with black lines, the white meeting
at the nape of the neck, and the black at the base of the
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. QT

upper mandible. The albicollis has a black crown with
white lateral lines, the black meeting at the back of the
head, and the white in front. Both have white bars
across the wings. The albicollis has also a pure white
throat, with yellow on the edge of the wings, and also
bright yellow lines from the bill to the eye. The other
is without this brilliant yellow. These sparrows are
often found in company, both in the spring and fall
migrations.

Aprit 24.—Not another sound in nature is so clear
and joyous, so full of cheer and hearty greeting, as that
of the highhole or golden-winged woodpecker (Colaptes
auratus). The call is a musical “ha! ha! ha!” full of
laughter and good fellowship, a most friendly spring
greeting, in keeping with the pleasant April days in
which one will first hear it. These few hearty notes
are something like the resonant call notes which we
first hear from the robin, and if not singing, these
utterances are as sweet as a song, and should entitle the
bird to be classed with the oscines. A few days later,
when the preparations for housekeeping begin, these
birds have a more subdued laughter, just as joyous per-
haps, but less loud and boisterous. Sometimes two or
three couples of them will play “ hide and seek ” around
the branches or trunks of the trees, and say “yarrup,
-wake up; yarrup, wake up,” with a rapidity not easily
transcribed, indulging at the same time in much other
small talk understood only by themselves. Many times
I have lain under the trees watching their playful
28 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

maneuvers and listening to the delightful pleasantries,
feeling that man is not the only animal endowed with
conversational powers.

Not long since I spent half a forenoon watching the
’ interesting performance of one of these most royal of
birds on the chapel by Scajaquada Creek. He was
on the iron-covered chimney, and hammering away on
the sheet iron. He would stop a minute and listen for
a response, then call loudly in his clear, mellow voice,
and hammer away again on his fine sounding board.
He knew he had. “a good thing,” and he kept posses-
sion of it most the forenoon. When I approached too
near he would get bebind the chimney and “ wake up,
wake up” to let me know he was not asleep. Some-
times these “golden wings” will find an old tin pan in
a pasture to hammer upon.

We have few more useful, interesting and beautiful
birds than these, which, although classed with the
woodpeckers, have few of the characteristics of that
family. They associate principally with the robins,
and pass less time in the trees than on the ground,
where they obtain most of their food, which to a large
extent consists of ants and their eggs. Although nat-
urally tame and confiding, they are very sagacious, and
have learned to put themselves on the opposite side of
the trunk or branches of the trees when menaced with
the guns of sportsmen. The highholes are about a foot
in length, with a plumage rich and brilliant. The back
and upper sides of their wings are a dark umber trans-
versely streaked with black. The under parts of the
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 29

body are white and pale yellow, with black, heart-
shaped spots. A broad collar of jet black separates the
throat and breast, while a crimson crescent ornaments
the back of the head, and-reaches to the eye. The
under sides of the wings and tail and-also all the quill
shafts are a bright golden yellow.

For nesting places they generally select a dry stub or
the decayed top of a live tree, chisel out a circular hole
a few inches horizontally, and then work downward a
foot or more, excavating a cavity large enough at the
bottom to contain the brood of five or six young birds ;
six is the usual number. The nest is placed from five
to fifty feet from the ground, according to convenience.
I have seen them in stumps and also in the boles of
apple trees within reach of the hand. I remember a
large beech that stood just on the edge of my father’s
woods. The tree had limbs nearly all the way up its
trunk. A few feet from the top was dead, and in this
decayed part, just under the node of a broken limb,
and at least fifty feet from the ground, a pair of high-
holes excavated a nest which they used for four consec-
utive years. I say the same pair, for I easily recognized
both of the birds, and used to watch with much interest
for their annual return. Probably every day during
the four years from the time the first egg was deposited
till the young birds flew away, I climbed to the
nest to examine the state of affairs and see how the
family was getting along. The old birds, shy at first,
became accustomed to my daily visits, and soon showed
very little concern about my presence, and both would
30 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

come and feed the young while I was standing on a
limb but a few feet below them. The two alternated
in excavating the place for the nest, and both assisted
in clearing it out each spring. All chips and refuse
were carried away, that they might not betray the
neighborhood of the nest. The male often brought
food to his mate, although he took his place on the
nest when she was away. The whole family, old and
young, remained in the neighborhood and in company,
and at the fall migration went south together. The
fourth summer, just before the young birds were able
to fly, a boy in the neighborhood shot one of the old
ones, and the other continued the care of the brood.
The tree was never again occupied as a nesting place.
I have long been satisfied that several species of our
song birds not only mated for the season, but for life.
Such was certainly the case with this pair. Dr. C. C.
Abbott, in a late charming book, “ Waste Land
Wanderings,” devotes several pages to this interesting
subject, being convinced from long and careful observa-
tion that many birds remain mated as long as both
live.

Another interesting summer resident in this region
is the Savanna sparrow (Passerculus Savanna). They
make their appearance in this latitude about the middle
of April and remain until October. These sparrows
are not so plentiful nor so generally distributed as the
song or vesper sparrows, but, like certain plants, they
seem to have their favorite localities to which they are
much attached. There are whole townships in which

‘
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 31

you may not find one, while other neighborhoods
abound with them. They seem to prefer stretches of
level country, especially newly seeded meadows. They
are plentiful on Buffalo Plains and at the Driving Park,
and one frequently hears them along Chapin and Bid-
well Parkways. The song is something like that of
the song sparrow, and may easily be mistaken for a
poor effort of this species. The time and divisions of
the strains are similar, but the quality of the tone is
entirely different, the notes of the one being clear and
liquid, while those of the other are thin, stridulous and
insect like. If you mistake it for that of the song
sparrow it will prove disappointing, and you will think
it a young bird, or one having a cold. Many people
call all the sparrows “ ground birds,” just as they call
all the little wood flowers “violets.” This term would
be appropriate for the Savanna, for it is pre-eminently a
ground bird, as it feeds and nests on the ground, and
remains most of the time in the grass. It seldom
alights on a tree, never, as far as I have observed,
amid the green foliage, but sings on the ground or from
its low perch on the fence, or on a stone heap. While
driving along Bidwell Parkway one day last week I
had an excellent opportunity of comparing the songs
of several species of sparrows, as the vespers, Hudson-
ians, Savannas and song sparrows were singing and in
hearing at the same time. The gramineus, four or five
in number, in the elms by the roadside, were the more
conspicuous, each one in turn taking a solo as another
finished. Two or three melodias sang the interlude,
82 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

while the Savannas, like tinkling cymbals, and the
Hudsonians, the triangles, made the accompaniment.

May 1.—The purple finches, or American linnets
(Carpodacus purpureus), are somewhat irregular in their
spring migrations. A few usually put in an appear-
ance early in March, but most of them come several
weeks later. Before the leaves start, or the early trees
blossom, they are just as irregular in their habits of
singing. There are few birds endowed with greater
musical capabilities than the linnets; yet, like other
eminent artists, their singing is often variable and capri-
cious. There is something very queer and interesting
about their varied musical performances. Hidden in
the leafy branches of the trees by the roadside, or near
dwellings, their low warbles are as sweet and peaceful
as those of the warbling vireos, which they much
resemble; but, perched conspicuously on the topmost
twig of a tree, they indulge in a much more ambitious
carol, louder and of several bars. The two songs are so
entirely different in theme and execution that one not well
acquainted with their songs might easily believe them
to emanate from birds of different species. Sometimes
one will chant the song for an hour without moving
from his perch. On the wing, and especially at mating
time, these birds have a still finer song, more brilliant,
vehement and rapturous. I remember one of these
remarkable performances, and at its best. I heard the
two or three call notes of the finches, and immediately
two birds flew from a tree near which I was standing,
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 33

both in fullsong. Their flight was at first downward and
very rapid, but when within a few feet of the earth
they began to ascend, first one above, then the other,
up, Up, as we may suppose the skylarks mount, all the
time singing so loud and with such vehement fervor
that the whole field seemed filled with melody. It was
a trial of flight as well as of song; of speed and physi-
cal endurance as well as of musical capabilities. The
cause was soon manifest. A female sat demurely in the
tree from which the others flew, evidently the prize for
which so glorious a contest was carried on. When the
two rivals came again in sight she joined them, and the
three flew to another part of the field. The result to
me was unknown, but the contest of flight and of song—
how much better weapons than pistols or slander or
gold! I am satisfied that in singing these different
themes the birds have a particular object in view, for
birds as well as men are actuated by motive. Those
mentioned first, the quiet warblings, are not to attract
attention, but for the singer’s own gratification. The
second, one judges from the conspicuous position of the
birds, are given to attract others of the family, probably
in most cases the females, while the songs uttered on
the wing are generally the contests of rivals.

The male purple finch in full plumage is very attract-
ive in appearance, having much crimson on the head,
shoulders and throat, and considerable paler red on dif-
ferent parts of the body. Burroughs says: “It looks
as though it had been dipped in cokeberry juice,” but
the color is too light for that and not uniformly enough
34 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

distributed. The amount of red and the shades of it
differ greatly in different individuals, but in none is it
purple, as the name would indicate. Stearns says this
name was erroneously applied from the faulty coloring
of some early plates, but it would seem that one ought
never to name a bird without knowing personally at
least its physical characteristics. The young males,
the first year, and sometimes the second, lack the bright
markings, and are plainly clad, like the females. If not
singing they may easily be mistaken for sparrows,
which they considerably resemble both in color and
manner of flight.

The linnets are quite irregularly distributed, being
plentiful in some neighborhoods, when there are few or
none in others adjoining. Evergreens and certain fruit
trees very likely have something to do with this unequal
distribution, as they are partial to spruce, balsam and
pine for nesting and hiding places, while the pear,
cherry and hawthorn provide both vegetable and insect
food. The linnets are fond of the pistils and stamens
of the elms; and they undoubtedly eat some of the buds
and flower organs of the fruit trees, thereby incurring
the enmity of many farmers, who wage an extermi-
nating war upon them. If the truth could be known it
would be found that they never thin out the flowers
sufficiently to cause the loss of any considerable quan-
tity of fruit, and that for every quart destroyed they
make it possible for ten times that number of bushels to
grow. So little do we appreciate the services of our
friends! Last summer I visited a fruit grower whose
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 35

boys were shooting the warbling vireos, supposing them
to be purple finches from the resemblance of their sing-
ing. I trust my explanations saved the remaining
vireos, and to some extent lessened in the boys’ estima-
tion the imaginary offenses of the finches.

The arrival of the vivacious American gold finches is
welcomed by all who like bright color and cheerful
voices. Though loaded down with scientific names, the
latest, (Spinus tristis), they remain the same sunny
optimists, accepting life as a boon and not a burden.
Their cheerfulness is contagious and their presence
seems to light up the surroundings like the sunshine.
They are gems in color and proportion. Their motions
are peculiarly graceful, and whether in their undulatory
billowy flight, or hanging head downward from the
feathery top of a pasture thistle, every movement is the
very “poetry of motion.”

The other day while walking in the edge of a woods
in search of the hepatica, I suddenly became conscious
that a whirlwind of bright feathers and happy voices
was over my head in the branches of a spreading maple.
The tree had suddenly become alive with a chattering,
musical foliage, more brilliant than the colored leaves
that dropped from it last autumn. It was like the
“talking oaks of Dodona.” A flock of at least fifty
gold finches were taking possession of it, and a livelier,
merrier, noisier tree-top one never saw. They were
moving from branch to branch, continually changing
places like the colors in a kaleidoscope, and singing,
talking or calling at the same time. The tumult was
36 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

like that of a hundred little wicker cages of canaries
suddenly uncovered by a bird fancier. Where did they
come from? Ten minutes before none were there.
‘Ten minutes later they were gone again. They were
the first that I had seen this spring, and the few
minutes that I watched them seemed to jump the cal-
endar from April to the middle of summer. This
habit of congregational singing seems to belong partic-
ularly to the gold finches. None of the other oscines
indulge in it to any extent. The concert of the .black-
birds is merely a recital.

The yellow birds generally remain in flocks until
near the middle of summer, when they separate in pairs
to begin nesting. Then a “new song is put into their
mouths.” The solos commence, and are entirely differ-
ent from the choruses of the early season. After this
time, one associates them with the purple thistles of
the pastures, the silky pods of the milkweeds by the
country roads, and the waving fields of flax with blue
blossoms and shining seed bolls.

The gold finches follow civilization, and are found
sparingly in newly settled parts of the country, and
not beyond the frontier.

With the exceptions of the cedar birds they are the
latest in the season to nest, seldom beginning till
July, when the leaves are thickest. Building materials
are then more plentiful, and the soft, milky seeds,
most suitable for the young, are more easily obtained.
Last year at Portage I found a brood of half-fledged
birds the 20th day of September. In the city,
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 37

probably a majority of the empty nests, disclosed
by the falling of the leaves in autumn, are those
of the gold finches. These are more frequently in
the smaller maples, and are fastened in the forks of
slender branches.

We have few handsomer birds; the male is lemon
color on the upper part of the body, a little paler
benéath ; the crown is jet black; the wings and tail
are also nearly black, the former streaked, and the lat-
ter spotted with white. The female lacks the bright
yellow, but is olive green, with many markings. One
peculiarity of the gold finches is the undulating flight
in long graceful curves; at each rise of which they
utter a few soft musical notes like “we teeter, we teeter.”
They have a great variety of songs, none brilliant, but
all sweet and pleasing. They have also many calls or
conversational notes, much like those of the canaries,
which in many respects they resemble.

Until millions of these innocent creatures fell a prey
to the murdering plumage gatherers, they were very
tame and confiding, and showed little fear of man. I
have picked many a one from the head of a thistle or
sunflower while it was eating the seeds, and after a
minute or two when [ let it go, it seldom showed itself
much disturbed by such transient captivity. On one
occasion the little creature immediately returned to the
sunflower, when I captured it a second time.

Close to the house stood a small black cherry tree.
Three years in succession a pair of these birds nested
in it. Z am confident it was the same pair—at least
388 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

the same female—as she showed so little fear at the
frequent visits I made to the nest each year. It was
necessary to bend the tree considerably in order to see
into the nest. After the first summer the sitting bird
would seldom fly off until the tree was bent so far that
she was afraid of sliding off the nest. Sometimes she
would not then move, but would look at me out of her
fearless eyes, as much as to say, “You dare not upset
me and spill us all out; my house is not on exhibition
to-day, you will have to come another time.” Of course
I did as I understood her to command, and left her
mistress of the situation.

Although late comers in the spring, the vireos, or
greenlets, are great favorites of all lovers of the birds.
Of the five or six species found in the State only two,
the red eyed and warbling, are abundant in this local-
ity. The red eyed vireo (Vireo olwaceous) is classed
among the true sylvias or forest birds, but he is oftener
found near clearings, and is becoming quite a summer
resident in the cities, especially the sections abounding
in large trees. He is a persistent singer, but sings most
in the middle of hot days, when other birds are com-
paratively silent. He has a variety of songs,—or notes
rather,—as they are much detached, all uttered leisurely,
and many of them with the rising inflection, as though
questioning his auditory. Not a great musician, yet
his cheerful voice ringing its many changes on the few
rather sharp notes makes him a cheerful companion,
singing and talking and feeding among the leaves of
the tree above one. Samuels enthusiastically writes of
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 39

him: “Of all my feathered acquaintances this is my
favorite. I always loved it, and I can never look upon
one after it is killed without a sad feeling, as if it were
one of my own dear friends dead before me.” The nests
of all the vireos are exquisitely fashioned, pensile, but
not swinging.

The warbling vireos ( Vireo gilvus) are common in the
city in summer, and are most excellent singers; still,
perhaps, they are less known by people in general than
most any other summer resident. They are small and
inconspicuous in color, and their low, sweet voices do
not catch the unlistening ear. They arrive with the
thrushes in May, and distribute themselves freely in
cities and villages, where they find abundant food in
larvee and small insects on leaves of the shade trees. Of
all our city birds, the songs of the warbling vireos yield
me the purest and most exquisite pleasure. They mean
peace and joy and glad tidings. However worried with
business cares, or disturbed in other relations, I am
immediately put on good terms with surroundings by
this little optimist with the voice of an angel. That
soft, peaceful warble overhead among the green
branches, floating down in waves of melody, makes the
earth purer and brighter, and lifts the heart into the
regions of sunlight, awakening in the mind the kind-
est thoughts towards all creatures. Thoreau caught
the inspiration of the song and wrote:

“*Upon the lofty elm tree sprays

The vireo sings the changes sweet
During the sultry summer days,

Lifting men’s thoughts above the street.”
40 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Coues, generally only technical in his description of
the oscines, is impelled tv unbend in his treatment of
this minstrel, and says: “Not another bird can rival
the tenderness and softness of the liquid strains of this
modest vocalist. Not born to ‘waste its sweetness on
the desert air, the warbling vireo forsakes the depths
of the woodland for the parks and orchards and shady
streets, where it glides through the foliage of the tallest
trees, the unseen messenger of rest and peace to the
busy, dusty haunts of men.”

The lengthened days of May bring back those match-
less singers, the wood thrush and veery. Though late
in their spring arrival, their seasons of song are longer
than many that come earlier, often extending till late
into August.

The wood thrushes (Zurdus mustelinus) are quite
generally distributed throughout the States, and are
everywhere recognized as among the best of our wood-
land choristers. Probably no other sound quite equals
in sweetness and purity of tone the best notes of this
bird. If he only would combine the notes and strains
into a theme or continuous song, like that of the ves-
per sparrow or bobolink, the music would surpass that
of any other living creature. The notes are detached
and the strains broken, and often preluded and inter-
luded with guttural clucks like those of the redwing.
We know him at his best at a distance, as we then get
only the pure tones that have made him such a favorite.
One charm of his singing is his habit of warbling the
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 41

bars in different keys. Longfellow must have had in
his mind the wood thrush:

«Whose household words are sung in many keys,
Sweeter than instruments of man’s ere caught;
Whose habitation in the tree-tops even

Are half-way houses on the road to Heaven.”

The wood thrush, artist that he is, is partial to
the upland groves and wooded hillsides. He also seems
to love best forests in which beech and maple predom-
inate. He is occasionally heard in the city, but at such
times the voice is generally a surprise; it comes to the
ear unexpectedly, and the listener is at a loss to place
the singer. It is like meeting an old acquaintance
whose face one knows so well, but for the instant can-
not place. Then follows the delight at the recognition.
A year ago I heard one sing on Niagara Square,
in the heart of the city. It was in a spreading elm
opposite the “Fillmore House.” As I stopped to listen,
several other pedestrians came along and halted, also to
hear or get a sight of the stranger. This bird of gentle
breeding seemed in no way abashed at the sight of the
increased audience, and continued to sing until the
barking of a dog under the tree disturbed him. One
astonished and delighted listener asked me if “it was
really a nightingale.” I remember another surprise
that haunted my mind pleasantly for days after. Early
one morning, while sitting on the wall beside the wind-
ing and picturesque road that connects Cliff Avenue
with the wooded portion of Forest Lawn, I was startled
by the gurgling trill, then the clear “chil-a-dee-de,”
42 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

of a wood thrush just over my head. This was followed
by nearly the same syllables, fuller and on a lower key.
The song was immediately taken up by another thrush
across the creek, and still a third further north, but in
the Lawn. It was a glorious concert and in harmony
with the peaceful surroundings. But how came these
birds to be in this Lawn so far away from any extended
woods, and three of them together? Had they selected
that soft June day for an excursion? There would
seem to have been method in the arrangement, as sel-
dom more than one is heard singing in so open a place,
and so far from any considerable piece of woods.

The veeries (Zurdus fucescens) are not so equally-dis-
tributed as the wood thrushes. They are more retiring,
and seek low, rather than the high, wooded lands, prob-
ably because insects are more plentiful in such localities.
Unlike others of the family, they are somewhat grega-
rious in their summer haunts. You will seldom find
them singly, or even in pairs, but if there be one, several
will be in the same locality.

The song of one is nearly always taken up by another
in the neighborhood, and sometimes a dozen or more
will join in the concert—not in chorus, but each waiting
till the other has finished before beginning his solo.
The song of the veery, or Wilson’s thrush, although
lacking the pure, flute-like notes of the wood thrush, is
a continuous strain, fervid, ecstatic, very sweet, and of
great power. There is a touch of wild weirdness not
heard in any other strain. These few vibrating reed-
like notes are repeated, and sometimes seemingly rolled
SPRING ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 43

over one another in such a manner as to make the song
far-reaching and very effective. No other sound so
hallows the woods, and places where I find these artists
congregated, if within reach, I visit again and again.

It seems curious that a bird voice will sometimes fill
so large a place in the memory, to the exclusion of
other things that would appear to be much more prom-
inent. In a carriage journey of several hundred miles,
no other places or events were so stamped on my mind
as two pieces of woodland, in which the veeries were
abundant and unusually tuneful. On the return. we
went many miles out of our way to stay one night in
the vicinity to hear their morning and evening songs.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, in speaking of the objects of
interest enjoyed at Windsor Castle, says that none
others so stirred his heart with pleasurable emotions as
the hawthorn trees in blossom, and the notes of an
English cuckoo in the Park. “Of all I saw and heard
there, the two notes of the cuckoo will survive all other
memories.”

The bobolinks (Dolichonyx oryzworus) make their
appearance in this latitude early in May, some of them
even in April, but these earlier comers show by their
disconsolate manner that their surroundings are not yet
congenial. They are summer birds and need their nat-
ural accessories, meadows of waving timothy, and green
pastures flecked with the gold of buttercups. A coun-
try meadow without this cheerful, conspicuous singer
in buff and black, would be like the big, brown country
barn without its twittering swallow about its eaves and
44. HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

gables, lacking its’greatest charm and most fitting
adornment. In the northern States the bobolink fills
the place that the skylark does in Europe. Their songs
considerably resemble each other; both are ecstatic
singers, and both sing poised on the wing. The bobo-
link, however,sings also at rest, and never mounts to such
heights in the air as the lark does. He sometimes starts
the song while in flight, and finishes it from a perch on
a bush or tree. Always nervous and active, and never
quiet but for a minute at a time, he seems to get equal
enjoyment in flight and in song. The bobolinks are
pre-eminently birds of the open country, yet one need
not necessarily go beyond the city to find them. They
appear occasionally in the Park Meadow, where they
and the meadow larks might become plentiful if it were
not for the early mowing of the grass, which prevents
their nesting in the meadow. But any pleasant day
from May till August you can hear them singing in the
fields just north of Jewett Avenue, where their presence
still preserves a pastoral appearance to that delightful
suburb. Several pairs nested in the vicinity last sum-
mer. My only regret at seeing those pretty houses
multiply so rapidly in that inviting section is the
thought that each new house will diminish the number
of singers in those delightful afternoon concerts which
Iso frequently attend.
A DAY'S OUTING IN
SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS.
Here, underneath the snow, a flower
Is waiting for an April hour

To come, with blithe and balmy breeze
And blow the spring across the leas
A robin’s song, or bubbling note

Of music from a bluebird’s throat,
Will bid it put its dreams away,
And say good morning to the May.

We need not see the flower to know
What time Arbutus blossoms blow ;
For every wind that wanders here

Will tell the tidings far and near ;

A breath of fragrance, like a thought
That haunts you, but will not be caught
In words that fit the subject weil ;

Who shall describe the subtle spell ;

The pink Arbutus blossoms bring,

To weave about the world in spring ?

Esen E. REXFORD.
A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS.

If in any year I let April and May go by without
taking a day’s outing, in search of the trailing arbutus
(Epigea repens), it is ever after a cause of regret. This
characteristic New England plant, known better by the
name the pilgrims gave it, Mayflower, is found in abund-
ance at Olean, Portville and Salamanca, and sparingly
at North Collins and Portage. To enjoy the flower
most, one need not get it in large quantities. A few
sprigs. gathered in its natural habitat are better than
bushels bought at the market. It seems as much out
of place in a flower store or greenhouse as a wood-
thrush in an aviary or in the den of a bird fancier.
Both need the accessories of their wild surroundings.
By selecting Portage as the field to be explored, one
was sure to renew the acquaintance of many of the rarer
and more interesting birds. The day chosen was a per-
fect one. A warm shower the night before had laid the
dust and freshened the grass, which seemed a brighter
green by being dotted by so many golden dandelions
wide open to the sun. The buds on the earlier trees
were just bursting into leaf, and were of such various
shades that the different kinds of trees could easily be
distinguished. Cherry and shad trees were already
48 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

arrayed in white, and contrasted pleasantly with the
moose-wood and spice bushes, with their jackets of yel-
low. As the cars went by the patches of woods, the
trilliums showed their white cups, and the erythroniums
nodded gracefully amid their spotted leaves. Thrifty
bunches of cowslips, or marsh marigolds, in the wet
meadows were crowned with shining yellow blossoms,
and women were picking the bitter but palatable leaves
for greens. Nearing Portage, one could readily see the
effects of the greater altitude in the more backward
foliage, especially that of the oaks. The cars had
hardly left the station at Portage, when a pair of blue
birds on the telegraph . wires caroled a pleasant song.
A Hudsonian sparrow in a lilac bush tinkled his silvery
bell, while the mate sharply chirped her dissatisfaction
at something going on wrong about them. The chirp-
ing of these birds is quite different from that of other
sparrows, and reveals their presence oftener than their
songs. I have found several of their nests in this
neighborhood. The English sparrows have taken pos-
session of the evergreens in front of the hotel, and
driven out the purple finches that for several years past
have nested in the balsams. The finches, however, are
_in the groves back of the house, and were merrily sing-
ing during most of the day. The red-eyed vireos,
cheerful and loud, were talking to one another in the
tree-tops, and one listening to their half questioning,
half expostulatory musical discourse, could readily
understand why Wilson Flagg called them the “ Little
Preachers.” The softer, sweeter voices of the warbling
A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS. 49
%.

vireos were mingling with these louder strains. It was
the first time I had heard them this spring, though
every day since, I have heard their cheerful songs in
the elms along the city streets. In the upper Letch-
worth woods I occasionally hear the strange call of the
white-eyed vireo. This call consists of three notes
something like “it is queer,” the last syllable strongly
accented and much prolonged. The scarlet tanagers,
that for several seasons past, by their beauty and sweet
songs, have added such a charm to the surroundings,
failed to come again this year. Probably some misera-
ble taxidermist could tell, if he would, the cause of
their detention. The grove back of the hotel had been
explored by earlier arbutus gatherers, who had already
picked and pulled up too much of these now rapidly
disappearing plants. The lavish waste was apparent
by the number of vines and half withered flowers
scattered about in the track of the wasteful and
thoughtless botanists. But I remembered some wild
secluded nooks across the river unknown to most excur-
sionists, where I was sure to find without difficulty all
that I wished. Soon after dinner these retired nooks
among the hemlocks and undergrowth of chestnuts were
reached, and the sought treasures greeted us on every
side, beautiful blossoms loading the air with a delicious
fragrance, pleasing alike the senses of smell and sight.

The arbutus is inimitably sweet, having a wild,
woodsy fragrance, aromatic and spicy, strongest of
birch and wintergreen, and suggestive of other more
delicate odors not easily analyzed.
50 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

“A breath of fragrance like a thought
That haunts you, but will not be caught.”

Nothing can be prettier than the blossoms, some of
which are bright pink, some nearly pure white, while
others are as delicately tinted as a sea shell. The
flowers are in axillary clusters. In some the stamens
extend beyond the pistils, and in others the pistil pro-
trudes farthest. Probably this arrangement is to assist
the insects in cross fertilization. The bumble-bees
seem partial to the arbutus, and on some knolls where
the blossoms were most abundant these bees were so
thick and noisy that my little daughter, who was with
me, did not dare to pick the flowers. The stems and
shining leaves, formed last summer, and the latter,
green all winter under the snow, took in as they grew
a food supply for their early blossoms, making it unnec-
essary for them to wait so long in the spring for the
elements of earth and air to be converted into flower
organs. The hepaticas have this same ingenious device
for putting forth so early their attractive blossoms.

Near the clearing in the upper woods we came across
a sandy knoll, the sunny side of which for a space of
several yards was completely covered with the thrifty
vines, all pink and white, and wonderfully sweet. The
place had not been visited this spring, as the dry leaves,
beneath which many a bright cluster lay hidden, had
not been disturbed. The little girl was wild with
delight as treasure after treasure was revealed by the
removal of the leaves, and I confess my sympathy with
her when she knelt down and kissed them in their fra-
A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS. 51

grant bed and called them the “ dear, blessed fairies of
the woods.” It was a sight to touch older hearts, and
perhaps with a deeper feeling. I recalled the beautiful
lines of the poet:

“We'll brush the last year’s leaves aside,
And find where the shy blossoms hide,
And talk with them. We need no words
To tell our thoughts in. Winds and birds
And flowers, and those who love them, find
A language nature has designed

For such companionship. And they

Will tell us, each in its own way,

Things sweet and strange—new, and yet old
As earth itself, and yearly told.

But there are men who have grown gray
Among them, and have never heard

The voice of any flowers, and they

Laugh at men’s friendship with a bird.
But we know better, you and I,

Dear little flower, beneath the snow :

Let these most foolish wise men try—

And fail—to prove it is not so.”

No other objects in inanimate nature touch so many
hearts tenderly, like the actual presence of dear friends,
as flowers. Not children alone, but men and women
often look upon them as endowed with attributes not
possessed by other inanimate objects. It does not seem
out of place to talk to them any more than to talk to
young children. A favorite flower found wild in a
strange land drives away home-sickness and, like the
song of a familiar bird, gives a feeling of-companion-
ship and content. The old nature-loving Greeks were
not so far out of their reckoning when they endowed
trees and flowers with attributes akin to those of men.
52 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Wordsworth says, “It is my faith that every flower
which blows enjoys the air it breathes.” Some late
writers go farther, and have written books about the
“Sagacity and Morality of Plants and Flowers.”
Besides the arbutus, there were in blossom the blue,
yellow and white violets,—the last small but quite fra-
grant,— trilliums, erythroniums, dentarias, dicentras,
cardamines, wild ginger, aralia-trifolia, hepaticas and
anemones. Here the hepaticas are all trilobas, instead
of acuti lobas, as they are in the neighborhood of Buf-
falo. Many of them were very blue, and possessed an
agreeable odor. One of the prettiest little blossoms
found was the hen and chickens (Anemone thalictroides),
as Gray calls it from the flower, and (Zhalictrum ane-
monoides), named by Wood from its thalictrum-like
leaf. It is called “hen and chickens,” as it has a hand-
some white flower in the center, surrounded by several
smaller ones which blossom later than the one in the
center. Those acquainted with this region know how
rich and varied are its flora and fauna. Later will
come azaleas, pyrolas, sweet-scented crab, several species
of wintergreen, including the beautiful flowering one
with purple fringe, Mitchella, Clintonias, orchids, lady’s
slippers, fringed gentian, and many others. The rare
and interesting birds are equally numerous. Within
the radius of a hundred yards I have found the nests
of six different species of thrushes. Among the war-
blers here at present I noted the Blackburnian, black-
throated green, black and yellow, yellow rumped, bay
winged, chestnut sided, Canada and summer warblers.
A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS. 53

At the upper end of the ravine whose banks we had
been exploring, I stooped down to scrape away the dry
leaves that covered a patch of Mitchella repens. A
small olive backed bird fluttered almost from beneath
my hand, and half running, half flying, but apparently
badly hurt, succeeded in making me attempt to pick her
up. When I had followed a few yards, she took wing
and glided gracefully away. I then knew what I
should have known at first, that the cunning bird was
tollmg me away from her nest. I went back and
examined very carefully the place from which she had
first appeared, but could find nothing. Marking the
spot by tying together some twigs of a hemlock that
overhung the place, I went away long enough for her
to return. Approaching the place very cautiously, and
keeping my eyes on the patch of Mitchella, I was within
a step of the spot, when out again fluttered the bird
with the same cunning tactics, this time, however,
unsuccessful. I had no difficulty now in finding the
nest, which was not only well hidden by some moss on
a projecting root, but was dome-shaped and completely
covered, with only an opening at the side large enough
for the bird to enter and leave. It was the nest of the
oven bird or golden-crowned thrush (Seiwrus awrocapil-
dus), and contained five very pretty eggs, with ground-
work almost white and spotted with brown. The nest
and eggs closely resemble those of the Hudsonian spar-
row. The mate for some time had been singing near
by, and his loud military song, “I see, I see, I see,” had
evidently been intended to prevent me from seeing
54 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

what he and his mate had so prettily hidden. The bird
was soon on her nest again, and I left her with sincere
wishes for the safety of herself and her embryo-family.
When not covered, the nest of the oven bird is often
selected by the cow bunting in which to get its own
little black brat incubated. The oven birds, like the
summer warblers, are becoming wise in this matter, and
many of them—not all—now roof over the nest, leav-
ing the opening too small for the impostors to enter.

In getting over a fence that separated the woods
from a pasture lot, I was thrown to the ground by the
breaking of a rail. A whirr of wings and a brown
bird went with a complaining whistle into the deeper
woods. The flutter of her wings fanned my face, so
near were we together. It was a partridge that had
kept her place until I was nearly upon her, and, as I
expected, she had been scared from her nest by the
accident. At the root of a large beech by the fence
was the uncovered nest with sixteen beautiful, speckled
eggs. It was a sight to thrill with pleasure the heart
of one athirst for the wild in nature, and the effects of
the mishap were at once forgotten in the enjoyment of
the pretty picture. The hurried leave-taking of the
mistress of these treasures had scattered the leaves and
feathers about and over the eggs, and in sympathy for
her in the disturbance, I hurridly left the place that
she might soon return. Several times during the day I
had heard the drumming of the male from a thicket of
bushes and young saplings near by, and before leaving
the woods I visited the old mossy log that had been the
A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS. 55

drumming place of partridges for several consecutive
years. I was just in time to see the performer walk
across a path a few feet from the log, and soon I heard
his wings as he flew to another part of the woods.
The drummer is a wary bird at these times, and one
seldom gets a sight of him at his performance. No
other sound in nature, except, perhaps, the honking.of
wild geese as they fly northward or southward in their
wedge-shaped flocks, so thrills me as the drumming of
the partridge; the sensations produced are undefinable,
as the cause is unexplainable. Association may have
much to do with it, as in these later years the sound
always carries my thoughts back to the maple
woods of the old homestead on the hillside, when this
was the sweetest music that cheered the boys at their
toilsome but wholesome sugar-making. Then I knew
every drumming log for miles around, and every spring
I kept watch and ward of at least a half dozen nests
of these attractive birds.

Who that loves nature can help loving the partridge ?
not in the pot, but in the woods. It is such a hand-
some bird, hardy and innocent, and as Thoreau says,
“like a russet link extending over from autumn to
spring, preserving unbroken the choir of summer.” If
left unmolested for a few years what an added charm they
would give to all the woods. They are not in any way
trespassers on man’s products. Why not let them alone
in their forest retreats that ought to be sacred to them ?
I remember a brood that I had watched with boyish
pride all summer; I had found the nest when there
56 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

were but two eggs in it. Several times I had caught
some of the little birds—there were nearly twenty,
counting the old ones. I thought what a woods full of
partridges we should have the next year, but in the fall,
after the leaves fell, two pot hunters, with guns and
bird dogs, visited the place, and before leaving they
killed the entire brood of these pretty creatures.
Every man who loves the fields and woods ought
earnestly to protest against a further slaughter of
grouse and quail in our nearly cleared country. -

Another favorite locality was yet to be explored.
On the west Ride of this enchanted woods, a shaded
highway separates it from a meadow. For some cause
the arbutus still clings to this frontier. Here we found
many patches of it in bud and blossom, and with it
quantities of Gaultheria and Mitchella, with their shin-
ing green leaves decorated with red berries. Flowers
and berries were all uncovered, and in plain sight of
any who might pass by. It seemed a little curious that
they had not been disturbed, but it is fortunate for
some of us that travelers do not always see the most
attractive objects along the way. Perhaps those who
have been along this road were actuated by the same
feelings that caused us to leave most of these pretty
flowers to sweeten the air about them. A pair of
brown thrashers came skulking across the road, and
perching on an old stump fence opposite, began scold-
ing in tones so much resembling those of the tree toads.
They will not sing until some days later, when the trees
are in fuller leaf.
A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS. 57

While we were resting on a steep, mossy bank near
the highway and railroad crossing, a Hudsonian spar-
row appeared much disturbed at our prolonged stay,
and chirped in that sharp tone peculiar to this sparrow.
These birds were very plentiful near the home of my
boyhood, and I knew well their “tricks and their
manners,” so I began at once to search for the cause of
the disturbance. The female soon flew up from her
nest in the side of the bank on which we had been sit-
ting. The four eggs, beautiful as pearls, with pure
white groundwork thickly dotted with brown, were
rounder than the eggs of other sparrows. The nests,
too, excel in workmanship and material those of any
others of the genus. This nest was deep, and thickly
lined with the softest of materials—a gem of architect-
ure. A flat stone half a foot square, and held in place
by an oak root, projected over the entrance to the nest,
forming a perfect veranda, and completely shielding it
from rain and shine. Fortunate, indeed, the little birds
to be cradled in such a “lap of luxury!” These slate-
colored juncos are conspicuous by their many white quills
and feathers, and by their flesh-colored feet and bills.

The lengthened shadows reminded us that there were
other haunts of old acquaintances nearer the hotel yet
to be visited. Among them were two pairs of phebes
that have nested in the hotel barn for several years
past. They have been intimate acquaintances, and I
have watched them many a day from a seat in the
spacious and pleasant old barn. None of them had yet
returned. Last summer a young man, to show his cun-
58 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

ning in the use of a whip, struck one of these birds,
when it came in to feed the young, and killed it. The
other three continued the care of the two broods of
young birds until they were able to take care of them-
selves; but they may have taken warning by such a
brutal breach of confidence and concluded to go else-
where hereafter. They will have at least one old friend
who will continue to look for their return, and take note
of the outcome.

Last year a pair of chipping birds had a nest in the
woodbine on the piazza, the east side of the hotel. It
had been a pleasure to sit under the vine and watch
the old birds feed the young. I had been with them
so much that they paid little more attention to my
presence than they did to the old apple tree that stood
so near them. I could hardly expect them again this
year, as the perils of migration prevent the return of
the larger half of the birds that went south in the fall;
but on going to look, I found them building a nest in
the same place that they used last year. I think they
recognized me as an old acquaintance, for they came
with material and arranged it several times while I
stood close by watching them.

The woodbine on the veranda of the summer cottage,
not yet occupied, contained two robins’ nests, one with
three and the other four eggs. Nothing is prettier than
these bluish green eggs with their future possibilities.
One would be glad to know that they will remain
unmolested until the metamorphosis that will make
glad the heart of the mother birds.
A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS. 59

Just before dusk I was much interested in the sing-
ing of a wood thrush. It was in the edge of the woods
back of the hotel. The gurgling preludes and inter-
ludes were fine, while the song itself, alternating on
high and low keys, was sweet and mellow as any flute
and exquisitely modulated. Each “trill-a dee dee!”
came back in echo clear and perfect as the song itself.
At first those who heard it supposed the echo came
from the rocks across the river, but in changing posi-
tions we soon found that the barn sent it back, thus
doubling the effect of the delightful harmony.
VENTRILOQUIAL AND
IMITATIVE POWER OF BIRDS.
O blithe new-comer! I have heard,
L hear thee and rejoice,

O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice ?

Whale I am lying on the grass
Thy two-fold shout I hear;

From hill to hill vt seems to pass,
At once far off and near.

Thrice welcome, darling of the spring !
Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an invisible thing—
A voice, a mystery ;

The same whom in my schoolboy days
LI listened to ; that cry

Which made me look a thousand ways,
In bush and tree and sky.

*< WORDSWORTH.”
VENTRILOQUIAL AND IMITATIVE POWER OF BIRDS.

Those who have observed the habits of birds know
that they possess the power of imitation, but only at a
recent period have naturalists recognized in them the
possession of that rarer gift, ventriloquism. Most of
the thrush family (Zurdide) have to some extent this
power, though some species rarely exercise it. When
we hear the two thrushes (Zurdus fuscescens and Tur-
dus mustelinus), we look for them much higher in the
trees than they really are. Before people become accus-
tomed to this voice trick of these thrushes, they are
often perplexed in locating the singers.

I remember one extreme instance: a wood thrush was
singing his differently keyed strains with great power
and sweetness. J: was looking through the branches of
a thick hemlock, expecting to see him up thirty or forty
feet in the tree. Instead of this elevation, he was with-
in three or four feet of the ground, not twenty feet from
me. Fora long time he continued his songs, but all the
time with this ventriloquial effect.

The golden-crowned thrush (Seiurus awrocapillus) has
a habit of throwing its voice to a great distance. The
clear military notes “I see! I see!” will sometimes
startle you with their apparent nearness, when in fact
64 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.
*

the bird may be in quite another part of the woods;
then again, when the bird is within a few feet of you,
the song will appear to come from a distant locality.

Even the familiar robin (Merula migratoria) often
makes use of this power with good effect. When he
sings at mating time, or to attract attention, or from his
innate love of song, he will carol away with such an
abandon and fullness of tone that he appears to be much
nearer than he really is; but when he sings exclusively
for his mate, or for the newly fledged young, whose
presence he wishes to conceal from others, the song is
low and tender, often half smothered, or made to appear
in another place.

The cat birds, which are among the most interesting
as well as the most intelligent of the feathered tribe,
have in individual instances, probably, arrived at a
greater degree of proficiency in this art than any others
of the family. They not only imitate well many notes
and calls of other birds, but by modulating their tones
they are capable of producing great deception in regard
to their whereabouts. One day while watching some
robins and gold finches bathing together in a little creek,
I heard a cat bird warbling very sweetly, but apparently
at a great distance away. As a treeless meadow lay in
the direction from which the song proceeded, I wondered
where the bird could be hidden, and sweeping a field
glass over the stretch of meadow, I failed to locate him.
To my surprise, I finally discovered the singer ina little
thorn bush not ten feet from the place where I was
standing, though the sound indicated the distance to be
VENTRILOQUIAL AND IMITATIVE POWER OF BIRDS. 65

many rods. On looking through the bush tangled with
vines, I found the mate sitting on her nest of eggs.
The male, while singing to her, had been throwing his
voice to a distance, evidently to mislead intruders. It
was a clear case of ventriloquism exercised with a
motive, for as soon as he knew the nest was found he
flew to an oak some distance off and commenced a loud
rollicking song, moving about from limb to limb, doubt-

‘less hoping to divert my attention from the nesting
place.

At least two of the wrens (Zroglodytes aedon and
Troglodytes hiemalis) possess more or less ventriloquial
power. I remember how I once searched for a winter
wren that was singing in a cedar thicket. I heard the
song first on one side, then on another, always seeming
to be above me, when in reality the bird was all the time
on an upturned root of a little sapling, within plain
sight. Several times afterwards I heard this wren go
through a similar performance.

In his “Rambles About Home,” Dr. C. C. Abbott
relates a very interesting experience on this subject with
the yellow-breasted chat (Zeterta virens). “ From the
branch of a tall locust a chat warbled a series of sweet,
liquid notes, then squealed like a squirrel and yelped
like a dog; following this with a wild outburst of glori-
ous melody. While listening and wondering what next
would greet my ears, I was surprised and startled by
hearing the same strange sounds repeated, but at some
distance off. Another chat farther down the path was
singing in the same strange way. Another it must be,
66 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

for the first is still in sight in the same locust tree, flit-
ting carelessly about and apparently silent. Curious to
hear the new-comer I passed on, when the sounds were
heard in the opposite direction. I retraced my steps,
and now the strange medley came from the low bushes
about me, and while looking carefully for the unseen
chat that seemed so near, there came floating down to
me from the tall locust’s topmost branch the same series
of odd sounds and sweet warblings. The truth was now
clear; the one bird had uttered every sound I had heard,
and by his ventriloquism had: for the time completely
deceived me. My study of this habit and of its use
now commenced, and for long weeks I watched him to
test in every way his ability to mislead one by the exer-
cise of this peculiar power. A little later the female
appeared, and the two quickly selected a suitable spot in
a tangled mass of blackberry briers at the foot of the
locust tree, and built a commodious but roughly con-
structed nest. While the mate was sitting, the male
chat seemed more animated than ever, and jealous of
any intruder, he threw his voice in every direction other
than towards the nest, whenever anyone came too near.
By watching from a concealment, I found that when
not disturbed they uttered fewer strange cries of imita-
tion, and seldom exercised their ventriloquial powers,
but however suddenly I appeared from my concealment,
there was an equally quick uttering of notes of distress,
coming as it seemed from a point several yards distant.
Vary my experiment as I would, it mattered not; the
bird was thoroughly conscious of its ventriloquial
VENTRILOQUIAL AND IMITATIVE POWER OF BIRDS. 67

powers, and trusted far more to it than to flight to avoid
and mislead any intruder.”

In discussing this subject further, Dr. Abbott thinks
that through the lapse of ages the birds have, through
experience, learned some of the simple laws of sound.
“They know as well as man does that certain notes can
be heard at a greater distance than others. This
knowledge of one of the properties of sound, simple as
it is, is the starting point in the acquirement of mimicry,
which is the intermediate stage between ventriloquism
and the ordinary vocal utterances, including their
songs.”

Probably very few birds of any species have arrived
at such proficiency in this art, for art it certainly is, as
have the chats and some of the wrens, which seem able
to throw their voices in any direction. Many individ-
uals of other species are only able to modulate their
tones so as to seem distant or near, like the crooning of
the loons or piping of certain plovers on the wing, and
the cooing of the Carolina doves.

Bradford Torry, who is a close observer and has a
quick ear for bird notes, writes of one of the vireos.
“The White-eyed is a singer of astonishing spirit, and
his sudden changes from one theme to another are
sometimes almost startling. He is a skillful ventrilo-
quist also, and I remember one in particular who
outwitted me completely. He was rehearsing a well-
known strain, but at the end there came up from the
bushes underneath a querulous call. At first, I took it
for granted that some other bird was in the underbush,
68 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

but the note was repeated too many times, and came in
too exactly on the beat.”

Several of the sparrows modulate their notes so as to
greatly deceive in regard to distance. In riding along
country roads how often one looks 4way into fields to
see the vesper sparrow (Powcetes gramineus), when it is
singing from its perch close by, on a fence stake. The
song of the field sparrow (Spizella pusilla) is still more
deceiving. One is also often puzzled to locate the notes
of the Baltimore oriole (Jcterus galbula). Both sexes
have, to a certain extent, this power to mislead, and
what is still more curious, the young birds will often
perplex one in regard to their whereabouts.

Few birds with soft voices can project their notes
farther than can the cuckoos, but often in the near
presence of man there is such a ‘remoteness’ about
their mellow “coo, coo,” that only the trained ear of an
ornithologist can readily locate the bird. Burroughs
speaks of their “clairvoyant call,’ and Wordsworth,
without giving it a name, recognized this quality when
he sings of the cuckoo:

«¢ While I am lying on the grass,
Thy loud note smites my ear ;

From hill to hill it seems to pass :
At once far off and near.”

Lowell, in his charming sketch, “My Garden
Acquaintance,” notices this habit of the robins: “When
they come after my cherries to the tree near my window,
they always muffle their voices, and their faint peep
sounds far away at the bottom of the garden. The
VENTRILOQUIAL AND IMITATIVE POWER OF BIRDS. 69

screech owl also softens its voice in the same way, with
the most beguiling mockery of distance.”

Most birds have themes or songs peculiar to their
own species, and when we have learned these we
recognize them whenever we hear them. Not so, how-
ever, of all. Even the common little gold finch (Spinus
tristis) will often utter a strain so new and strange that
those most familiar with it fail for a moment to recog-
nize the author. The purple finch (Carpodacus pur-
purens) is also a variable singer. Some of his songs
are as soft and peaceful as those of the warbling vireo ;
others wild and sylvan as those of the wood-thrush or
winter wren, while still others are loud, ‘sharp, and
harsh, with as little melody as the song of the indigo
bird. Their songs in different localities also differ so
greatly that to the uninitiated they may easily be
mistaken for those of other species. I remember a
remarkable performance of one of these finches.
While gathering rhododendrons in a wet woods near
Angola, I was surprised at a strange song that broke
the stillness of the quiet afternoon. It was low, sweet,
tremulous, running up and down in such quavers of
pure melody that for the moment I was sure that I was
listening to an unknown singer of rare power, and not
until I saw the bird could I believe that it was the
familiar purple finch. The young birds had but recently
flown from the nest, and two or three of them, with
the old birds, were at times in the same tree. The
female was quite busy going and coming with food for
the young, while the male continued for a long time
70 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

singing his incomparably sweet songs, stopping only
occasionally to caress one of the little birds as he passed
from one to the other. It was a question whether this
extra music was indulged in for the especial pleasure of
his little family, or whether it was the every-day song
of this particular finch.

In describing the birds of the Catskill, Eugene Bick-
nell says of the purple finches: “They appeared to be
in full voice, but their songs were so different from that
of the same species near New York City that I doubted
their identity, till a specimen was secured. Not only
the notes, but the manner of delivering them was
entirely strange. In the lower Hudson Valley the song
of this finch is rich and voluble, with the notes of defi-
nite character and number. In the Catskills all the
notes were weak and inexpressive, and the song brief
and of uncertain character.”

The songs of some bobolinks are remarkable perform-
ances, both in tone and execution. The music of others
is like that from instruments cracked and out of tune.
Wilson Flagg says: ‘The songs of the song sparrow
(Melospiza fasciata), in the wilds of Northern New
England, are more plaintive and sylvan, though not so
loud and theme-like, as in thickly settled localities.”

The power of imitation is possessed by a much larger
number of birds than that of ventriloquism. Some
individuals will master the entire song of another
species. Bobolinks, when caged, have been known to
appropriate the song of canaries and sing them for
months, in preference to their own. Other birds will
VENTRILOQUIAL AND IMITATIVE POWER OF BIRDS. 71

only acquire certain notes or bars, which they sometimes
incorporate in their own songs, thus making quaint and
curious medleys of doubtful quality. Canaries long
living in company where they continually hear one
another’s notes will finally sing very nearly alike, though
at first the general characteristics of their songs may
have been quite different.

The mocking-birds excepted, perhaps the song spar-
row, oftener than others, mix with their strains notes
not belonging to their own songs. I have heard them
throw in those of the chewink, both at the middle and
ending of their songs; also that of the robin, blue bird,
phebe bird, and purple finch.

Near a creek which is much frequented by water
birds, I have heard during the past three summers a
Sparrow interject in his otherwise fine song the high,
sharp notes of the peetweet. Dr. Placzek, in the Pop-
ular Science Monthly, speaks of a yellow thrush taken
from the nest and domesticated, which, of its own
accord, commenced crowing like a cock. “I sometimes
heard, early in the morning, a clear, melodious cock
crowing’ that seemed to come from a distant barn-yard.
Going into the library one morning, where the bird was,
I sat still in a further corner of the room till things
began to get lively in the cage. I could see him with
out being seen. Soon he found his voice, and sounded
the cock crow which I had so often heard before with-
out suspecting its real origin. Had I not seen the
bird’s mouth open and his throat vibrating, I should
still have thought the sound came from a distance.
72 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

When he saw me he broke off in the middle of the
crowing. There is nothing particularly remarkable in
the crowing of itself, for many birds imitate the
sounds made by other animals. The curious fact about
it was, that the bird would not crow in my presence,
and would always stop when any one appeared to wit-
ness the execution. I attributed his conduct to a feel-
ing of shame, or to a sense of unfitness of that method
of expression. Have we not in this another proof of
the possession of animals of a psychical quality which
it has been used to regard as peculiarly and distinctively
human?”

The blue-jay has considerable power of imitation, and
frequently indulges in mimicry. One kept by a family
whom I was visiting, would say “whoa” to the horse,
sufficiently plain to stop the animal. If the bird was
by the window, in sight of the gate, he was sure to call
out “whoa” whenever the family horse was driven to
the door. The jay never uttered the word to any horse
except that of his master.

In its wild state I have never heard a bobolink make
a hissing noise, yet a tame one which we had in our
possession, when disturbed or displeased, would hiss
almost exactly like a goose. If a canary alighted on
his cage, the bobolink would thrust out his head toward
the intruder and hiss it off. Once, in a field, I heard a
bobolink sing half the most common song of the
American gold finch. Last summer I used often to walk
across Portage High Bridge to the Letchworth woods,
to listen to a remarkably fine-voiced wood-thrush, that
VENTRILOQUIAL AND IMITATIVE POWER OF BIRDS. 73

in every song interjected the long plaintive call of the
wood-pewee. The effect was unique and surprising.
To those interested in the psychical or reason devel-
opment of birds, this subject possesses increased interest.
It is quite generally conceded that birds are not only
the most interesting, but in some respects the most
highly organized, especially in form, color, voice, and
power of locomotion, of any of the so-called lower
animals. In some directions, too, they are the most
intelligent. Not only does their heredity count for
much, but their experience is a large factor in shaping
and modifying their manner of life. Many of them
are quick to take advantage of any extraneous circum-
stances by which their conditions may be bettered.
How many cases come under our notice in which cause
and effect plainly enter into their calculation. Several
species throw out sentinels to guard against surprise,
and these have signal notes well understood by all.
They learn to avoid localities that are extra dangerous,
and often gather in large numbers where safety is
assured. They profit both by experience and example,
often modifying their nesting habits, and adopting new
methods for protection. What subterfuges our native
birds make use of to mislead and baffle larger birds of
prey. On the contrary, the English sparrows, mostly
denizens of villages and cities, and not often having
been exposed to the dangers that beset the birds of
forests and fields, fall an easy prey to the smaller hawks,
owls and shrikes that occasionally find their way among
them. They know well enough how to avoid the
W4 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

dangers of city life; and are seldom caught napping by
cat or boy.

As the birds and their eggs are so preyed upon by
such a multiplicity of enemies, perpetuation and self-
defense become the main problem of their lives. We
all know how the female bird, when flushed from the
nest, will flutter away, hobbling as though disabled and
an easy prey until the pursuer is at a reasonable distance
from the nest, when she will suddenly take wing and fly
away to a safe retreat. It is easy to see what valuable
services both mimicry and ventriloquism might be to
them in avoiding and misleading their enemies, and it
is not unreasonable to believe that in the future ages
these habits may become so general as to constitute a
prominent feature in the bird’s method of protection.
WRENS.
“* The robin and the wren
Are God Alnmighty’s cock and hen.”
Oup BALLAD.

“* With head beneath her wing,

A little wren was sleeping,

So near, I had found tt an easy thing

To steal her for my keeping.”
INGELOW.

“Tt was decided ina parliament of the birds that the one
that flew highest should be their king.. The wren hid itself
on the eagle’s back, and when the eagle had flown the high-
est the wren fluttered a little higher still.”

GLOSSARY.

“ The winter wren in summer, is one of those birds of
the deep forest, that like the Canada speckled warbler and
the hermit thrush, only the privileged ones hear.”

“WAKE RoBIN.”
WRENS.

The wrens (7rogloditide) belong to one of the high-
est families of the oscines. They have many of the
characteristics of the thrushes, with which some of them
were formerly classified, having like them ten primaries,
and being endowed with much of the vocal power for
which the thrushes are so justly celebrated. In structure
they differ from the latter by having scutellate tarsi
and a basal cohesion of toes. Their food is similar to
that of the creepers and nuthatches, with which they
are often found in company. Some of them also, like
the nuthatches, build in knot-holes and crevices, placing
the nest out of sight.

No other family except the sylvicolide have such
diverse habitat, some of the genera making their summer
haunts in marshes, some in lawns and orchards, and
others in deep woods.

The marsh wrens, among reeds and rushes along the
lakes and river shores, with their gurgling melodies,
break the monody of the rippling waters, and add a
charm to the often otherwise lonely scene; the friendly,
sociable little house wrens sing in fields and gardens,
in orchards and along dusty highways; while the
winter wrens are the sylvan fairies of the woods which
78 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

they enliven by their cheerful presence, and often fill
with a wild, sweet melody. _

The family is very generally distributed throughout
the old and new world, and although less numerous
here than in many parts of Europe, in America alone
there are said to be upwards of one hundred species,
most of them, however, found only in Central and South
America. In the United States we have less than a
score of well-known species, and only five or six of these
are numerous in the Middle and Eastern States.

The most abundant of these, and the most useful, is
the house wren (Zroglodytes wdon). This interesting
little character, familiar and domestic in his habits,
stands second among the wrens as a vocalist, only the
winter wren surpassing it in vivacity and sweetness of
song.

He is too well known to need an extended description
of personal appearance, having the typical characteris-
tics of the family; a rich plumage of dark ground
work marked with waves and crossbars, small slender
bill, short rounded wings, and tail jauntily elevated like
that of the bantam, giving his whole appearance an air
of comical pertness and daring, corresponding well with
his saucy, scolding, chattering ways. He often makes
his appearance in this latitude early in April, and con-
tinues in song till August, singing at intervals from
early morning till dusk. His song is noted for its
gushing volubility and rapidity of utterance. The song
is so joyful and cheerful, poured out with such hearti-
ness that one never wearies of the oft-repeated strain
WRENS. 49

uttered like dissyllabic words, bubbling out and effer-
vescing as though the little body had been charged
with musical carbonic acid gas. Few other native birds
show such fondness for the companionship of man.
About country houses and village lawns he is the
commonest of the native birds. Before the sparrow
pest became so general, he was very abundant in cities,
often occupying the little bird houses attached to trees
or buildings, or making his nest in some niche in the
wall, where often two broods were raised in one season.
Unlike many other birds, the house wren sings most
near its nest. If the nest is in the dry limb of a tree,
you will hear the male bird only a few feet from the
structure, above it, below it, or on one side, changing
continually his place and attitude, appearing only intent
to utter the greatest number of songs in the shortest
possible time. If the nest is placed in a stump, then he
will do most of his singing from this or from an adjoin-
ing stump. When he builds in a cranny or niche of the
wall of a dwelling, he will sing by the hour from the
roof, going from gable to gable on the ridge, stopping
occasionally to scold at the dog or cat below. The roof
of the country barn is one of his favorite perches, when
he has a nest near by. Sometimes he builds sham
nests not very far from the one containing the treasures
of eggs or young; these are only “make believes,”
never finished, and with no attempt at concealment.
Whether he does this extra work for pastime in the
exuberance of spirits, or as a stratagem to divert
attention from the real nest, is aquestion. In astumpy
80 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

pasture at Charlevoix, I was attracted by the loud and
continued singing of one of these birds, and going to
the place, I saw him on a crumbling stump, pouring
out song after song, and not stopping until I was
almost within reach of him; then he moved to another
stump near by—all the time continuing his song. An
examination of the first stump revealed a half finished
nest in an exposed cavity, very unlike one made for use.
Following him up to his second perch I found a similar
structure; not to be thrown off the track, I continued
the search, and in a decayed limb of a fallen tree in an
excavated cavity, I found the real nest, on which was
sitting the female. The little pretender put off his
careless demeanor and changed his song to such a burst
of rage and distress that I hurried away and left him
to try his stratagem on the next visitor.

A pair of wrens, for several consecutive years, built
in a large auger hole in a gate post quite near the house.
The birds never appeared disturbed by the people and
teams that passed by the nest, sometimes hourly and
with much noise. The presence of the house cat alone
gave annoyance to the fearless little couple, and when
this cat caught one of the little ones which had left the
nest a little prematurely, the anger and bereaved
affection manifested by these courageous little creatures
was marvelous to behold. They scolded, lamented, and
condoled in their bird fashion, and even gave the cat
battle.

The house wren is not only a most interesting little
bird and delightful singer, but he is very useful withal,
WRENS. 81

clearing our bushes and fruit trees of insects and larvee
—a benefactor to the husbandman and _horticulturist.
His usefulness has no drawbacks, as he neither disturbs
bud nor grain, being entirely insectivorous in his habits.
A gentleman in Central New York, appreciating the
advantage of having a colony of such workers on his
premises, provided nesting places for a goodly number,
and for several years a score of nests were built in the
orchard and near the house. By this means his vines
and trees bore plentifully of fruit. Finally the sparrow
struck this locality in such numbers that his friends
were driven away.

The nests of the wrens are variable, differing as
widely in size and material as in the places in which they
are built. Some are small and compact, made almost
wholly of the finest fabrics, while others on the outside
are of coarse sticks, sometimes in immense quantities,
but inside they are all neatly finished and deftly lined
with the softest of stuffs—much of it down and soft
wool. The eggs are from six to nine in number, of a
delicate pinkish white and finely dotted with reddish
brown. Two broods, and sometimes three are raised in
a season.

The long-billed marsh wrens (Cistothorus palustris)
probably are second in point of number, but are more
local in their distribution. They are principally found
in swampy tracts of the interior, and in marshes along
the coasts of rivers, lakes and oceans. They are more
gregarious than the others of the family, and colonize
somewhat in nesting. They are vivacious and musical
82 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

in the breeding season, but their singing is mostly
gurgling and chattering, with little attempt at a theme.
The movements of these birds are characteristic of the
wrens, quick and brusque.

The nests are a curious compound of grass, sticks,
feathers, and lichens; these are sometimes mixed with
a little mud, and fastened in a bunch of grass or reeds
intertwined and laced together so that the green grass
partially covers and neutralizes the appearance of the
bulky structure.

The nest has an opening on one side, and is a very
safe-and cozy place for the mother-bird and young.
These nests are very abundant on the marshy islands
in the upper Niagara River, and show quite conspicuously
in the fall after the rank vegetation withers.

I have found these nests as early as May, and I saw
one there last summer, past the middle of July, contain-
ing nine eggs. These eggs are much darker than those
of the house wren, often so thickly dotted with reddish
chocolate as to almost obscure the pinkish groundwork.

Less abundant, though perhaps more equally distrib-
uted, are the short-billed marsh wrens (Cistothorus
stellaris). In many respects these resemble the long-
billed, but with general plumage lighter, running more
to streaks than cross-bars. The bill is slender and very
short. No mud is used in the construction of the nest.
The eggs are pure white.

The great Carolina wren (Zroglodytes ludovicianus)
is occasionally found in this locality, but so rarely that
he can hardly be claimed as a resident.
WRENS. 83

The most royal of the family is the winter wren
(Troglodytes hiemalis). He is graceful and vivacious.
His plumage is rich and soft, dark brown above and
lighter beneath, strongly marked with dusky cross-bars
anteriorly, and whitish ones posteriorly, and also a
white bar across outer wing primaries. He is pre-emi-
nently a bird of the woods. It is as difficult to describe
his inimitable and brilliant song as it is that of the
bobolink; the notes are so rapid and rippling, accelera-
ting and diminishing, all clear and fife-like, and as liquid
as the notes of the song sparrow.

The song commences with a tinkling, wavering
prelude, increasing in fervor, half whistle, half warble,
interspersed with trills of exquisite sweetness. Bur-
roughs says, “The winter wren is a marvelous songster,
in speaking of whom it is difficult to avoid superlatives.
He possesses the fluency and copiousness for which the
wrens. are noted, and besides these qualities, and what
is rarely found in conjunction with them, a wild, sweet
rhythmical cadence that holds you entranced.

“His strain is rapid and gushing, and touched with a
wild sylvan plaintiveness; his voice fills the dim aisles
of the forest as if aided by some marvelous sounding-
board. Indeed, the song is very strong for so small a
bird, and unites in a remarkable degree brilliancy and
plaintiveness. I think of a tremulous vibrating tongue
of silver.”

I shall never forget the first time I heard this
remarkable singer. [ was making my way through an
intricate swamp of cedars and hemlocks near Millgrove,
84 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

~~

in search of the showy lady’s slipper, which grew in this
locality. Suddenly a gush of tender melody broke the
stillness of the place, and held me spellbound by its
magic strain. I followed the sound through bushes and
brambles, over fallen logs and treacherous bogs, stopping
occasionally to take breath and to listen to the oft-
repeated song. Presently, only a few yards away, the
little bird dropped down from a higher to a lower
projection of the root of an upturned tree, and with
flutter of wings and vibrating body, continued his
song.

During an hour that I remained in the vicinity, he
sang almost continually, often moying from place to
place, and all the time apparently courting attention,
much in the manner of the house wren. Probably he
had a nest and mate near by, but I failed to find them.
I am confident these wrens breed in, this vicinity, as I
have often found them in pairs and heard them sing in
this immediate place during the months of May, June
and July, and for several years in succession.

With the exception of the thrushes, I could better
spare any other vocalist of the woods. He delights me
in such out of the way places, and in haunts to most
unknown. When I persuade a doubting friend to go
with me to his retreats, he is quite sure to reward my
faith by making his appearance, and always with harp
tuned for music. It is a curious phenomenon that when
we have discovered something for which we have longed
and searched, how frequently the object appears to us
afterwards, So, too, objects rare to most people appear
WRENS. 85

everywhere to others. No one more fully appreciates
this than the naturalist.

One person can gather quantities of arbutus in woods
where others affirm that no arbutus grows.

Thoreau could, in any field, find his Indian arrow.
Langille has only to cross a vacant lot in the city, even
in winter, to see a shore lark, and very likely to find its
nest half covered with snow. David F. Day finds the
pinguicula on almost inaccessible rocks that look verdure-
less to others. My friend, J. F. Cowell, has only to
step upon the grass to find an interesting adventitious
plant never seen in the locality by others. This wren
is my Indian arrow—my pinguicula, and its voice often
adds a charm to my rambles in the heavier woods. I
remember one wild romantic glen, near Portage Falls.
A cool stream runs through it, and tall hemlocks and
pines grow thick along its sides, entwining their boughs
with those of the chesnuts and beeches. The arbutus
and Mitchella carpet, the steep banks whose summits are
crowned with the more showy, though not less fragrant
azalia. Here, too, grows in great abundance the beautiful
little flowery wintergreen, with its roseate hues and
curiously shaped blossoms. The placealways seems such
a fitting retreat for my favorite little musical hermit,
that I never visit it without feeling almost certain that
I shall hear him there. Last summer as I occupied a
favorite seat on a mossy log well up the glen, talking
with a companion about the bird, and expressing the
wish that we might hear him, sure enough, almost as by
magic, the clear, sweet and never-to-be-mistaken notes
86 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

fell on the long expectant ear, and my friend, no longer
doubting, listened in amazement and delight. This
glen, always charming, will henceforth have a new
attraction, for unless prevented by some mishap, the
bird will be sure to return to this locality, as the wrens
are possessed with feelings of strong local attachment.

The golden-crowned wrens (fegulus satrapa) and the
ruby-crowned (22. calendulus), although called wrens,
belong to the sylvidz family, only sparingly represented
in the State, but abundant in the old world, where they
have entered much into the quaint legendary literature
in some of the countries.

The two common species, generally called kinglets,
are very small creatures, weighing only the fraction of
an ounce each, and, like their cousins, they are bright,
active and quite musical. His plumage is rich and
marked, olive above, lighter underneath, wings well
barred with white and edged with yellow. The bill
and feet are dark. The two species resemble each other
very closely, except the markings on the head, from
which they derive their names.

The ruby-crowned has a patch of scarlet on the head,
sometimes almost concealed by other feathers.

The golden:crowned has a bright scarlet patch
bounded by yellow, giving the pretty creature a jaunty
military air.

During the migrations the two species are very
abundant here; they come early, generally before the
leaves start to open, and often remain several days, a
few even spending the summer here in favored woods;
WRENS. 87

when they are migrating, the golden-crowned do not
sing, but have almost a constant chirp, much resembling
that of the red-headed chipping bird; but in summer, at
nesting time, the golden-crowned has a delightful song,
fine and far-reaching, verging on the plaintive, but very
sweet.

All the wrens are useful. They are the friends of
husbandry and horticulture, being entirely insectivorous
in their habits. They delight us with their beauty,
their cheerfulness and their sweet songs. Their virtues
are all positive. They are harmless, neither driving
away other birds nor destroying anything useful to
man. If people had shown them half the favors they
have shown the querulous, scolding, pugilistic, unmusi-
cal and nearly useless English sparrow by preserving
them from harm, and providing them with nesting
places, we might now have the house wrens, at least,
in abundance about our premises, objects of interest,
and also sources of profit.
TREES AND TREES.
“TT have written many verses, but the poems I have pro-
duced are the trees I planted on the hillside which over-
looked the broad meadows, scalloped and rounded at their
edges by the Simeon’s Houstanic. Nature finds rhymes for
them in the recurring measures of the seasons; winter
strips them of their ornaments, and gives them, as it.were,
in prose translation, and summer reclothes them in all the
splendid phrases of their leafy language. What are these
maples and beeches and birches but odes and idyls and
madrigals? What are these pines and firs and spruces but
holy hymns, too solemn for the many-hued raiment of their
gay deciduous neighbors. It is enough to know that when.
we plant a tree we are doing what we can to make our
planet a more wholesome and a happier dwelling-place for
those who come after us, if not for ourselves.”

OLIVER WENDELL HoLMEs.
TREES AND TREES.

Trees, like the rocks, have written the history of the
ages; they are also their own chronologists, and some
now standing have, during a period of ninety genera-
tions of men, marked off each year in their own great
bodies more legibly than it could have been written in
a book. The tree is the most highly organized of plant
bodies ; it possesses greater longevity and attains larger
dimensions than any other object; but great age does
not impair its usefulness, nor size mar its symmetry of
proportion. It is a thing of grace and beauty from the
time, as a plantlet, it strikes its little radicle into the
earth in search of sustenance, and lifts the delicate
plumule from its cotyledonous bed to live a life in air
and sunshine.

No other object combines use and beauty in such
infinite proportion. It furnishes us fuel and yields us
food; it shelters man and beast from wind and storm,
and shields them from the rays of the noonday sun. In
all ages it has furnished the chief material for building
and adorning men’s homes, as it also enters largely into
nearly all the industries of civilization ; and yet, with all
its manifold uses, we love it better for its beauty’s sake
and for the pleasant associations that so often cluster
92 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

about it. It may be only the old apple tree standing
near the cottage door, scattering its blossoms over the
threshold in spring-time, and later dropping the mellow
fruit in the well-trodden pathway; or, perhaps, the
group of elms and maples that throw their shadows
across the dooryard lawn, and through whose canopy of
green leaves children have watched thestars. Like hills
and mountains, the presence of trees stimulates the affec-
tions, brightens the fancy, kindles the imagination, and
increases the love of home and country. Few poets are
found in a treeless country, and most of the old homes
that have been kept in the same family, generation after
generation, are those to which trees have added their
greatest charm.

You go to the woods even for the full enjoyment of
the physical senses—smell, and sight, and sound. There
the strong health-giving breath of the conifera is min-
gled with the delicate, sweet odor of the violet and
arbutus; there only can you look into the blue eyes of
the Hepatica or find the rose-tinted flowering winter-
green and the white and pink blossoms of the Mitchella
—little flowers that fill the mind with an exquisite and
unspeakable pleasure. In no other place will you hear
in their perfection the sweetest of all music, the songs
of the wood and hermit thrushes and the wild vibrating
lyric of the winter wren. Nectar and ambrosia, drink
and food of the gods, were supposed to be products of
the woods.

To the student naturalist, trees are especially interest-
ing, as they contain the elements of many sciences.
TREES AND TREES. 93

Biology, botany, chemistry and the laws of light, heat
and color can be studied in their growth and structure ;
and he who enters this gateway of investigation will
find a new and charmed land before him—it may be a
wonder-land—but the first step taken will lead to the
desire to explore the whole magic domain. As he looks
upon that well-proportioned trunk towering into cloud-
land, with its wide spreading branches crowned with.
millions of shining leaves, he will wish to know how
these have been silently gathered, atom by atom, from
chaotic inorganic matter and so perfectly arranged and
so exquisitely painted—how the cells of root, stem and
leaf are formed—the material that enters into their
composition—how they multiply and divide and arrange
themselves like a big army of little workers to build up
the huge citadel and to provide for the perpetuation of
its kind. He will wish to know how the millions of
root mouths suck the food from the earth and send it so
far through such myriads of circling channels to. the
leaves for digestion and assimilation—how the tree
breathes through its countless stomata, leaf-mouths, ex-
haling oxygen and inhaling carbon in sunlight, and
reversing the process in the dark. He will wish to know
why alternate leaves arrange themselves spirally on the
stem with mathematical exactness; why the root seeks
darkness and the stem the light, and why leaves are
attracted strongly toward the blue and violet rays of
light, while the yellow rays assist more in their develop-
ment and growth.
94 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Some of these questions may be answered by study
and experiment, while others the most scientific research
has failed to solve. The chemist can make the analysis,
but the synthesis which the tree has made surpasses his
ability to perform.

The most interesting problem in connection with this
study, and one perhaps the most diversely explained, is
jhe manner in which the fluids circulate or move from
one part of the tree to another; but whether by expan-
sion, contraction, capillary attraction, endosmose, osmose
or permeation, experiment and observation teach that
most of the crude sap taken up from the earth by the
roots, after depositing some of its earthy matter in the
cells to thicken their walls, and taking in return gran-
ules of chlorophyl, is carried by the pleurenchyma,
parenchyma and duct cells to the extremities of the stem
or branches, there to nourish buds, leaves, howers and
fruit, while the food, principally carbon, taken from the
air by the leaves, together with portions of vitalized sap,
is carried downward and deposited in the cambium
layer to form the new outer rim of wood and the inner
rim of bark; thus showing, if there is not a complete
circulation of fluid, there is at least an upward flow
through one set of vessels, and a downward flow through °
other channels. In connection with the respiration and
absorption of carbon by the leaves, how far they act as
capillaries in changing the fluids from one set of cells to
another is yet unknown, but there is little doubt that
the principal work of the foliage is to build up the wood,
while the root sap nourishes the foliage.
TREES AND TREES. 95

Trees occupy a prominent place in the literature of all
‘ages, and especially in the pleasing myths handed down
to us by Hessiod, Homer, Ovid and Virgil, and a partial
acquaintance of this literature is absolutely necessary to
the full enjoyment and understanding of most fanciful
writings of our standard authors.

One cannot but admire the reverence with which the
ancient Greeks and Romans regarded the trees, endow-
ing them as they did with attributes half human, half
divine. They believed that many of them held en-
shrined within their woody bark sylvan deities, whose
lives were darkened when the tree was felled. These
Dryads and Hamadryads animated every part of the
trees from root to smallest spray of limb, investing them
with life and beauty, feeling and intelligence. It was
these bright creatures that shuddered and moaned in the
storm or softly sighed in the gentle breeze. They shiv-
ered and grew pale at the approach of cold, but became
glad in the spring-time, and their joyous laughter rippled
out in shining, fluttering leaves and bright blossoms.
These woodland deities regarded with favor those who
treated them kindly, but often meted out punishment to
such as did them violence, as in cases of Rhecus and
Erisicthon. The former, seeing an oak about to fall,
propped it up and stayed it in its place, and the grateful
nymph inhabiting it rewarded the generous deed by
granting the fulfillment of any wish which he might
make. LErisicthon was famous for “lifting up the axe
against trees,’ and despoiling forests; he regarded
neither the use nor the beauty of trees, and even felled
96 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

the Deoian oak that stood in the grove sacred to Ceres.
It is said of this famous oak that it towered above the
other trees as loftily as the other trees towered above
the grass, and that it was a woods in itself. When the
Dryads remonstrated with Erisicthon, he boasted that he
would fell the tree even if it were the goddess herself.
While the old oak shuddered at the last stroke given it,
a voice issued from the trunk, saying: “I, a nymph
most pleasing to Ceres, am beneath this wood and dying,
rejoice at the punishment which will be meted out to
thee.” The goddess destined him to be tortured by
famine, famine so dire and terrible that he was finally
compelled to eat portions of his own miserable body
trying to appease his hunger. In that olden time of
myths people and nymphs were transformed to trees,
sometimes at their own requests, but oftener for in some
manner offending other deities. The Heliads, children
of-the sun, were changed to poplars; Altis to a pine;
the mother of Adonis to a myrrh tree; an Apulion
shepherd, who mocked the nymphs, was transformed to
an olive tree, and his tears became bitter berries. The
fair virgin Daphne, at her own request became a laurel,
that she might escape from her lover god, Apollo, who
was in pursuit of her. The beautiful Dryope was trans-
formed to a lotus tree for unwittingly plucking a blos-
som from a shrub in which was enshrined the nymph
Lotus. A juster doom met the Eonian women, who,
turning to flee after murdering Orpheus, found their
flight checked by the rapid lengthening of their toes.
Soon their feet became rooted to the ground, their flesh
TREES AND TREES. 97

turned to woody fibre, their hair and hands changed to
leaves and branches, and a thick and rugged bark en-
closed their shuddering forms. The most interesting of
these pretty mythological metamorphoses is related of
Baucis and Philemon. This good old couple, although
unaware of the greatness of their guests, entertained
Jupiter and Mercury very hospitably of their frugal
fare, and as a reward two wishes were granted them—
one to be the keepers of the temple which had arisen on
the site of their humble cottage; the other, to die to-
gether, at the same hour and in the same manner. So’
when fullness of years had dimmed their eyes they were
changed to trees, the one to a grand and spreading oak,
the other to a tall and graceful linden tree. For many
ages they grew side by side, intermingling and inter-
twining their roots and branches as tenderly and lov-
ingly as they had lived their sweet and simple lives.

_ Weare told that in the olden times, trees walked and
talked as well as thought, and were attracted by the
power of music. When Apollo and Orpheus played the
harp the trees and cattle came together and crowded
about them, trembling with the emotions which the
sweet sounds awakened. Says Ovid: “There was a
hill, and upon the hill a most level space of a plain,
which the blades of grass made green; all shade was
wanting in the spot. After the bard, sprung from the
gods, had seated himself in this place and touched the
strings, a shade came over the spot. The tree of Cha-
onia was not absent, nor the groves of the Heliades, nor
the mast tree with its lofty branches, nor the tender

/
98 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

lime tree, nor yet the beech and the virgin laurel, and
the brittle hazel and the oak adapted for making spears,
and the fir with knots, and the holm bending beneath
its acorns, and the genial plane tree and the parti-col-
ored maple, and the tine tree with its azure berries ;
you, too, the ivy tree with your creeping tendrils, and
the elms clothed with vines; the ashes too, and the
pitch trees and the bending palms, the reward of the
conqueror; the pine with its tufted foliage and bristling
at the top, pleasing to the mother of the gods. Such a
grove of trees had the bard attracted round him, and he
sat in the midst of an assembly of wild beasts and a
multitude of birds.”

One of the famous oracles consulted by the priests
was the Talking Oak of Dodona. It possessed miracu-
lous power. A staff cut from one of its branches always
guided the traveler in paths of safety, and conducted
him to desired havens. Mercury’s wonderful cane must
have come from the tree, and it is related that the vessel
in which Jason went in search of the Golden Fleece had
her figure-head carved from a portion of one of its
branches, and the success of the voyage was thereby
assured.

Some of the groves were sacred to the celestial gods
and others to lesser deities. The forest of Mount Ida,
the foster home of Jupiter, was one of these sacred
groves. The trees here were proof against the elements,
and vessels built from the timbers could withstand the
winds and the waves of the sea, and even the wrath of
Neptune was unable to harm the mariner in these crafts.
TREES AND TREES. 99

Virgil tells us that Eneas was allowed to build his ships
of the pines from this forest, and that when the Latians
attempted to burn them before Italy, Venus changed
them tc nymphs, and they sailed away into the air.

At the marriage of Jupiter and Juno the most noted
gift to the bride was a tree laden with golden fruit.
Many people have regarded the oak as sacred. The
Druids offered sacrifices in oak groves, and consulted
these trees in their worships; hence, perhaps, the name
Quercus, from quero, to seek.

If we may believe the poets who wrote of these
things, trees occupy no inconspicuous place in the land
of spirits. When Dante and Virgil crossed the river
Styx, they found tangled and matted forests of brown
foliaged trees, each tree a living spirit undergoing pen-
ance for crimes committed against self, and although it
was the lightest form of punishment in all these “ cir-
cles” of misery, yet lamentations were issuing from
them. Dante says: “We had put ourselves within a
wood that was not marked by any path whatever; not
foliage green, but of a dusky color; not branches
smooth, but gnarled and intermingled. Therefore the
Master said: ‘If thou break off some little spray from
any of these trees, the thought thou hast will wholly be
made vain.’ Then stretched I forth my hand a little
forward and plucked a branchlet off from a great thorn,
and the trunks cried: ‘Why dost thou mangle me?
why dost thou rend me? hast thou no pity whatsoever ?
Men once we were, now changed to trees.’” But as
they ascended up through Purgatorio to Paradiso they
100 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

found wondrous trees, some filled with fruit and bearing
sweet incense. Of one of these he says:

‘Even as a fir tapers upward from bough to bough,
So downardly did that

I think in order that no one it might climb ;

The while among the verdant leaves

Mine eyes I riveted as he is wont to do

Who spends the day in watching little birds ”’

When Eneas wished to descend to the realms of
Pluto to consult his father Anchises, the Sybil directed
him to propitiate Proserpine by the gift of a golden
branch cut from a tree in a grove sacred to Diana and
Apollo.

Arriving at the Elysian fields after passing the Plu-
tonian region of darkness and desolation, he saw multi-
tudes of the blessed reclining in the shade of wide
spreading trees, and. the hillsides and the plains were
adorned with beautiful groves, in which Greeks and
Trojans pursued their games. Not only the golden
streets and a river of life make beautiful the New Jeru-
salem, but we read in Revelations, “ In the midst of the
street of it, and on either side of the river was the tree
of life which bore twelve manner of fruits and yielded
her fruit every month ; and the leaves of the tree were
for the healing of the nation.”

This reverential and tender regard for trees has been
implanted in the minds of all imaginative people, ancient
and. modern, sacred and profane; the pure pleasure
derived from their contemplation is peculiarly a part of
the poet’s dower.
TREES AND TREES. 101

The bards of Israel sing of the cedars of Lebanon and
use them as symbols of strength, grandeur, beauty and
grace. David was particularly partial to the cedar, and
history relates that his dwelling was built entirely of
this exquisite wood, which was presented to him by
Hiram, King of Tyre. Moses, in laying down the law
to the children of Israel before crossing the Jordan,
said: “When thou shalt besiege a city a long time in
making war against it, thou shalt not destroy the trees
thereof by forcing an axe against them; and thou shalt
not cut them down to employ them in the siege.”
Shakespeare greatly admired the pine that towered
above other trees as his genius did above that of other
men; the wind playing through its needle leaves was
not to him, as to most people, a mournful monody, but
an anthem of inspiration. Coleridge was partial to the
graceful birch, and called it “The Lady of the Woods.”
Bryant loved best the apple tree, with its blossoms as
beautiful and fragrant as those of the rose, which be-
longs to the same natural order, while Whittier and
Longfellow never weary of singing the praises of our
own incomparable sugar maple. Thoreau, whose heart
lay very close to the great heart of nature, was a devoted
worshiper at their shrines, and when he would reinvig-
orate his flagging physical and mental powers he walked
for a day in the beautiful groves of Concord or sought
a month’s seclusion in the primitive forests of Maine.
He sympathized with their sylvan spirits, and communed
with them as the devout do with celestial deities. He
looked upon the wanton destruction of a tree or a forest
102 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

as a sacrilege, and “thanked “God that these choppers
were not able to cut down the clouds.” In speaking of
the destruction of the pine forests, he says: “ Strange
that so few men ever come to the woods to see how the
pine lives and spires, lifting its evergreen arms to the
light to see its living success. Most men are content to
see the broad boards and sticks of timber brought to
market, deeming that the tree’s success ; but a dead pine
cut down is no more a pine than a dead carcass is a man.
It is not the lumberman, who stands nearest the tree,
understands it best. and loves it most; it is not he who
has bought the stumpage on which it stands, and who
must cut into it to find if its heart be sound. All the
trees shudder when that man steps on the forest floor.
No, no; it is the poet who makes the truest use of the
tree; he does not fondle it with an axe, nor tickle it
with a saw, nor stroke it with a plane; he loves it as he
does his living friends and lets it stand. It is the living.
spirit of the tree with which I sympathize. It may be
as immortal as I am, and perchance will go to as high a
heaven, there to tower above me still.”

Perhaps no naturalist was more highly endowed
with the poetic imagination or held closer communion
with the living spirit of nature than Wilson Flagg. By
streams and rocks, in fields and woods, the exquisite
unseen beings, seen only by the mind’s eye of the poet,
kept him delightful company. Concerning one of his
favorite resorts, a wild sequestered nook not yet spoiled
by art, he says: “Every one who visited it felt inspired
with a mysterious sense of cheerfulness and pensive
TREES AND TREES. 108

delight that could hardly be explained. It became evi-
dent at last that these groves and pastures must be the
residence of the rural deities, who by their invisible
presence inspired every heart with those delightful sen-
timents which, though not entirely unfelt on earth, are
well known in paradise. It was the presence of these
deities that yielded the place its mysterious charm. It
was the naiad who gave romantic melody to the foun-
tain that bubbled up from the mossy glen in the hill-
side, and spread the hue of beauty over the solitary lake
in the valley; and the dryads, or wood nymphs, that
caused these woodland arbors to rival the green retreats
of Elysium.”

In England, almost alone of the older settled coun-
tries, large areas of woods remain, the prominent feat-
ures in the fair landscape scenery. There, not only the
forests, but many of the individual trees are intimately
. associated with the history of the past as they are with
the myths and legends of the country. How many
clannish feuds and kingly quarrels have the dryads of
these gnarled and patriarchal old trees witnessed, some
of them reaching back into the distant centuries. The
ancestral tree is as much an object of interest as the cot-
tage or old manor hall that it shadows, and is equally a
sharer in the owner’s regard. Among these are the
- Great Oak, Major Oak, Oak of Parliament, the’ Swilcar
Oak of Needwood upwards of six hundred years" old,
and the Royal Oak, in which Charles II. secreted him-
self after his defeat at Worcester. The Spread Oak of
Thoresby is a woods in itself, and would give shelter to
104 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

a regiment of men. The Greendale Oak of Welbeck
probably takes the priority in age, and is supposed to be
1,500 years old. Herne’s Oak, where the wood goblin
had his haunts and about which “the fairies danced with
twenty glow worms for their lamps,” when they played
the game against Falstaff for his evil desire, was blown
down a few yearsago. There have been good Rhecuses
to look after some of these trees, who have banded and
riveted and propped them up to stay them against decay
and storm. England may well hold in high esteem her
trees, especially her noble oaks, as she is indebted to
them in a large degree for her supremacy on the sea.

As the wealth of a country increases, people have
more leisure for the cultivation and enjoyment of sxs-
thetic tastes, and the old homesteads with their wooded
surroundings become dearer in the eyes of each succes-
sive generation, and many an old oak or maple or elm
on the premises is looked upon with the same reverence
as the family monument in the burying ground. This
feeling is becoming more general too in communities,
especially in our eastern cities. With what scrupulous.
care the people of Boston guard the old trees on the
commons!

When the old Charter Oak at Hartford was blown
down a few years since, many of the inhabitants of the
place were really in mourning, and the band, wearing
badges of grief, marched through the city, and during
the afternoon played sad music over the prostrate old
weather-beaten land-mark of the past.
TREES AND TREES. 105

This country has been favored above all others in the
natural variety and abundance of useful and ornamental
trees, and had farmers and lumbermen shown due wis-
dom and foresight in their treatment of the forests,
using only such timber as their necessities required, and
clearing such portions as were needed for tillage, leav-
ing larger and more frequent areas uncut, especially on
steep hillsides, along all water courses, shores of lakes,
banks of rivers, smaller streams, and along all highways,
the enjoyment of magnificent landscapes, of shade and
shelter from winds, would have been cause for future
generations to bless the memory of their ancestors.
Instead, this generosity of nature has been met by
man’s most lavish and destructive spirit. A ceaseless
war has been waged on our pine forests, more destruc-
tive than that upon the Indians. Not only have the
trees been used for proper purposes, but the speculating
lumbermen have swept over millions of acres, denuding
them of their priceless products, and oftentimes ruining
themselves at the same time they despoiled God’s fair
country. The valuable groves of black walnut have
nearly all been felled, and their huge trunks cut into logs
and hurried to the jaws of the mills, as though their
presence were hateful in the sight of their owners.
Hardly a tree of the beautiful black cherry remains in
the Eastern States. The bass-wood and white-wood are
rapidly following. The red beech, chestnut and white
ash have been split into rails or burned as fuel. The
cedars have been made into pails and fence posts, until
106 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

hardly enough of the fragrant wood remains to encase
the lead of pencils. The hemlocks standing with their
bald, uncovered heads, or pointing their evergreen taper-
ing spires heavenward, would seem to be pleading for a
little respite from axe and saw and devouring flame;
but no mercy was shown them. They have been de-
stroyed in season and out of season, in every conceivable
manner and for every conceivable purpose. Countless
numbers of them have been felled merely for their bark,
as many a desolated old “bark peeling” district will
show; while the maples, the patricians of the forests, in
their vernal vesture delicate as the first wild blossoms
that nestle at their root, and in their autumnal foliage
flaming up like the cardinal flowers—trees whose wood
is fit for so many practical and beautiful uses—have been
subject to still worse treatment. After having their
sweet blood extracted year after year, until there was
no place on their scarred bodies where the sugar makers
could tap them more, they have been chopped into fire-
wood, and charred in coal pits and burned in log heaps,
until the beautiful and profitable sugar orchards that
once adorned so many pleasant hillsides in New York
and New England are now only shown by blackened
stumps and straggling underbrush, young pollards
struggling for existence out of the graves of their
ancestors. :

When we return to the rural homes of our earlier
years, how our hearts go out to meet the pleasant groves
and shaded byways that helped to make that olden time
TREES AND TREES. 107

such a charmed existence. Our eyes seek the old sugar
bush on the hillside, the maple groves in the pasture
fields, the wild cherry trees in the meadow, and the
wide spreading elms that stood sentinels at the gate-
ways. Fortunate, indeed, if these “landmarks and love-
marks” are still standing, but oftener we find them
sweptaway. Some Erisicthon in the guise of the “model
farmer” could not tolerate mere objects of beauty where
they stood against the bank account. There were dol-
lars’ worth of cord-wood in the maples; the cherry tree
shaded valuable grass land; children, when they came
in the later summer time to gather cherries, trampled
down the aftermath ; and the elms obscured the view of
the new house. And what are landscapes and senti-
ments and affections in comparison with gratified pride
and accumulated dollars? If sentiment and love of
scenery have no influence in restraining our people from
this prodigal waste of forests, at least a regard for the
physical condition and welfare of the country should
cause them to pause and ask themselves what will be the
final and near consequence of this almost total extinc-
tion of our forests. Great freshets and inundations,
bare hills still farther disfigured by unsightly gullies,
extended droughts and dried-up vegetation, a loss of
equilibrium of climate, seasons of extreme heat quickly
followed by intense cold, violent and destructive storms,
a scarcity of insect-destroying birds, and thereby a
great increase of pestiferous insects that annoy man and
prey upon the products of his industry, a drying up of
108 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

springs and running streams that move machinery and
assist commerce, a scarcity of timber for building and
other manufacturing purposes—these and many other
equally calamitous effects must assuredly ensue unless
the senseless and extravagant waste is soon checked.
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS.
Ask the fowls of the air and they shall tell you.
JOB.

We should go to the ornithologist with a new feeling, if
he could teach us what the social birds say when they sit in
the autumn council talking together in the trees. The want
of sympathy makes his record a dull dictionary. His
result-ts a dead bird. The bird is not in its ounces and
inches, but in its relations to nature; and the skin or skel-
eton you show me is no more a heron than a heap of ashes
or dbotile of gases into which his body has been reduced is

Dante or Washington.
EMERSON.
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS.

At the present time, mere structure, anatomy and
classification in the study of natural history are engag-
ing less attention than those higher phases or problems
of the science, natural dependence, modification, manner
of life and animal psychology. The advanced botanist
turns his attention to the consideration of the fertiliza-
tion of the plants or flowers, the origin of their -parts,
color, perfume, and the wonderful devices for their per-
petuation and increase. The entomologist, to the uses
of the insects in the economy of nature; while those
pursuing their investigations in the higher branches of
zoology are most interested in the phenomena of mind
or animal intelligence. Especially is this true in the
study of ornithology. Nearly all our native birds have
been identified and described ; little more can be accom-
plished in this direction, and the man who shoots a thou-
sand birds for anatomical or technical examination
learns less than he who carefully studies the habits and
thoroughly learns the song of one.

Intelligent people no longer attribute the sagacity so
often displayed by many animals to mere instinct ; they
understand that all creatures are in possession of a cer-
tain amount of mental or deliberative faculties, and are
112 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

capable to some extent of reasoning from “cause to
consequence ;” that this intelligence differs only in
degree among the lower, as well as among the higher
animals ; that the emotional natures are very nearly the
same in all, differing only in intensity, and that the vir-
tues and passions of hope, love, sympathy, fear, hatred,
jealousy, resentment and revenge spring from the exer-
cise of reasoning faculties equally among all classes of
animals, high and low in the scale*of being. Lower
animals may not solve problems in mathematics or
puzzle their heads over questions of ethics and jurispru-
dence, but the same display of deliberation and fore-
thought is manifested when the migrating fowls arrange
the manner of flight under the direction of a chosen
leader, and the feeding flocks set sentinels to watch for
enemies and to warn of danger, that is shown by men
in the organization of armies, and the arrangements to
ensure safety by sending out sentries and picket guard.

In eating, drinking, caring for young, and trying to
escape from apparent danger, the animal simply obeys
the laws of instinct, but, when it finds by experience
and change in surroundings, or by any extraneous cir-
cumstances, a change in the mode of life practical and
beneficial, and so departs from the usual custom of its
kind to better its condition, it has passed beyond mere
instinctive impulse. It is no more the impulse of in-
stinct that causes the yellow-bellied woodpecker (Sphy-
rapicus varius) to bore the sound tree for sap, than it is
that causes the farmer to tap the maple in the spring.
The bird has ascertained that the fluid is sweet and

”
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS. 113

delectable, and that it will also attract insects. The
farmer has found by experience that it will make sugar.
The bird knows as well as the man from what trees and
at what seasons it will run, and he generally bores the
evergreen in winter, the maple and silver birch in March
and April, and the yellow birch a month later, just when
the fluids of these trees flow most freely.

Although appearing on the earth in some of their
primitive forms and conditions, at an earlier period than
some of the quadrupeds, yet the birds undoubtedly in
many respects rank first among the lower animals in
organization and intelligence. They have the largest
brain in comparison with the other parts of the body, it
being in some species one-sixteenth part of the entire
weight. Their powers of locomotion are superior to any
other class of vertebrates. They have the largest
breathing capacity and the most rapid respiration. An
English scientist says: “This rapid movement of the
heart necessitates a rapid circulation of blood through
the brain: and this means a more hurried flow of con-
sciousness, a more rapid succession of ideas. Ina given
time the swallow moves more, breathes more, and there-
fore probably feels and lives more than any other living
animal.” Certainly no other beings manifest such acute
suffering at the destruction of their mate or young, or
show such a whirlwind of ecstasy as many of the little
fluttering warblers do in some of their wild bursts of
song.

Birds alone of all the lower animals use, like man,
the tongue as the principal organ of sound or speech :
114 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

above all other creatures are they gifted with voice both
in respect to quantity and quality. The little quavering
sparrow (Spizella pusilla) can be heard half a mile away;
the simple strain of the veery (Turdus fuscesens), though
of such exquisite sweetness, reaches the ear twice this
distance, while the Campenero is said to send its clear
bell-like voice to the distance of five or six miles. Few
sounds of the feathered tribe are harsh or discordant:
nearly all of their utterances are pleasing; many of
their songs are pure melody ; certainly nothing can sur-
pass in clear liquid sweetness the notes of some of the
song birds. The highest praise awarded to Jenny Lind,
the finest singer ever known, was that “she could
warble like a bird.” Byron, with his critical apprecia-
tion of all harmonies, gives as the superlative of sweet
sounds, “The hum of bees, the voice of girls, the song
of birds.”

Some of the physical senses are strong and active in
the feathered tribe, and especially the zsthetic element
in the sense of seeing and hearing.

Birds have a very keen perception of color, and some
species appear to receive as pure pleasure from its grati-
fication as man himself, Undoubtedly we are as much
indebted to the indulgence of this taste in birds, for the.
high color of some of our fruits, as we are to the bees
and other insects for the bright colors of most of our
entomophalous flowers. In choosing their mates those
of the most brilliant plumage are first selected. The
most highly colored fruits and berries are first taken,
though other specimens may be equally mellow, sweet
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS. 115

and juicy. The humming birds avoid the neutral tinted
flowers, though equally provided with honey nectaries,
and seek those of brilliant dyes. Some of the vireos
ornament the outside of their nests with patches of co-
coons, spider-webs and other bits of delicate white sub-
stances, thus giving the well-built structure a very neat
and unique appearance. The humming birds often use
bits of moss, with which they cover the entire exterior
of the nest, arranging all the pieces in the most artistic
and ingenious manner. There certainly is a motive for
this extra labor: it is either for protection or attraction ;
for concealment or ornamentation. We might attribute
it to the former purpose were it not that often the moss
is intertwined with beautiful and showy feathers, so ar-
ranged as to make the structure still more conspicuous,
especially if it is placed well out of the reach of all danger.

Mr. Gould, the naturalist, tells us that bower birds of
New South Wales, at mating times, build play houses
and deck them with variegated materials, especially
glittering substances. The males vie with oné another
in this work of ornamentation, plainly exhibiting pride
and emulation in their artistic labors. In these ornate
houses the loving pairs disport themselves with every
exhibition of satisfaction and delight. These accounts
are corroborated by many other reliable writers: some
of the incidents related of these wonderful birds are as
marvelous and as interesting as the history of the
Lilliputians.

Many of the feathered tribe manifest real pleasure at
the execution of simple harmonies. They enjoy the
116 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

notes of musical instruments, but more especially their
own songs and those of one another. The pleasing
myth that “the birds came in great flocks to listen to
the delightful strains of Orpheus’ lute” savors more of
fact than many other things handed down as truths in
ancient history. Our unmusical English sparrow enjoys
the songs of other birds: on different occasions I have
seen several of them gather about a robin as he caroled
a pleasing song: when they came too near or in too
large numbers he would dart at them and drive them
out of the tree, but when he commenced again to sing,
some of them were quite sure to return. <A friend sends
me an account of a bobolink, that, placed in a cage with
some canaries, exhibited great delight at their songs.
He did not sing himself, but with a peculiar ‘cluck’
could always set the canaries singing. After a while he
began to learn their songs, note by note, and in the
course of a few weeks mastered the entire song. Then
he commenced to lead the choir, and kept the others
going much of the time.

Even the prosaic goose, an animal ridiculed in litera-
ture and the butt for flippant jokes, but really a very
intelligent fowl, and capable of forming the strongest
attachment to even man himself, is fond of music, and
a lively air on a violin will sometimes set a whole flock
wild with delight. On one occasion, at a country wed-
ding, I was witness to a curious performance by one of
these animals. After dinner a lady entertained the
guests assembled on the lawn with music from an accor-
dion. A flock of geese were feeding in the road just
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS. 117

below the house, and with outstretched necks answered
back loud notes of satisfaction. Soon a white gander
commenced dancing a lively jig, keeping good time to
the music: for several minutes he kept up the perform-
ance, to the great delight of the company. The experi-
ment was tried several times during each day for a week
or more, and the tones of the accordion never failed to
set the old gander into a lively dance. Birds are the
most generous of animals, often dividing their scanty
substance with others in greater need. Some of the
lazy Mexicans take advantage of this noble trait in the
pelicans, to obtain their own food by a process more
cruel than robbery. They maim some of these birds
and tie them up to trees without food: hunger causes
the poor animals to cry for assistance and their freed
companions, far more human in nature than these Mexi-
cans, which seem to be only human in form, bring fish
from the neighboring waters to relieve their suffering
companions. The men lying in wait fall upon these
new-comers and make them disgorge the fish, and with-
otit mercy themselves again send the pelicans on their
errands of mercy.

Who has not seen the old chanticleer of the farmyard
call about him his harem and their numerous progeny,
and give them the last morsel of the food which he had
found. What affection and solicitude nearly all birds
show for their mates and young, often sacrificing life
and liberty in their defense!

_ Many of them chose their mates for life. Sorrow at
the death of one often causes the death of the other.
118 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

The mother bird has been known to die at the destruc-
tion of her nest of young. Even in confinement many
of them show the strongest attachment to those who
feed and take care of them.

Many birds not only show great sagacity in the man-
ner of obtaining their food, but also in the manner of
preparing it. Sometimes, when it is too dry to be eaten,
they will moisten it in water; if too hard to be broken
by the usual process of the beak, they will fly high in
the air and let it fall on a rock or the hard ground, if
necessary repeating the experiment several times. In
building their nests they often exhibit great cunning in
the curious devices to escape detection. Those that
make excavations in stubs and trees are careful to
remove all chips from the premises. All the litter of
the young of many species is carried away by the par-
ents and deposited at a safe distance from the premises.
Their knowledge of color also enables them to seek
places and materials for their nests harmonizing with
the general plumage of the sitting bird, thus more easily
escaping detection by preying enemies. Swallows that
build well out of reach take no such precautions, neither
do. orioles and other birds that make dome-like nests in
which the sitting bird and young are sheltered from
sight. When the nest is discovered, not less interesting
are the cunning devices of the sitting bird to allure away
the discoverer. She will often half run or fly, limping
and hobbling as though wounded and disabled, appar-
ently an easy prey to the one in pursuit. You reach
down to pick her up, but she is just outside your grasp ;
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS. 119

after leading you a “wild goose chase,” and at a suffi-
cient distance from the nest, how suddenly and easily
. she flies away out of reach of all danger. This is always
the ruse of many of the ground nesters, the sparrows,
plovers, whip-poor-will, partridge and many others.

Jane Taylor, in an article on the difference between
man and inferior animals, says: ‘ Man has reason, ani-
mals only instinct; man makes mistakes, animals never
do; animals never make improvements,” and continues,
“Who ever saw a bird puzzling its head over its unfin-
ished nest?” Had she been an observing naturalist she
might on many occasions have seen just this. Birds
often find great difficulty in obtaining sufficient materi-
als of which they are most fond, and may have to go a
long way to get enough of the soft fabrics with which
to finish the nest, thus delaying the completion for sev-
eral days.

Sometimes the twigs to which it is fastened prove too
weak for its support, and then the ingenuity of the birds
comes into play to remedy the defect. I have seen them
tie two branches together, that were spreading apart,
and make them fast to a limb above them and then finish
the nest. Within a week I have seen the nest of an
oriole canted over by the breaking of a limb caused by
high wind; the birds, instead of forsaking the nest,
somewhere secured a piece of white tape three or four
feet long, and with this fastened the broken branch
securely to another limb. Birds that build early in the
season, while the weather is cold, make much more sub-
stantial nests than those that build later. The chipping
120 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

bird hatches its first brood in one of the most artistic
little domiciles, substantial and well lined to keep out
the cold and wet, but the second and third broods,
hatched later in the season when the weather is warm,
are put off with a slimsy makeshift of a nest, often so
thin and sleezy that one can see the eggs and young
through the bottom of it as readily as through a sieve.

The orioles that nest in Pennsylvania do not use half
the material that those do which nest in Canada and
Northern New York. Old birds in many cases not only
make much better nests than the younger ones, but are
also much better singers, some of them even adding new
bars and strains to their songs. The cow-bunting makes
no nest of her own, but deposits an egg in the nest of
another bird: this she does surreptitiously and generally
as soon as the nest is finished. We all know the inge-
nuity exercised by some of the little birds thus imposed
on, to prevent the incubation of this foreign egg.

The blue-eyed warbler (Dendroica estiva), and one or
two of the vireos build another department, and wall in
the egg of the interloper. So general has become the
custom of the bunting to use the nest of the blue-eyed
warbler, that the little bird now often makes provision
for the emergency when she constructs the nest, by
building it deep enough for the two compartments.

Bird migration has always been an interesting prob-
lem to naturalists who do not attribute all phenomenal
intelligence to natural instinct. It may be called hered-
itary instinct, learned through accident, perhaps, or
acquired by necessity and afterwards transmitted from
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS. 121.

one generation to another. Many young birds left to
themselves, without example of the older ones, would
not go south at the approach of cold weather unless by
accident. Those hatched too late to move with others
of their kind often wander about aimlessly until they
perish with the cold. Birds that are brought across the
ocean from countries where climate does not render a
change necessary do not fly south at the approach of
winter. The English sparrows survive by their extreme
hardiness, otherwise they would perish like other imimi-
grants. The partial failure in the introduction of the
skylarks into this country is due solely to the lack of
knowledge on the part of the birds concerning the cli-
matic changes. They have not learned the necessity of
moving to lower latitudes, and nof having the example
of their elders, nor the instinct transmitted from ances-
tors, they remain north in the fall and perish with the
cold.

In nothing do the birds display greater sagacity or
show more clearly their exercise of reasoning powers
than in some of the phases of their migration. It is yet
one of the mysteries of nature how they find their way
back over a distance of thousands of miles, to the very
tree or stump or barn in which they nested the year
before. Do they remember familiar objects noted on
their southern journey, or do they remember only direc-
tion, and, like the honey bee, “strike a bee line” towards
their destination? The theory of “ widening circles of
flight” cannot be true, as this would take them into
such extremes of heat and cold as to make it impossible:
122 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. #

the males of several species often arrive a few days
earlier than the females. They come to see if the
weather and other conditions are favorable for the sea-
son’s housekeeping. What were the understandings
between these couples when the gallants started on their
long journeys into the seemingly great unknown?
Where and how were they to meet? Was he to return,
or was she to follow after a certain time? We only
know that unless accident befall one or the other, the
pleasant spring days find them together again near their
last year’s home. That many of the birds do return
year after year to their old haunts is a fact too well
known by those who have observed their habits to
require any extended proof. I have known the same
pair of robins to make their nest on a beam under a shed
during eight or nine consecutive years: how much
longer they might have occupied the place isnot known,
as they returned again to find the shed in ruins, and
were obliged to seek other quarters. This pair I could
easily identify, as the female bird was partly an albino,
having considerable white on the back and in wings and
tail. Another robin, that by some mishap had lost a
foot, made its appearance in the same yard in the city
for two or three years. In many sections perhaps only
one barn in half a township will be used by the eave
swallows (Petrochelidon lunifrons), but the location
once selected, the colony will continue to return to it,
sometimes for half a century, or until the building
tumbles down with age or undergoes extensive repairs :
even then stray birds, singly or in pairs, will often be
INTELLIGENCE IN BIRDS. 123

seen circling over the place, as if loth to leave the old
homestead.

A wood thrush returned to the same grove several
summers; I knew him from other thrushes by some
long peculiar trills between the high and the low parts
of the song. These were sweeter and softer and fuller
of pure melody than I have ever heard in any other
bird. A thousand incidents may be given to illustrate
this local attachment and its results, but one more on the
present occasion must suffice. On North Street, in an
old apple tree in Mr. Gowans’ yard, a pair of blue-birds
made a nest in the cavity of a decayed limb. <A high
wind broke off the limb and the little birds, just hatched,
fell to the ground. A young girl of the family picked
up the fledglings and placed them in-an extemporized
nest in a basket, which she hung in the piazza near by.
Soon the old birds found their young, and fed and
hovered them in their nest until they were able to take
care of themselves: even after they flew away they
came back and remained in the nest several nights.
Both the old and young birds were on good terms with
the members of the family, and did not take their flight
for the south until late in the summer. Early last
spring, during the first sunny days of March, the male
bird made his appearance on the premises and came into
the kitchen for crumbs; he remained nearly a week and
disappeared again, but only for a few days, when he
returned with his mate to stay. They peered about the
old apple tree, and searched for the basket for a nesting
place, but finally observing a cavity high up in the
124 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

piazza, they made their nest and raised another brood of
birds.

There is little danger of speaking extravagantly of
the birds. Nothing in nature excels them in beauty of
color, elegance of form and grace of motion. They add
the greatest charm to the landscape, and fill the world
with twitters of gladness and volumes of delicious song.
No less are they, than we, God’s creatures. -A better
appreciation of their virtues as well as of their uses, and
a truer understanding of their capacity for enjoyment
and suffering, will make us more considerate in our con-
duct towards them, and more tender and humane in our
treatment of them.
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD.
What plant we in the apple tree?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ;
Boughs, where the thrush with crimson breast
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest.

A shadow for the noontide hour,

A shelter from the summer’s shower.

Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May wind’s restless wings ;
A world of blossoms for the bee,

We plant with the old apple tree.

Wititram C. BRYANT.

Sentiment and feeling, and what flows from them, con-
stitute a large part of our happiness.
the world of its poetry, its romance, its sweetness to sac-
rifice all sentiment to a hard theory. We do not live for

utility alone.

BisHor Coxe.

It would divest
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD.

Blessed indeed the members of that family whose
house, whether cottage or mansion, stands near an old
orchard. They will have beauty, fragrance, fruit, shel-
ter and shade; visitants too, rare and enjoyable, from
fields and woods. These old apple trees, emblems of
civilization and symbols of man’s industry and home
comforts, bring much more than fruit to the premises.
They bring the bright-winged insects and the singing
birds, the squirrels and the mice—inhabitants of the
hives, the fields and the woods. They bring children,
too, to love them and to be blessed by them, to hunt
birds’ nests in the branches and build play-houses in their
shade, to trample the grass and club the early fruit.

It is not the modern young orchard with branches
trimmed and thinned, with the ground kept clear of
grass and turf, that best we love. However thrifty and
full of promise this young and cultivated orchard may
be, like a new house, it lacks the great charm which
only time can give. It is the orchard, rather, with its
mossy trunks and gnarled and scraggy limbs, with foli-
age so dense that in many places it has driven out the
meadow grass and restored some of the wild things of
the primitive woods.
128 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Only an hour’s ride on the cars from the city is such
an orchard which I frequently visit. When there I
partake of the hospitality both of the orchard and its
proprietor, and divide with them my time and affection.
The owner of this orchard has lived there nearly seventy
years; the orchard was planted ten years earlier, and
the picturesque log house that ornaments the grounds
was built the year before the trees were planted, or
eighty-one years ago. The low but roomy house was
built upon honor and of good material, as well as upon
a pleasant site; there was no shoddy in the timber or
in its construction. The straight logs were from the
trimmest red beech and rock maple, and they were so
nicely fitted to one another by the axe of the deft chop-
pers that when plastered on the outside where they
came together no rain nor damp could penetrate the
chinks; and the house to-day, after an exposure to sun
and rain of more than man’s allotted age, stands as firm
and sound and as snug and warm as it was when the
bride came to live in it so many years ago. It is robed
in vines, which are so dense that they have to be put
away like curtains from the square windows to let in
more light.

The courteous old gentleman is justly proud of this old
house, and would not see it replaced by any modern
frame or brick building that the most famous architect
could plan. He is also proud of the cellar, always filled
with apples and barrels of cider, but prouder still of the
mammoth trees in the orchard. He frequently calls
attention to the one that overhangs the back piazza,
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD. 129

with a trunk measuring nearly ten feet in circumfer-
ence and branches of corresponding dimensions; and to
another near the well that usually yields thirty bushels
of apples annually. The first of these has an immense
iron rod holding together its two main branches; the
other shows here and there a dead limb, notwithstand-
ing its wonderful yield of fruit. Two other trees, stand-
ing side by side, so nearly resemble each other in form
and height as to remind one of that wonderful pair of
trees representing Baucis and Philemon. They are
more than fifty feet in height, and lean slightly towards
each other, and although the whole orchard is of natural
fruit, that of these two trees is exactly alike in color,
form and taste. About the middle of May I received
this message from the proprietor :

“Come on Friday’and you can then stay over until
Monday; the trees will be in full bloom, the singing
birds are thick as bees, and your favorite cat-bird is here
again this spring. He seems to live by singing just as
my neighbor’s boy does by whistling. What makes
lazy boys always whistle their way through the world ?
There is a nest of young muskrats under the stone
bridge in the road opposite the house, and the little
fellows show themselves every morning. A little bird
resembling the chipping bird in size and color sings in
the trees in the pasture the most curious quavering
songs; he is a new-comer, I think, in these parts, but
you will likely know him. Nearly every night and
morning a wood thrush sings in one of the large elms
east of the orchard. We have pure milk, sweet grass
butter, fresh eggs, and two casks of cider yet untapped
in the cellar, and I give you the word of an old captain
that no such cider was ever found in the city.

“Yours, T. J. K.”
1380 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

The invitation was duly accepted, and standing in the
old orchard after supper, surrounded by such a wealth
of beauty and fragrance, with blossoms above and below
and falling in showers all around, silently like unosten-
tatious acts of charity, one could fully realize that
“blossom week” indeed brings the full fruition of
spring’s fairest promises.

__ It is difficult to find adjectives to adequately describe
apple trees. They are so beautiful, so useful and so
generally distributed. Appearing on the earth about
the time that man did, in all temperate climes they have
kept’ pace with his improvement and civilization, and
mark his progress in agriculture with sufficient exactness.

Belonging to the highest order in the vegetable king-
dom, the Losacae, the apple tree has a flower that is a
queen even in that order, equaling the rose itself in
color, and excelling it in the delicacy of its fragrance.
The tree becomes a bountiful bouquet, the “ whole as per-
fect as each part, and each part as perfect as the whole.”
You cannot find in any floral hall such a mass of odor-
ous blossoms as some of these trees exhibit, where each
separate flower will bear the scrutiny of the microscope.
Here a large oval-topped tree presents a double centrifu-
gal manner of inflorescence, the top of it being in full
bloom, the middle with only the central or terminal
flower fully out, while the lower branches show only
pink buds. ;

The orchard assists in teaching the lesson that objects
which yield the greatest pleasure lie nearest our doors;
that it is not necessary to make long journeys or to ex-
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD. 131

plore far-off countries to see the most interesting objects
in nature. I can find more of interest in Limestone
groves, in Wende’s woods and meadows and in the vicin-
ity of Portage than I can in the Adirondacks, the wilds of
Northern Michigan or the primitive forests of the Caro-
linas. Even this old orchard of less than a dozen acres
has so many charming things growing and living,
flowerless and flowering, winged and four-footed in it,
that a Gray or a Nuttall would find it a field of delight
and study. There are mosses on the north side of the
tree trunks and lichens pendant from leafless branches.
Tall ferns are growing in a shaded corner of the lot near
a rivulet of pure water, and their broad fronds are as
green and thrifty as in the shady woods. The jewel
weed, with almost transparent stem, and leaves that
look like silver, when immersed in water, are abundant
and luxuriant.

Dicentras, cardamines, trilliums, anemones, podophyl-
lums, Claytonias, and the beautiful little Geranium
dissectum grow here. The spikenard (Awralia race-
mosa) is so plentiful that neighbors come to dig the root
for medicine; and, later, a troop of boys will be gather-
ing the sweet, juicy and aromatic berries. What a
field for the herbal women! such hosts of simples!
spearmint, peppermint, catnip, horsemint, hoarhound,
pennyroyal, thoroughwort, yarrow, mayweed, smart-
weed, heartsease, wormwood, tansy, comfrey and bur-
dock. My friend smiles when I ask him to spare a few
of the finer burdocks, and replies that “they are the
pest of the premises, good for nothing but to keep boys
1382 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

out of mischief, cutting and uprooting them.” He
looks still more incredulous when I tell him we have
really few prettier flowers in the garden than those of
this wholesome, rough-looking, and sometimes trouble-
some plant. Hulme understood this, and in figuring
the flowers of field and garden, has given us the gem of
all in the burdock. The chief beauty, perhaps, consists
in the exquisite harmony of color in plant and flower,
the pink and purple fringe of the latter rivaling that of
the attractive flowering wintergreen.

Orchards possess so many attractions for the feathered
tribes that some ornithologists have classified the song
birds into those of the orchard, field and woods. The
old trees afford abundant food of insects and larve;
they afford wonderful facilities for nesting, and their
proximity to the house offers protection from many
animals of prey. Nowhere else do I find nests so plen-
tiful as in the apple orchards. Bdys who collect eggs
have found this out, and the owners have to be watch-
ful to prevent the boys from harrying such premises.
Fortunate for the farmers could they more generally’ ’
become conscious of the beautiful and interesting things
- that are to be found in their immediate vicinity. Many
of them expect only fruit from the trees, when this is
only a small part which they might enjoy. During less
than two days here I have found nearly thirty nests,
among them five robins’ nests, four with eggs and one
with young birds. When I climbed up to look in this
last one the old birds made a great ado, and I could not
convince them that my intentions were friendly.
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD. 188

Birds have to guard against so many marauders that
it is a wonder that they have any confidence left in man
or other animals. One would expect them all to become
skeptical pessimists instead of the sunny, confiding crea-
tures which most of them still are.

The pair with the nest in a little evergreen by the
fence manifested very little alarm at my approach. The
male bird alighted on a rail quite near and watched me
without uttering a word of remonstrance. The sitting
bird seemed loth to leave the nest, and I even touched
her with my hand before she flew off.

Several little chipping birds were already nesting in
the orchard, and one could not resist the temptation to
look into each beautifully constructed house to admire
the little greenish blue eggs so artistically marked with
brown and chocolate. A nest in the jasmine, over a
front window, occupies the place that one did last year.
Just before dusk last evening the wood thrush took his
place on one of the elms, and for half an hour or more
chanted his divine music. Why does he leave his friends
in the maple woods beyond the pasture, half a mile
away, and come here each evening to sing? Does he
know that such strains are too sweet to be wasted in
the woods away from human ears?

Three purple finches have been in the orchard and in
close company for several days, two of them singers,
though only one of them has the bright plumage; the
other is colored almost like the female, gray, with dull
penciled lines of white and brown, but with no percep-
tible bright red. The two males did not sing at all
1384 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

alike; the bright-colored one sang a loud vivacious strain,
while .the other’s song much resembled that of the
warbling vireos. Had the one lost his color by age, or,
by lack of age, had he not yet taken it on? A purple
finch kept long in confinement will lose his bright plum-
age and become gray. Last year a pair nested in
the orchard and often came about the cottage door with
the chippies.

The little brown bird mentioned by my host is the
field sparrow (Spizella pusilla). He sang much of the
time yesterday from a shade tree in the field near the
orchard. The song is ecstatic and far-reaching like that
of the veery. It is oftenest heard in bushy pastures, or
at the edge of a woods, where it will often surprise
one with its strange quavering whistle so curiously
modulated.

The red-eyed and warbling vireos were singing almost
unceasingly in the tall maples in front of the house, the
former generally near the top of the trees, and the lat-
ter in the lower branches. In the pauses between the
songs, one knows they are searching the leaves for food.
They are like the cheerful women, who sweeten their
household duties with pleasant songs. The warbling
vireo pleases you with his quiet low songs of inexpres-
sible sweetness, uttered leisurely, as if but the accom-
paniment of some pleasant duty.

With the exception of that of the song sparrow, this
simple warble is the most cheerful of that of any bird.
He comes in April or May, and remains until October,
singing at all times of the day in city and country and
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD. 135

in all kinds of weather. This bird has always so de-
lighted me that I often speak of him, and wish every-
body to know him for the treasure that he is.

On the side of a knoll, near the little creek, I found
the nest of a snow bird, or slate-colored sparrow (Junco
hyemalis). It was sheltered by a tussock of grass, and
like all of these nests, was deep and finely finished.
There were four eggs, and, I judged, nearly ready to
hatch. This is the fourth nest of the Juncos that I
have found this season.

Bobolinks frequently came from the adjoining mea-
dow, and alighting on the trees or fence rattled off their
unintelligible though always musical jargon, and then
sailed or fluttered back to their mates in the grass. The
charm of the orchard is incomplete without their jingle.

* Two or three orchard orioles were ‘already here—good
singers, but seemingly shy and furtive. Their hand-
some and bolder cousins, the Baltimore orioles, were
dividing their time between snatches of songs and calls
to one another. Their songs are not satisfactory. There
is an unfinished, incompleteness about them; the ear
expects something more than it usually gets. These
birds, above all others, seem to possess capabilities
which they never reach. Masters of loud, clear and
liquid notes, they seem content to call and scold and
blurt out parts of strains which they never finish. They
have learned one thing, however, greatly to their advan-
tage—that'is, placing their swinging nests out of reach of)
most animals of prey, boys not excepted. A half dozen
of their last year’s nests were still swinging from the
186 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

tall elms at the side of the orchard. A solitary cuckoo
alighted in the tree nearest the house; he uttered two
or three soft, mellow notes, and flew to the woods. A
pair nested in the orchard last year. '

In a partially dead tree a pair of wakeups, or yellow-
hammers, were nesting. They have excavated a hole ina
large limb, or rather one part of the tree, as the top of
one of the two main branches had broken off, leaving a
stub three or four feet in length. The nest was only a
little higher than a man’s: head, and the old gentleman
had placed a wooden chair under the tree in order to
get a view of the nest. I approached the place noise-
lessly, and clapping my hand over the opening of the
cavity made the sitting bird a prisoner. I gently lifted
the beautiful creature to the light; she made no resist-
ance, but the fluttering of her heart spoke her conster-°
nation. To have long resisted the pleading of her dark
eyes would have been an act of cruelty. If a “bird in
the hand is worth two in the bush” it must be a live
one, even as an object of scientific study. I detained
her only long enough to admire the beautiful umber and
bright yellow of her rich plumage, more beautifully
penciled than could have been done with brush and pen-
cil by the finest artist. As I opened my hand she flew
off, uttering a note of gladness, and rejoined her mate
that was anxiously watching her from his perch on the
trunk of an adjoining tree. They soon flew off to
another part of the lot to talk over the affair and to de-
termine whether it would be safe to ever venture back
to the nest again, but they must have become reassured,
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD. 137

for she returned in a few minutes after we left the tree.
The five or six white eggs were as smooth as alabaster,
resembling fine china, and were in keeping with the
beauty of these elegant birds. .

Not a rod from the front door of the cottage, and
near the curbed well, I accidentally found a nest full of
young song sparrows just ready to fly. As I stooped
down to look at them, three of the five scampered out
under the lilac bushes. It is marvelous that this nest
has escaped the cats that are so often prowling about
the yard in search of just such tid-bits.

A low, thick thorn bush, surrounded by sweet elder
bushes, and overrun with vines, holds the gem of the
orchard. A cat-bird had so concealed her nest that I
did not see it until the bird fluttered out, almost within
reach of my hand. She flew only a few feet away,
when the mate, attracted by the disturbance, came still
nearer and commenced warbling in the most friendly
manner, as if to coax me away from the place. Neither
bird uuttered its usual notes of complaint, but one
watched anxiously and the other continued his songs
with many changes of tunes and attitudes, apparently
utterly unconscious that there was any disturbance or
danger menacing them. In the nest were four blue-
green eggs; not the green of the plants, nor the blue of
the sky, but more like a certain deep color of the sea.
The fields of nature hold not another such gem as the
egg of this thrush; of such exquisite material, so per-
fect in form, being only “lines of beauty,” and a color
matchless and indescribable. And then, such a germ
138 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

of possibilities within ; life, music and flight, only wait-
ing a little more warmth from the mother’s breast.
There is such an unexplainable charm about a nest of
egos. I confess that I never see a nest of eggs of one of
our domestic fowls without a thrill of pleasure. Thomas
W. Higginson, in his incomparable “ Out Door Papers,”
says: “I think that if required on pain of death to
name instantly the most perfect thing in the universe,
I should risk my fate on a bird’s egg. There is, first, its
exquisite fragility, strong only by the mathematical
precision of that form so delicately moulded. Then its
range of tints so varied, so subdued, so beautiful,
whether of pure white, like the martin’s, or pure green ;
like the robin’s, or dotted and mottled into the loveliest
of browns; like the red thrush’s, or aqua marine with
stains of moss agate; like the chipping sparrow’s, or
blotched with long weird ink marks on a pale ground;
like the oriole’s, as if it bore inscribed some magic clew
to the bird’s darting flight and pensile nest. Above all,
the associations of this little wonder of winged splendor
and celestial melody, coiled in mystery within these
tiny walls; it will be as if a pearl opened and an angel
sang.”

A house wren arrived here only a day or two ago,
and has already explored the cavity of a dry limb in
which he and his mate had a nest last year. The phebe
birds have built on a beam under the shed, and the
three white eggs are nearly ready to hatch. Both birds
assist in incubation. Last summer a pair of humming
birds built a nest in a large tree nearest the house. It
A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD. 139

was saddled on the upper side of a dry limb, but almost
hidden by other green branches. It was the daintiest
little bit, of architecture, exquisitely lined, and orna-
mented on the outside with patches of green moss, so
as almost exactly to resemble the color of the limb.
A high wind in the fall broke off the branch, which
my friend saved for me, with the nest still firmly
attached.

While I was sitting on the fence, listening to a flock
of gold finches overhead in a tree, I saw a large wood-
chuck in the adjoining clover field come out of his bur-
row under an oak to feed on the clover. I kept quiet
until he was quite as far from his burrow, triangularly
as I was, when I concluded to give him a race. He
saw the movement and started for the oak. I hada
little the advantage in the distance and kept it, and
stuck my foot into the entrance of the burrow just
ahead of him. He seemed to realize fully that he was
beaten, and made no attempt to escape, but cuddled
down in the grass, as much as to say, “I am at your
mercy ; do with me as you please.” I had no desire to
do him harm, and only gave chase to see the ungainly,
billowy movements that he makes in running, though
perhaps his appearance was no more ludicrous to me
than mine to him; either way, I puffed much worse
than he did. After looking for a few minutes at his
fine face, but uncouth body, covered with its rusty,
shaggy coat, I moved off and left him free to take
possession of his hiding place. This seemed also to.
astonish him, for he did not move until I was two
140 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

or three rods away, when he very cautiously crept
under cover.

Several red squirrels interested me by their lively
antics. They were running on the zigzag rail fence,
then up and down this tree and that, then sometimes
passing from one tree top to another, cackling and
chattering and barking like little dogs. They lived in
the barn during the winter, and are as much at home
here as are the cat and dog, which are too fat and lazy
to catch them. When I was here last fall, it seemed
that there was a squirrel for each tree. They made a
business of throwing apples from the tall trees, on the
house, into the grass and walks, and sometimes on per-
sons’ heads. They seemed to be doing it for fun, in
very wantonness, as bushels which were thrown down
were unbitten, but the old gentleman would not let the
boys shoot them. He said, “there was fruit enough for
all, and the squirrels were only helping to gather his
cider apples.”

‘Paradoxical as it may seem, when I came away from
the old orchard I left the flowers and singing birds, all
the pretty nests and frolicsome squirrels just as I found
them. Still, I brought them away with me, and have
added them to my valuable collection—a collection
whose preservation requires neither alcohol nor arsenic.
AUTUMN VISITORS.
** Along the hills wild asters bend to greet
The roadside’s wealth of golden rod;

And by the fences, the bright sumachs meet
The morning light of God.”
AUTUMN VISITORS.

For some reason many of the song birds became silent
earlier than usual this year: the extended drouth may
have had something to do with it, but from the first
week in August till the 10th of September there was so
universal a hush among them that the woods and fields
were lonely places, lacking their greatest charm. The
middle of September brought a change, and for a few
succeeding days glad voices rang out again in favored
places almost as joyously as in leafy June. Robins,
blue birds, song sparrows, gold finches and vireos took
up their songs again, and gave us a real touch of spring.
The high-hole uttered his melodious love call from his
perch in the dead tree top, and the cuckoo sent his sono-
rous coo, coo! echoing through the woods only a day
or two before the autumn equinox. Some of these birds
come back to their old haunts and sing in the trees
where they nested months before. These few days of
song become a kind of second spring, just as the soft,
hazy days that come a little later are the second, or
Indian summer. They are the precious days of the
naturalist, who visits, or longs to visit, all the old
familiar places that were so dear to him earlier in the
season.
144 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

A daily walk leads me past two wide-spreading elms
that overhang the street. In June, for the last two or
three years, in each of these a pair of warbling vireos
have had a nest, and each fall, months after the young
have flown away, the old birds come back to visit the
place, and for several days their low sweet warble may
be heard near the spot where the little empty nests are
hanging. They come in pairs, male and female, show-
ing that they have not dissolved their marital relations,
as birds by many are supposed to do immediately after
the young leave the nest. I know almost the very
morning on which IJ shall first hear them, so regular are
their visits in the autumn. During these few days the
singers are sure to have a delighted listener, who loiters
long under these trees which they have invested with
such interest. I regard them almost as reverently as
the ancients did the old talking oaks, which were sup-
posed to reveal hidden mysteries to those whom the
gods favored. What brings these creatures back to
their old haunts, and what lands have they visited dur-
ing their absence of so many weeks? Do they come to
see if their pensile nests are still swinging on the sway-
ing boughs on which they hung them so long ago? Do
they wish to take another look at the dear place where
they wooed and mated, and where their precious little
families were watched and tended with such constant
and loving care, or are they—provident little creatures
that they are—looking for a site and planning the
building of their next year’s cottage before leaving
to winter in a summer clime? These are questions to
AUTUMN VISITORS. 145

be answered when birds shall know more of our lan-
guage, or when we shall better understand the birds.

I only know that these cheerful good-by songs mean
glad tidings—they are the harbingers of pleasant, quiet
days, and leave one with feelings of serene peace and
joy—they are a sort of rounding out of the summer’s
blessings, a fuller fruition of the glad promises of spring,
and help to shorten and bridge over the long period of
silence that winter brings.

A short drive distant from the city is a broad though not
deep ravine, spreading out at the base into a low grassy
meadow ; through it a limpid stream of water runs, in
places rippling over pebbly rocks and again forming little
quiet pools, where the small fish lie and sun themselves
in the shallow edges. Many large trees are still left
standing on the sloping banks, while in places are thick
clumps of bushes, tangled and thickened by running
vines. No heathen myths are needed to people this
fair and favored spot, for, as might be expected, it is a
great resort for the birds, which are our nymphs, naiads,
and sylvan deities. They come to this little valley early
in the spring and make it, indeed, a vale of song. Many
little structures of exquisite workmanship are fashioned
here in bush and tree, and in hollow stub, or hidden
away under tussocks of grass, and in them are deposited
treasures of blue and speckled eggs. In the latter part
of May, or in early June, if you look, with your heart
in your eyes, for such gems, you may find, within the
radius of half a mile, two or more score of these nests,
and, although you may look in upon them as often as
146 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS...

you like, if, you are careful not to disarrange the imme-
diate surroundings, the old birds will not be disturbed.
I have even placed my hand on a robin on her nest
while she was looking straight at me; then she moved
only a foot or so away, where she remained until I had
counted the four eggs she was incubating, and while I
yet stood by the bush she again took her place on the
nest, and I left her looking as serene out of her clear
eyes as though no intruder had been nigh. At another
time a blue bird kept her place and pecked my hand
while I examined the nest. But it is early autumn,
after the leaves begin to redden and the woodbine to
glorify the fences and bushes with their traceries of
blended colors, where the thistle and wild lettuce seeds
are ripening, and the sweet elder and pokeweed are
purple with shining berries, when the thorn apples,
which grow here in great abundance, are showing red
among the russet leaves, that the birds come to this
place in greatest numbers; many species meeting as if
by a common understanding and by mutual consent,
some coming for food, some for shelter, some apparently
for seclusion, while others are here with their last sum-
mer’s brood, which they are teaching to sing. It is a
rare pleasure on a mild September day to sit on the
sunny slope of this ravine and listen to one of these
musical performances. Sometimes it is the robins,
sometimes the cat birds, or blue birds, but oftenest you
may hear the song sparrows practicing in the leafy con-
servatory. The old birds will sing a few bars, then the
young will take up the strain in that wavering, uncer-
AUTUMN VISITORS. 147

tain manner heard in a young canary just beginning to
sing, often at first so little like his kind that it would
not be recognized without the surroundings; and so it
will continue, sometimes for hours, the pleasantest little
singing school imaginable. I have often heard the songs
of these little birds in the fall, and thought that I was
listening to a strange species, until I saw the parent bird
near by.

When young and old of different species are thus
practicing in close proximity, the young of one will
often catch the tone and warble of another, and in this
way may the anomalous notes of many birds be ac-
counted for; such instances as I have previously noticed,
in which the sparrows, in certain parts of their songs,
utter the exact notes of the cheewink or towhee, and
one of the creepers, the sweet whistle of the titmouse.
A robin will sometimes sing the entire strain of the
oriole, uniting the clearer, higher notes of the latter
with the sweeter, mellower and more extended song of
his own.

The larks still remain in full force, and their shrill
notes go up from many a brown meadow and yellow
stubblefield. They are among the earliest birds in
spring, and are in no hurry to leave in autumn; it seems
a pity that these beautiful birds, so rich in plumage and
graceful in form, are not endowed with more melodious
tones, as, like some boys, they are forever whistling,
piercing your ears when you are listening for sweeter
and more delicate sounds.
148 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Swallows are now gathering in immense flocks,
alighting on roofs of barns and houses and on telegraph
wires, where they flutter and cliirp to one another in
the most social way; they appear to congregate at pre-
concerted times and places, compare notes in their bird
language and then separate, each going his own indi-
vidual way in search of food or to enjoy his easy and
graceful flight in upper air. They could not long sub-
sist in such vast numbers, as their food supply would be
exhausted. During a recent drive near Fort Porter, I
saw a flock of these birds that must have contained nearly
twenty thousand. They covered the roofs of many
houses and the telegraph wires for several blocks.
Three or four species of swallows fly and flock to-
gether promiscuously, but they are all performing a
work that should entitle them to our gratitude and pro-
tection. All the insect exterminators sold by druggists
would weigh little in comparison with the work done
by these industrious little birds, yet how many of them
are yearly slaughtered by the thoughtless sportsman,
who is proud of his skill in shooting them on the wing!
A farm barn without the swallow hole in the gable, and
the swallows going in and coming out and nesting on
the rafters, is like a hearthstone without a cat or child;
yet occasionally you find a gruffy old farmer, who fas-
tens them out of the buildings and brushes down their
nests, built under the eaves, never thinking that he is
fighting the best friends of his garden and orchard.
Perhaps if we tell him a truth, that his cabbages will
grow unmolested of the worms, when planted near the
AUTUMN VISITORS. 149

barn, where the swallows have free and fearless access
to them, he will regard them more leniently. So much
easier is it to awaken a sentiment in some men’s minds
by a barrel of kraut or a boiled dinner than by exhibiting
the grace and beauty and music and innocence of all the
birds in the world.

Birds left unmolested usually return in the spring to
their old haunts, and we could look upon their departure
for a season with less sorrow, if we knew more of them

' would be spared to return; but we know their journey
will be attended by danger from cold and lack of food ;
they will be assailed by beasts, and most of all by man,
the most insatiate of all the beasts of prey; they will.
be shot and trapped by scores and thousands—some for
the beauty of their plumage—but more as an article for
food. Think of twenty thousand bobolinks shot in one
town and exposed for sale as an article of food—these
birds of song, that have filled the air with their sweet
melody, in orchard and meadow, cheering the hearts of
so many people. It is well that the children in their
rural homes cannot witness this wholesale murder of the
innocent.

Probably next to the bobolinks, the robins suffer most
from these rapacious ghouls. How can a man or woman
eat such a bird, knowing what music was hushed, what
affections stilled, what loss of life and keen enjoyment
were forever blotted out of existence, that one palate
might receive a moment’s gratification.

Miss Thatcher tells us of the bluff old gentleman at a
public dinner table, who, on being told that “robins
150 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

were delicious on toast,” astonished some of the com-
pany by indignantly exclaiming: What! eat robins,
our household birds! I would as soon eat a baby! A
man who, by word, teaches that “God is love,” on
being expostulated with for shooting robins, replied that
“he had a perfect right to shoot any birds for food;
that all life was created especially for the use of man.”
This is almost the universal excuse. Weare sick of this
miserable, selfish old lie. It is used as a screen to cover
half the cruelty practiced by man upon the lower ani-
mals, and is not half as honest as the plea that “might
makes right.” God no more created the birds for you
and me than He created you and me for the birds. Let
us have done with the old dogma or selfish theology,
that “man is the grand pivot about which all the bal-
ance of creation revolves.”

Beast and bird and plant and flower were made cen-
turies before man inhabited this globe; they still live
and flourish where he has never been, and they may
continue to live ages after he ceases to exist. The dear
old poet utters the diviner melody when he sings :

“« He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small ;

For the dear God who loveth us
He made and loveth all.”
NESTING HABITS OF BIRDS.
And oft an unintruding guest,
L watched her secret toils from day to day ;
How true she warped the moss to form the -nest,
And modeled tt within with wood and clay.
And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,
There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers,
Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue.

JOHN CLARE.
NESTING HABITS OF BIRDS.

ca

An interesting feature of bird life is their nesting
habits. The general plan characterizing each species is
often so modified by place and circumstance, that in
many instances the plan seems to be abandoned and a
new one substituted. Some of the swallows that for-
merly nested almost exclusively in caves and in hollow
trunks of trees, now build in chimneys, or in colonies
under the eaves of barns or other out-buildings. As
the country grows older and the hollow stumps disap-
pear from meadows and pasture fields, the blue birds
are obliged to use other hollow places, sometimes knot
holes in houses and barns, and when unmolested by
sparrows they will often come and build in the little
bird houses attached to trees and poles near our dwell-
ings. Many of the warblers have left the deep forests
and now come to the orchards, lawns and gardens to
rear their young; the blue jays also now seek the trees
near the habitations of men; some of the fly catchers
more frequently nest in sheds or under bridges than, as
formerly, on rocks.

The finches (Lringillide) seldom place the nest above
a dozen feet from the earth, though a majority of the
family nest on the ground. The tree and chipping
154 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

sparrows build in trees or bushes; the vesper and Hud-
sonian on the ground, while the English sparrow will
put its nest in a tree, bush, vine, or in a niche in the
wall; the song sparrow usually nests on the ground,
but occasionally it will build in a thick bush or low tree.
The past summer I found three of these nests in ever-
greens, and one was occupied by two broods in the sea-
son. Brush heaps, especially by the roadside and in
orchards, are favorite places of this domestic little bird.

Most of the thrushes (Zwrdide) prefer trees or bushes,
but like the finches they never place the nest very high.
Wilson’s thrush and the brown thrashers usually nest
on the ground, though the latter will occasionally use
for the purpose a thick bush or low tree. The robins,
like the English sparrows, seem to have modified their
habits by civilization and intercourse with man, and
build in all kinds of places, in trees, bushes, in out-
buildings, on fence rails, and even on verandas of dwell-
ings. Wrens utilize knot holes in trees or buildings,
cavities in stumps and fence posts or boxes placed in
the lawns and gardens; these little chatterers are fond
of human companionship, and, like the cat-birds, are
* far more musical when assured of a listener. I have
heard one in a morning repeat his delightful little song
of “Wren! wren! wee, wee, butter, butter,” more than
‘a hundred times, just over my head and but a few feet
from his nest; then when I have hidden away from his
sight, though still in hearing, he has remained for a
long time as silent as a mouse. Chickadees, nuthatches
and woodpeckers almost invariably use holes in stumps,
NESTING HABITS OF BIRDS. 155

stubs or decayed tops of trees in which to nest, usually
excavating these cavities themselves. Occasionally the
yellow hammer (Colaptes auratus) will appropriate a
knot hole in an apple tree for the purpose; but he and the
red-headed woodpecker (Lrythrocephalus melanerpes) are
partial to living trees with decayed tops. To these they
often return year after year, only clearing out the old
cavity each year.

The swimmers nearly all make their nests on the
ground, and generally near the water; there are excep-
tions, and among them notably the wood duck (Azz
sponsa) which often hatches its young in a hollow stub
or tree, sometimes fifty feet or more from the ground.

The American gold finches (Spinus tristis) are very
partial to the maple, and probably two-thirds of all
their nests are placed in this favorite tree. They next
show a preference for the peach, birch, and wild cherry.
Mr. Cowell tells me that two small maples by the road
side each contained three new nests of these birds.
Probably the young of last year returned with the old
birds, and so kept near one another. No doubt the
young of former years often return in company with
the parents and build in the nearest available place.

A pair of phebe birds placed their nest on an iron
rod running through some beams over a barn floor.
The following year two couples built on the same rod,
and the summer succeeding there were three nests in a
row, and all occupied ; as these birds are hot gregarious,
it is reasonable to suppose that they only obeyed the
patriarchal instinct in keeping the family together.
156 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

The thrushes build coarse but substantial nests; the
wood thrushes and robins make the walls of moistened
clay, lining them with soft, dried grass, so that they are
very solid and comfortable structures ; to prevent these
houses from filling with water during a heavy shower
while the birds are absent, they wisely leave thin or
open places near the bottom, through which the water
can pass out. Several species of birds that nest before
the leaves are out choose evergreens for their first
brood, and if a second is raised it is generally in a
deciduous bush or tree. Last spring the leaves were late
in coming out, and of the first hundred nests that I
examined, principally of robins and chipping birds,
ninety of them were in evergreens; a month later the
number was nearly reversed.

The Baltimore oriole usually seeks the elm on which
to hang its nest; the long, pendent branches allow the
bird to build beyond the reach of most quadrupeds, so
that probably a larger percentage of the young of these
birds is raised than that of any other.

Birds of the same species are partial to particular
fabrics or materials to be used for building.

Although the common wrens usually seek cavities in
which to place the nest, yet sticks constitute a large
portion of these curious domiciles, only the inside being
lined with the softest and most delicate stuffs. The
cat-bird also uses sticks for the main part of the struct-
ure, and these seem to be selected with especial regard
to color, being dark twigs corresponding nearly to the.
color of the bird. This appears to be a general instinct
NESTING HABITS OF BIRDS. 157

with the feathered tribe, to fashion the nest of such
materials as to make it inconspicuous, and harmonize
with the neutral tints of the female bird. The scarlet
tanager, that so delights us with his brilliant plumage
of scarlet trimmed with black, has a pretty wife dressed
in pale green, and the nest is also placed amid a thicket
or bunch of green leaves, so that neither it nor the sit-
ting bird will attract the attention of the passer-by.

The humming bird saddles its delicate little house on
the upper side of a mossy limb, and then covers the out-
side with little patches of moss, just the color of the limb
and bird, making it very difficult to detect it, except-
ing by the closest observation or merest accident. The
marsh wren builds in a tuft of marsh grass, making the
structure partially of dried grass and interlining it with
many growing spears of the same, thus leaving the
rather bulky nest the least possible conspicuous, so
that although they are very plentiful in certain locali-
ties, especially on Strawberry Island, Niagara River,
few are found until the grass becomes dead and thin.
Most of the birds that nest on the ground use materials
that harmonize with the earth, and also with the dusky
color of the eggs, whereas those that build out of reach
of enemies take no such precaution. The oriole uses
light, attractive substances, and flaunts the exquisite
structure in plain sight of man and all other enemies,
relying for safety on its inaccessible situation. The
swallow, guided by the same instinct or reason, fear-
lessly approaches and leaves its nest, regardless of the
presence of man.
158 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

When horse hair is to be found, the little chipping
bird (Spizella socialis) builds largely of this material ;
hence the bird is known in many localities only by the
name of hair bird. The nests of these birds are usually
exquisitely fashioned, the materials being so deftly and
perfectly intertwined that the inside of the nest when
detached from the coarse surroundings will stand rough
handling without injury; one can closely judge the
color of the cattle or horses kept on the farm premises
by the lining of these miniature nests.

Those finches and thrushes which nest in trees usually
select prongs or forks of branches wherein to place the
nest, commencing at the bottom of the structure with
coarse material and refining as they proceed; but the
orioles, vireos, and a few of the warblers fasten the
upper edges of the nest to the horizontal fork of a
branch or twig, so that when finished the structure is
suspended from, instead of resting on, a support.
Although these latter are all pensile nests, the orioles
are the only ones that are swinging. This class of birds
are the finest architects, and exercise great ingenuity,
often to such a degree as to place them high in the class
of intelligent creatures.

A friend tells me that a pair of orioles built in an
elm on his lawn, but that just after or before the eggs
were deposited one of the branches supporting the nest
was by some mishap split off. To remedy this accident
the birds found a piece of strong twine and securely
fastened one side of the structure to another limb, and
then raised a brood of birds in their repaired house.
NESTING HABITS OF BIRDS. 159

Many other well-authenticated incidents of a similar
nature are recorded. A cat-bird placed its nest on two
bushy limbs that grew close together. The weight of the
structure spread apart the slender branches, when the
birds fastened them together by some fine strips of bark.

The weaver bird has a most curiously shaped nest, a
specimen of which is before me, sent from Calcutta to
a member of the “Society of Natural Sciences.” It is
a well woven elongated pouch, almost water tight,
small at the upper end, about a foot and a half in length
and composed of strong fibre and grass about the color
of a cocoanut. It is a pensile nest, cunningly and
securely fastened to a branch above it, and wholly
closed at the top. The entrance is a sort of gallery on
one side, opening from beneath, and a little below the
line with the bottom of the nest. In this orifice, the
bird ascends two or three inches and then settles into
the nest, being entirely shut out from the world and
securely sheltered from sun and storm. Mr. Pohlman
saw large numbers of these nests high in trees over-
hanging the Paraiba River, South America.

The summer yellow bird (Dendroica estiva) surpasses
all other birds in its exercise of sagacity in preparing
for its offspring. It is well known that the cow bunt-
ing often lays its eggs in the nest of this bird, for incu-
bation, thus escaping the cares of maternity. To foil
this, the cunning little warbler often builds a tall or
double-headed nest, and if the bunting deposits her egg
first, a wall is built over it, and the bird lays her own
eggs; if the intruder’s egg is laid after her own, then
160 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

she works it down to the bottom of the nest, imbedding
it too deep for incubation. I have found two of these
nests and have examined others. One of these that I
watched from the foundation till the young had flown is
in the collection of the Society of Natural Sciences.

Cuckoos and nearly all the Columbide make very
slovenly nests, mostly of coarse sticks with slight lining
and of but little depth ; while the whippoorwill makes
no nest at all, but deposits two very pretty white and
nearly round eggs on a level patch of dry leaves amid
thick shrubbery, When the viroes have nearly com-
pleted their finely wrought structures, they ornament
the outside with bits of cocoons, wasps’ and spiders’
nests, fastening these substances on the other materials
in a most mysterious manner. Only very sharp eyes
could find so much of seemingly scarce materials in the
limited radius traversed by birds. :

Chimney swallows gather most of their materials on
the wing, snapping the dry twigs from partially dead
trees. Barn swallows dip the straws and sticks, to be
mixed with clay, in the water, sometimes going a long
distance to a pool or brook for this purpose. Some
birds have a saliva or gelatinous matter that answers
for a cement.

As with their singing and feeding, many birds are
more industrious in nest building in the morning and
towards evening. Some carry on their work boldly,
with little regard for the presence of man, while others
come and go so stealthily that unless you are very
watchful you may never see the little architects at
work, although the nest grows as if by magic, right
before your very eyes.
MAPLE SUGAR MAKING.
Such beautiful things in the heart of the woods,
Flowers and ferns, and the soft green moss ;
Such love of the birds in the solitudes,

Where swift wings glance, and the tree-tops toss ;
Spaces of silence, swept with song,

Which nobody hears but the God above ;

Spaces where myriad creatures throng,

Sunning themselves in His guardian love.

MarGaret E. SANGSTER.
MAPLE SUGAR MAKING.

Few rural occupations possess the charm that sugar
making does; there is. a picturesqueness and poetry about
it surpassing that of any other branch of industry; and

‘no man who had in boyhood the blessed privilege of
spending a few weeks each year at its rugged and
healthful tasks can ever think of the sugar bush with-
out having his heart leap with a quicker bound. If
ever the mind of the imaginative boy drinks in the
sweet and tender influences of nature, that are to make
broader and better and more enjoyable his later years,
it is during these few weeks of wild, free life of work
and play in the woods.

In some of the counties of New York and New Eng-
land, where rock maples abound, farmers tap from one
hundred to one thousand trees each—sometimes even
as many as five thousand. The sugar season extends
over a period of three to six weeks. If the spring be
an early one, a few men may tap a portion of their
trees the latter part of February, that they may obtain
a “gilt-edge” price for their product, as sugar made
early is clearer and whiter than that made later in the.
season ; but generally the sugar makers wait until after
164 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

the first warm days of March before commencing prep-
arations for the spring campaign. In the larger
“bushes”? many of the improvements and conveniences
are made to be permanent: <A stone arch is built, large
enough to support two or three broad but shallow
sheet-iron pans and a swinging caldron kettle. A rude
but comfortable cabin, fifteen or twenty feet square of
boards or split logs, is erected just in front of the arch,
and but a few feet from it, to serve as a dwelling for
the men during the sugar season, and as a storage house
for the buckets the balance of the year. Convenient
roads, through which the teams may be driven to draw
the sap, are made by cutting out the underbrush and
fallen trees. A few cords of wood are cut in the fall
and hauled near the camp, as a part of seasoned fuel is
almost a necessity. After two or three bright days in
March, and while the weather is still crisp, the sap
buckets are taken out and scalded, and then distributed
through the woods, leaving one near each maple tree—
and if the tree be very large, perhaps two. These pre-
liminary arrangements completed, further work is
deferred until the day is warm enough to set the sap in
circulation. A warm south wind is favorable to start
it, but a west wind is necessary for a prolonged run.
Now commences the active work in the woods. ‘The
sound of the axe is heard from morning till night, and
the clear, metallic ring of the hammer and tapping
gouge awaken the woodland echoes ; the men and boys,
with whistle and song, join in the chorus, and the pic-
ture is one of cheerful industry.
MAPLE SUGAR MAKING. 165

A few sugar bushes are tapped with auger and spiles,
but most farmers prefer tapping with an ax and gouge,
as the wound in the tree heals more readily in the
latter case.

A small diagonal box is cut in the tree—and it can
be done by two smart blows by a skillful chopper—a
spile is driven into the tree just below the gaft to catch
and conduct the sap to the bucket, which is generally
suspended by a nail to the tree, and the operation is
completed. With what interested expectancy the first
burst of sap is always watched as it trickles into the
bucket! from some trees it starts and drops very slowly,
as if reluctantly, while from others it starts with a gush
as though glad to be set free and is not satisfied with
dropping, but becomes a little stream; this is the case
with the few old black-barked trees, such as are to be
found in nearly every sugar orchard. These black-
barked trees are known to yield three or four pails of
sap in twenty-four hours, and require frequent visits
from the gatherer.

Different branches of the work are now assigned to
the several hands—those who are most vigorous and
rugged gather the sap, while the oldest and youngest
members, those least capable of standing fatigue, are
left at camp to do the boiling. They must regulate the
fire and keep the pans and kettle properly filled. The
cold sap is usually heated in the forward pan and then
dipped to the one back of it, where it is kept contin-
ually boiling. After its partial evaporation, it is passed
to the kettle, in which it is “syruped down.” This
166 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

kettle occupies the back of the arch, and is suspended
from the short arm of a lever, that it may easily be
swung off the fire when the liquid becomes a thin
syrup. The syrup is strained into tubs, and then usually
taken to the farm house and left a day to settle, and
there “ sugared off” and caked. A bush of five hun-
dred trees will require a storage capacity at camp of
three or four hundred pails, and even then if there is a
prolonged run, the boiling sometimes has to be kept up
night and day for a whole week at atime. Now it is
life in the woods in real earnest ; the camp becomes the
home of some of the members who eat, sleep and read
in the cabin. The arrangements for sleeping are of a
primitive character—a bunk-of hay and a few blankets
on the floor—but they are sufficient for the require-
ments, as short naps are about all one gets during these
night watches, as when two persons are left to do the
boiling, the necessary labor will keep one continually
busy; if greater numbers are present—and often there
will be a rendezvous of a dozen men and boys—the
camp will be too lively for any one to sleep. On these
occasions there must be a “sugaring off” at camp, and
a small kettle, perhaps brought to the woods surrepti-
tiously and hidden away in some nook, is always in
readiness for the purpose. This is a proper time for
story telling, particularly stories of wild adventures
with beasts and Indians, and the younger members lis-
ten until they almost expect to see some wild animal
pounce upon them, or a band of savages spring out of
the dark woods and surprise the camp.
MAPLE SUGAR MAKING. 167

There are few scenes more impressively picturesque
than the sugar camp-fire at night. The dancing blaze
lights up the woods, and the objects stand out clear and
distinct, or are thrown into deeper shadow by the flick-
ering flame; they move about as the fire changes, and
are both real and unreal. Some of the trees look like
monster giants reaching their long and naked arms into
the light, grasping for other arms—and the imagina-
tion can make of them, trees or elves or hobgoblins.
There is a weird look about the pale, dry leaves that
still hang to the low limbs of some of the beeches, and
one instinctively starts, if they rustle, as though it were
the rustling of the garments of a ghost. The ancient
Greeks believed that when they heard the rustling of
dry beech leaves, a wood nymph was being born. Dur-
ing these silent watches of the night, a pleasanter sound
is the soft and gentle dripping of the sap as it falls into
the buckets from the neighboring trees. Its drop, drop,
is very musical, and lulls one like the regular ticking of
the old clock at home. This even dropping of water is
the true liquid melody, and falls upon the ear even
more soothingly than the rippling gurgle of the rill.
The charmed hour is just as the day begins to dawn.
It is like enchantment to lie on the rude couch in the
cabin and see the stars fade out in the far away
heavens, or to watch the slowly shifting clouds above
the net-work of tree-tops, until the trees themselves
appear to be moving like masts and spars of many
ships. Then the drumming of the partridge will
awaken the echoes of the woods, and the robin will
168 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.
4

sound his silver horn; the red squirrel will cackle from
his safe retreat above you, and the little chickadee lisp
his good-morning, and while you watch and listen, half
dreaming and half thinking, broad day-light and the
duties of another day will be upon you. As the season
advances and the snow disappears, the animals that
have hibernated again show themselves, and others
return to their old haunts in the woods. The large
hen-hawks come back to nest in the elms, and every
day they may be seen in their aerial flight circling
above the trees ; nothing can be more graceful than the
flight of the larger hawks. How one envies them
their leisurely journey in the upper air! and, when the
noisier crows come in numbers to assail them, with
what indifference is the attack received; if the assault
is continued till it becomes annoying, the hawk poises
his pinions, and mounts upward, beyond the equipoise
of the clumsier and more groveling birds.

You meet the timid little rabbit at every turn, and
after a while it ceases to appear startled at your
approach. The squirrels are chatty and noisy, appar-
ently delighted with the presence of man. The bird
that pleases you most and startles you oftenest as it
goes whirring through the woods is the partridge. You
may find the hen nesting in some open place soon after
the snow is off the ground, while the male bird will
reassure her by his martial drumming from some moss-
covered log in an adjoining thicket. It would indeed
be a lonely woods in which there were no squirrels or
partridges. Would to heaven that laws could be so
MAPLE SUGAR MAKING. 169

made and enforced that these beautiful creatures might
be better protected and become more numerous. Their
presence is as necessary to give a charm to the woods
as are the plants and flowers. If the sugar bush is
next to the clearing, the fauna and early flora will both
be more abundant and interesting, and you will have
the daily companionship of blue birds, robins, jays, nut-
hatches, woodpeckers and song-sparrows, and before
the season closes, some of the most beautiful and inter-
esting early flowers will show themselves above the
decaying leaves. The woods are not only filled with
pleasant sights and sounds, but the sweetest odors fill
the air; the limpid sap is fragrant with the essence of
maple; the bark of trees, the chips and newly cut
wood, all send out their subtle tribute of incense to
mingle with that of the plants and flowers which are
just starting into life; the dead leaves that have lain
all winter beneath the snows have a pleasant, earthy
smell, and even the old crumbling logs reddening in
decay, have about them the very essence of the aroma
of the woods. When several sugar bushes are contig-
uous, it is a pleasant sight to see the blue and gray
smoke curling above the treetops during the day,
and the gleaming fires marking the whereabouts of a
dozen camps at night. The provisions are sent from
the farm house, and they are such provisions as can be
prepared only by loving hands at home, and are eaten
with a relish known only to those who labor and eat in
the woods: everything tastes well, as at a picnic—even
the salt pork has a most appetizing flavor—especially if
170 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. Lf

it comes raw and can be cooked in the glowing embers,
held on the point of a sharpened stick. How generous
the hens are in their supply of eggs at sugaring time!
Large quantities always find their way to the woods.
The sugar camp is better than a water-cure for a man
fretting with dyspepsia. Sometimes there are several
days between the runs, in which the sap will not start
at all—the weather being too hot or too cold. Freez-
ing nights and sunshiny days are favorable conditions
for its free circulation in the trees. Burroughs says:
“A day that will bring the bees out of the hive will
bring the sap out of maple trees. It is the fruit of the
equal marriage of the sun and frost.” No class of
people note the changes of the weather more closely,
watching the fulfillment of all signs, than the sugar
makers. When the piping of the frogs is heard in low
places, three more sap runs are predicted, as it is
believed the frogs will be frozen in three times after
their first appearance. Sugar made after the buds
begin to start is salvy and will not cake well, and later,
it will not granulate or crystallize at all, but is stringy
and has a strong, disagreeable flavor, very different
from the sparkling cakes made when the trees were
first tapped: this must be nature’s hint that the sweet
blood of the tree is needed for other uses; at least, it is
a hint that the sugar season is over.

Other urgent work usually compels the sugar makers
to leave the bush immediately after the last “run”
until the first hurry of fence and garden making is
over, when all hands return to the woods to gather,
MAPLE SUGAR MAKING. 171

scald and house the buckets and storage tubs. What a
transformation will have taken place in the woods dur-
ing the two or three weeks’ absence! The roads and
paths are no longer familiar. The leaves that have
put forth, as by magic, have changed the appearance of
everything. One hardly knows the old sugar camp, so
altered are all its surroundings. It has become like a
scene of enchantment. Shady bowers and leafy grot-
toes are on every side. One ‘can hardly see the sky
through the dense foliage of the beeches and maples.
It is the season of the migration of the Dendroicas.
These bright-winged birds flitting through the branches
give a topical look to the scene. Prominent among
them are the Blackburnian warblers, with throats of
flame. The yellow-rumped warbler, like a rainbow in
color, lisps his thin song high in the tree-tops.

The red-start, with black and orange contrasting with
the bright. yellow, displays to advantage this rich
plumage as he opens and shuts his wings like the large
showy butterflies, which he much resembles. The
scarlet tanager carols serenely from his perch in a tall
tree, or sits among the low branches earnestly and
almost sadly calling, “chip, herd! chip, herd!” until
a companion answers the call, when away they fly, to
give color to another part of the woods. The partridge,
now from his unseen log, beats his muffled drum just
beside the path. The chipmunks. have lost their fear,
knowing their safe hiding-places so near at hand, and
will saucily chipper almost under your feet. Thousands
of honey bees hum about the ropy sap that is still ooz-
172 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

ing out on the shady side of the trees. Occasionally
you find a beautiful white-bellied deer mouse drowned
in the half-filled buckets.

The housekeepers of the woeds have everywhere put
down carpets, whose warp of green is filled in with the
woof of bright blossoms.

The ferns have unwound their downy coils, and their
spreading fronds fill the air with an herby perfume.
The thrifty green leeks look better than they taste, and
taste better than they smell. Everywhere the ground
is decorated with erythroniums, trilliums, dicentras,
spring beauties and cardamines. But these esthetic
attractions are not the only objects of interest to at
least the younger members of the sugar makers.
Where is the country boy that does not know, as well
as the squirrel does, where everything grows that is
good to eat or to gnaw upon? The aromatic black birch,
the young wintergreen, the fragrant spice bush and
slippery elm all belong to his out-door larder.

The chief profit of these few days of pleasant labor
in the woods does not lie in the amount of sugar made,
although the yield may be abundant, and it is the most
healthful and toothsome of sweets—the money value of
the product is the least part; but it consists in what
the mind has absorbed of the spirit of nature by this
closer contact with her; the imagination has been fed
on wholesome food; the love of the country has been
nourished, every physical sense has been quickened and
strengthened, and the mind has been made richer by
a better knowledge of the real living things of earth.
DANGER OF AN EARLY
EXTINCTION OF SONG BIRDS.
“Think of your woods and orchards without birds !
Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams
As in an idiot’s brain remembered words
Hang empty ’mid the cobwebs of his dreams.”

“‘ What! would you rather see the incessant stir
Of insects in the windrows of the hay,
And hear the locust and the grasshopper
Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play ?
Is this more pleasant to you than the whir
Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay,
Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take
Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake.”

LONGFELLOW’s ‘‘ BIrnDS oF KILLINGWORTH.”
DANGER OF AN EARLY EXTINCTION OF
SONG BIRDS.

The wide-spread slaughter of the birds is a far more
serious matter than is generally supposed, not only in
its esthetic and humane bearings, but also in its relation
to man’s physical comfort and well-being.

The means by which the wicked slaughter may be
checked is therefore a problem that should engage the
attention of the practical utilitarian as well as the
humane naturalist.

The preservation of the birds means not only the
preservation of the most charming creatures that
minister to man’s higher enjoyments, but it means the
preservation of our fruits and flowers, our vines and
vegetables, grain fields and grassy lawns; it means
freedom from the most annoying insects and other
troublesome creatures, that, if left to multiply, would
render life a burden and some sections uninhabitable.
Neighborhoods and countries are already paying the
penalty of their unwise dealings with their feathered
friends. In France several species have already been
exterminated, and a failure of agricultural products
have followed in consequence. In Italy also, where the
highest ambition of the shiftless class seems to be to kill
176 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

enough small birds for the table, a cry of distress goes
out concerning the ravages of destructive insects. Eng-
land, foreseeing this danger, wisely concluded that it
was no longer safe to allow every idle, selfish, irrespon-
sible man and boy to “become a law unto himself”
in this matter, and that as moral suasion failed, the
stronger arm of the law was necessary to protect the
interests of those whose rights were disregarded by the
lawless. Stringent bird laws were enacted, and as a
result, several species of song birds in England are
again on the increase.

I do not believe we have a single native bird that is
not a greater creditor than debtor. to man, while nearly
all species are entirely useful, conferring only benefits
and inflicting no injury. When unmolested by man,
wonderfully well do they fill their places in the econ-
omy of nature. Among them are fitting workers in the
air, the swamps, the forests, along water-courses, in
orchards, gardens, meadows, grain fields and pastures,
busy all the day in their priceless feeding services, yet
most of them finding time to still further gladden the
world by their minstrelsy.

In usefulness, the thrush family doubtless stands
first. The benefits conferred on husbandry by them
are incalculable. This family work principally on the
surface of the earth, devouring in great numbers all
manner of worms, grubs, harvest-flies, beetles, cater-
pillars, and other creeping things that prey on roots and
stalks of vegetation. In this service no others excel
the robins, the most familiar of the thrushes; these are
DANGER OF AN EARLY EXTINCTION oF sone ‘BIRDS. 177

busy early and late, faithful laborers in lawns and fields,
protecting them against their two worst enemies, grubs
and earth-worms. The number of these destroyed by
one robin in a season is enormous. A pair have been
known to bring to one brood of young more than 3,000
earth-worms, and that, too, when the birds were sur-
rounded by ripe fruit which was left unmolested.

The destruction alone of the cut-worms, saves annual-
ly to the farmers millions of dollars, more, in fact, than
enough to pay the injury done by all the birds in
America. These worms, so destructive to many kinds
of roots and cereals, come out of the earth at night to
feed.. Before they get back the robins breakfast on
them. All the thrushes are early risers, and from this
well-known trait. comes the truism, “The early bird
catches the worm.”

The swallows are on the wing most of the day clear-
ing the air of gnats, small flies and mosquitoes. The
number of insects destroyed by these aerial birds is
enormous. No one can charge the swallows with
injuring anything that belongs to man, or of eating any
mite which by any means could be converted by him
into food or raiment. All the fly-catchers are co-work-
ers with the swallows, taking their food on the wing.
They are entirely insectivorous, and each one literally
“worth its weight in gold.”

The climbers seem to have been especially created
for the protection of the trees, and well do they fulfill
their mission. They are provided with strong claws
and stiff acuminate tail quills to assist in climbing.
178 : HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Their bills are long and sharp for chiseling through
bark and decayed wood. The muscles of the neck are
strong, enabling them to make rapid and powerful
strokes, while the lengthened tongue is provided with
barbs for pulling out the hidden insects. A pair of
woodpeckers will eat in a season thousands of insects,
and will destroy the eggs and larve of more imbedded
in the bark, which, if left, would produce millions to
prey upon the life of the trees.

Many orchards of small fruits, such as cherries,
plums, quinces and pears, have been entirely destroyed
simply through the misguided farmers, who, mistaking
their valuable services for injuries, killed these wood-
peckers as fast as they appeared. No wonder that
forests decay, and fruit trees become valueless, when
their friends and. protectors are killed that their enemies
may live and flourish.

The golden-winged, the most beautiful as it is one of
the most useful of this class, has been so persecuted by
the collectors, that the number is becoming very small,
with a prospect of an early extinction.

Clearing the leaves of fruit and shade trees, of
insects’ eggs and larve is largely performed by the
active and ever-busy wrens and sweet-voiced vireos;
while the creepers and warblers perform the same office
to the trees in the deeper forests.

The cuckoos and orioles are invaluable in ridding the
foliage of canker worms, and if they were allowed to
live and multiply, as they naturally would, we should
not be troubled with the unsightly worms’ nests that
DANGER OF AN EARLY EXTINCTION OF sonG BIRDS. 179

disfigure and ruin so many apple and wild cherry
trees.

Our native sparrows live almost wholly on insects
and the seeds of troublesome weeds.

Space will not allow the continuance of this enumer-
ation, but this kind of services expresses only in small
part the valuable uses for which we should hold the
birds in great favor. They minister in a large degree
to our intellectual enjoyments; to our love of nature
in its most attractive forms; to our taste for beauty
and music—not in equal measure, it is true, to the igno-
rant, the uncultured, the unimaginative—but to people
of refinement, endowed with sensibility and imagina-
tion, the birds are large elements in the sum of inno-
cent pleasure.

Men are generally slow to realize the danger of los-
ing that which is apparently abundant, especially if it
costs nothing. One sees this in the wanton destruction
of useful forests and in the lavish waste of quantities
of valuable timber, but in nothing else is this shown so
clearly as in the senseless and wicked waste of bird life.
It seems difficult to make people understand the pres-
ent causes which, unless speedily checked, will surely
lead to the extermination of several species of our
native birds, and among them several that are the most
useful and interesting.

Let us examine a few of these causes, some of which
have long existed, and others that are of recent origin.
Among the latter are the English sparrows, which are
driving our native birds out of villages and cities more
180 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

rapidly and just as surely as some of the hardier exotics
are crowding out many of the more delicate wild
flowers. Our shy retiring song birds will not stay sur-
rounded by such a horde of noisy, scolding gamin:
besides, the sparrows occupy most of the nesting places
of such birds as the wrens, martins, blue birds, etc.—
only a limited number of birds will occupy a given area
in the nesting season.

A denser population and a rapid disappearance of the
forests have had their influence in diminishing the
number of the sylvias, especially those of bright plum-
age whose safety depends largely on secure hiding
places.

The dangers attending the spring and fall migrations
are rapidly multiplying. The countries over which the
birds pass are becoming gauntlets of destruction. The
colored population and the “poor whites” of the south,
now quite generally provided with fire-arms, kill vast
numbers of robins, golden-winged woodpeckers, larks
and bobolinks for food. The accounts from some of
the localities are most distressing. A paper in Virginia
noted last fall the fact that trappers with nets were hav-
ing great success catching the fat robins that stopped to
feed: that,some experts caught three and four thousand
a day. In the swamp during a fall of snow other “pot
hunters” were each shooting several hundred a week.
At certain seasons the markets of the border States
are more plentifully supplied with small birds than
with any other products. No wonder that each suc-
ceeding spring brings back fewer of our friends.
DANGER OF AN EARLY EXTINCTION OF SONG BIRDS. 181

Light-houses are on the increase, and as the birds fly
mostly at night, these beacons of safety to man become
sources of peculiar danger to the birds. Thousands
have been. killed on Bedloe Island, attracted by the
light on the Statue of Liberty. It is said that this light
can be seen by the naked eye twenty miles or more
away. One morning the superintendent picked up
1,375 birds that had perished the night previous by fly-
ing against the light. During these flights by night,
violent storms beat many to the earth, while thousands
perish by being driven out to sea. The earlier migrants
often suffer greatly by stress of weather in the spring,
not so much with the extreme cold as for the lack of
food. When the ground and trees are covered with ice
the food supply of many species is almost entirely cut
off; it then becomes a question of famine endurance.
The decrease in larger game also works against the
smaller birds. Men and boys, called sportsmen, go out
to shoot. If they cannot find quails and plover, robins
and bobolinks will do. If there are no pigeons and
partridges, larks and flickers may fill their place. If
these are scarce, then the smaller birds must become
the prey. They came out to shoot and must have their
sport. Sport! oh, cruel misnomer; how many millions
of beautiful, innocent lives have been sacrificed in thy
name! The Sabbath is particularly a day of terror
and death to birds. Hundreds of men and boys from
cities and villages go out into the country with guns
for recreation. They shoot indiscriminately every wild
ences Chey meet. I have found them with dozens of
182 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

song sparrows, thrushes, blue birds and orioles. Some
mornings, in a distance of ten miles, I have seen eight
or ten of these marauders. With no warrant and no
assistance, one is powerless to redress the wrong. The
legislatures should pass a law prohibiting the carrying
of a gun on Sunday. Every person found prowling
around the country with guns, or other murderous
weapons, should be liable to arrest at sight, without
' further process of law. Many students in ornithology
are exceedingly wasteful of life, often foolishly and
cruelly so. The rarer becomes a species the less the
chances that any will escape. Every ambitious col-
lector is anxious for a specimen, and is alert to obtain
it. It matters not that the species has been often
described, its structures and habits well known—the
bird must pay with its life the penalty of being rare.
Bradford Torrey, who, without gun, has become so
familiar with New England birds, heard in the White
Mountains the song of a thrush not supposed to belong
to that locality. On his return to Boston he published
the incident. It was doubted by an ambitious ornithol-
ogist, who, with gun in hand, set out for the locality.
He found the thrush as described, and with it five or
six others, all of which he shot, thus annihilating the
colony. It is almost as much as its life is worth for a
scarlet tanager, summer red bird, or a rose-breasted
grosbeak to show itself. A well-known taxidermist
has killed and put up several hundred rose-breasted
grosbeaks and indigo birds. Another ornithologist
says “he ought to know a certain shy warbler, as he
DANGER OF AN EARLY EXTINCTION OF SONG BIRDS. 183

has brought down his hundreds of them from the tops
of tall hemlocks.” Do you tell me this was in the
cause of science? Out upon the pursuit in such a spirit!
It is a burlesque on science, a travesty on the study of
natural history.

It is a curious fact that although birds as a class are
the most innocent, the most beautiful and musical of
living creatures, they are more preyed upon by man
and beast and crawling reptiles than any other beings.
Cats, weasels, skunks, squirrels, ferrets, muskrats,
mink, foxes and snakes, all prey upon them, killing the
old birds and eating the eggs and young; in many cases
getting nearly their living on the birds. They have rob-
bers, too, in their own class. Hawks, owls, crows, jays,
shrikes and one or two species of blackbirds are canni-
bals in their way. One can indorse the terse, strong
language of Dr. Abbott, the naturalist: “A creature
that will destroy a song-bird’s nest is a pest, and
whether furred, feathered, four-legged or a boy, ought .
to be exterminated.”

The Agassiz Association, itself a worthy organization,
with laudable aims, soon had thousands in its ranks
who degenerated into mere specimen gatherers. The
egg-collecting craze infected boys alike in cities, villages
and rural districts. The country was scoured far and
near for nests and eggs. Lawns, hedges, orchards,
fields and highways were mercilessly ransacked, and
every nest common or rare despoiled ; even cemeteries,
always favorite resorts for the birds, were not exempt
from the destroyer. Within the last few years millions
184 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

of eggs have thus been destroyed, and little scientific

knowledge gained by this manner of study. Not one
egg in a thousand was preserved two months; not many
of them that number of days. I have had thousands
brought to me by boys for identification. In answer
to questions, I more frequently found that the boys had
little or no knowledge of the subject, often not knowing
what species they had robbed. These eggs were to
them as so many marbles, or other toys, trophies,
valuable only as objects of barter, but the effects_on
the bird population were none the less injurious. Many
of the older members, claiming to be engaged in the
investigation of science, go forth maiming and killing
their thousands of the commonest birds, those that
every intelligent school-boy knows. What new facts
will these people ever give in return for this license?
Our birds have all been identified and described, and a
further persecution of them in that direction is selfishly
barbarous, and ought not longer to be tolerated. Even
all these causes seem dwarfed when compared with the
destruction of the birds for millinery and decorative
purposes. If the facts connected with this traffic could
generally be made known, a thrill of indignation would
take possession of every right-minded person, and the
community in wrath would demand that the outrage
be summarily stopped.

Unfortunately the killing is carried on surreptitiously,
much of it in out-of-the-way places. Those who have
investigated the subject know that thousands of men
and boys, all over the country, are regularly employed
DANGER OF AN EARLY EXTINCTION OF SONG BIRDS. 185

to kill and skin our native birds. To make a living,
each of these persons must kill at least fifty per day,
allowing for the large number spoiled and unmerchant-
able. Not only this, but scores of bushwhackers on
“their own hook” desultorily pursue this calling as they
have time and opportunity, disposing of their spoils
on “the sly.” If you would see the results, visit some
of the large establishments where this kind of goods is
sold to smaller dealers, and inquire as a purchaser.
Some of them handle hundreds of thousands in a
season. Then go the rounds of the retail fancy stores
and millinery shops in any large city. In each may be
seen hundreds in stock. It is the same in all country
villages. Who has not been disgusted and saddened in
looking through the fancy shops at Niagara Falls, to
see the havoc that has been made with the songsters,
to give this display of bright feathers, mounted on
fans ungainly perched in cases, lying in hundreds on
shelves, and packed in boxes; tanagers, blue birds,
cedar birds, orioles, humming birds and gold finches,
more of these skeletons in this one village than can be
found alive in two entire-counties. Here, too, men are
regularly employed to supply these establishments.

Attention need not be called to the individual uses of
these decorations. You can see them on the hats of
rich and poor, old and young; a whole bird on one, a
half dozen wings on another, beaks and breasts on
others; hateful emblems of vanity and thoughtless
cruelty, most unbecoming to our fair women and sweet-
faced girls.
186 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

The beautiful little indigo birds, looking like patches
of blue sky among the leaves; are-nearly gone. The
tanagers, with their tropical brilliancy, are almost
extinct. Never one escapes if seen by a collector. The
flickers, with golden wing shafts and crowns of crimson,
are hunted like outlaws. The American gold finches,
so sprightly and musical, and formerly: so plentiful in
every field and orchard, where they were at home in
trees or on pasture thistles, gems of jet and gold, are
now seen only occasionally. They were too pretty to
be allowed to live in this wicked world.

The blue birds have had an equally hard fate. They
naturally seek the haunts of men. They are confiding
creatures, and too innocent to practice cunning, so they
easily fall a prey to those who go in search of them.
Last summer I visited many familiar old pastures and
stumpy fields in which formerly I could find dozens of
pairs nesting in May or June. In neither of these
localities was there one left. They had been hunted
until all were killed. The rollicking bobolinks, immor-
_talized by Irving, no longer thrill the school-boys in
country meadows. Their natural companions, the
clover blossoms and buttercups, annually appear, but
the glad, tuneful voices are hushed. The .plumage of
these birds was attractive, and their bodies delicate
morsels on the table—to these people “sweeter than
song.” The wee humming birds, whose diminutive
forms should have secured them from harm, are now
oftener seen on wearing apparel than on the flowers.

Their shining wings and ruby throats proved “their
DANGER OF AN EARLY EXTINCTION OF SONG BIRDS. 187

undoing.” Where are the flocks of snow buntings that
used to give a touch of summer to the wintry fields?
Where are the troops of beautiful cedar birds, of meadow
larks and purple finches that were a few years ago so
plentiful ?

Here are a few statistics gathered by the New York
Audubon Society: “We know one taxidermist that
handles thirty thousand bird skins ina year. <A col-
lector in a three months’ trip brought back eleven
thousand. From one small district on Long Island,
seventy thousand were gathered in four months. Feb.,
1886, a New York house had on hand two hundred
thousand bird skins. Millions are sent abroad. A
London auction house sold-of these 404,000 in a season.”
These figures tell only in small part the shameful story.
Whittier, the kindliest of men, was constrained to write,
“T could almost wish that the shooters of the birds, the
taxidermists who prepare them, and the fashionable
wearers of their plumage, might share the penalty of
the Ancient Mariner who shot the Albatross.”

A few more years of such wanton warfare on these
unbought yet priceless blessings, a few more years of
crime against the “wise order of the world,” and men
will walk the voiceless fields and woods, where instead
of bright wings amid the green foliage, and artistic
structures filled with eggs and fluttering birds, only
unsightly nests of crawling worms will dangle from
leafless bush and tree. In place of soothing, happy
bird voices, only the fretting hum of troublesome insects
will worry the listening ear.
188 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Yet we have faith to believe that for these innocent
and beautiful creatures a better day is dawning. The
leading ornithologists, those who are entitled to the
name, have placed themselves on record against a con-
tinuance of the outrage. The State Legislature lately
enacted stringent laws against the killing or exposing
for sale of any song birds. Many newspapers are
advocating a more rigid enforcement of the law.
Intelligent and tender-hearted women are using their
pens and voices in the good work, and by example as
well as precept are becoming a power in this most
worthy cause; while thousands of thoughtful girls and
boys—the hope of the future—are becoming active and
efficient workers in the Audubon Society.
A SEARCH FOR A WHIPPOORWILL’S NEST.
Bird of the wilderness, dearer than Philomel ;
Echoes are telling thy notes from the hill and dell ;
Lovers and poets delighted are listening

When the first star in the dewdrop is glistening,
Waiting the call of the eremite forester,—

Lonely, nocturnal and sentinel chorister !
Prophet of gladness, but never foreboding dll,
Caroling cheertly from his green domicile,
Utiering whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill,
Sibylline, tuneful, mysterious whippoorwill.

WILson Fiaace.
A SEARCH FOR A WHIPPOORWILL’S NEST.

Friends living in the eastern part of the county lately
sent word that “the boys had found some rare and curi-
ous birds’ nests in their neighborhood—among them a
hawk’s nest on the ground in the woods ”—and invited
me to come and examine them. From the description,
given, I at once surmised that the hawk was a whip-
poorwill, but as this bird is rare in this section I was
anxious to visit it. A ride of twenty miles on the cars,
and a carriage drive of a couple of miles more over
rough roads, I met my friends with whom I was to
spend a day or two botanizing and in looking for old
acquaintances among the birds. The promise of a pleas-
ant day was early broken, as a drizzling rain set in,
accompanied by cold winds, that put a very uninviting
aspect on the face of nature. My friend, to whom rain
and sun are alike agreeable when he is in pursuit of
plants or birds, thought the weather was just right for
such a tramp, so after dinner we donned rubber coat
and boots and set out for the woods. The objective
point was the whippoorwill’s nest, which is back of the
sugar bush, in the edge of a large swamp. An intelli-
gent lad, who accompanied us, had seen the nest, and
was sure he could lead us directly to it, and as he was a
192 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

boy of few words, my companion had confidence in him
asa guide. We followed him through wet woods, over
bogs and fallen trees, for an hour or more, until he began
to show signs of bewilderment and discomfiture, when
we asked him if he was quite sure that he knew the prem-
ises. “Yes; but he don’t see where the pesky thing is.”
But when to our inquiry for the direction towards home
he pointed to quite a different point of the compass, our
confidence in the silent guide was a little shaken, and
each one did a little hunting on his own account. By
and by the lad called to us and said, “Some how or
other the darned woods had kinder got turned around,
but if we would go back to the clearing and again start
right, he felt sure we could find the fool bird and nest,
as they were at the left of the wood road near a large
stump and a whopping big tree.” So we dragged our-
selves and our heavy boots back to the edge of the woods
and took a new start. As another hour of wading
through swamps and underbrush, where each bush gave
us a bath, proved unsuccessful, we concluded to post-
pone the search until the next day.

Although we had failed to find the nest, we found
many interesting plants and flowers, among them several
orchids, as a partial remuneration. .

Coming to a little opening in the woods we found the
ground starred with the dwarf dogwood (Cornel Can-
adensis) and star flower (Trientalis Americana). It is
these little flowers that give such a charm to the woods
—flowers that we must search for in sequestered places
A SBARCH FOR A WHIPPOORWILL’S NEST. 193

and hidden nooks—such flowers as the Mitchella repens,
Coptis trifolia, Aralia trifolia, and epigea repens.

The larger showy flowers may attract at first sight,
but the pleasing effect is not lasting. One soon tires of
even the flaming Kalmias and dazzling Azalias, when
they appear in great abundance, and a handful or two
is better than a wagon load. Not so with those delicate
little flowers that one finds hidden in the leaves and
moss. The other day, quite unexpectedly, I came across
a bed of the little flowering wintergreen (Polygala
paucifolia), the first that I had ever found in that local-
ity, and no field of mountain laurel, or swamp of Rho-
_ dodendrons ever gave me the pleasure that these little
blossoms yielded. The thought of them still lingers in
the mind like the memory of a pleasant dream, and I
am tempted to make another journey just to look again
upon their rose-purple faces.

After a night’s rest we were in readiness to renew our
tramp in the woods. The weather had cleared up, and
the sun was shining on a perfect day.

Before setting out we visited two old orchards, on the
premises, and found a goodly number of our friends
housekeeping in the apple trees. The silent lad, who
was still with us, became more talkative, and insisted
that “he had repeatedly seen a yellow wren in this
orchard, and that the wrens were great bee eaters,” but
we had grown a little skeptical concerning his knowl-
edge of ornithology, and endeavored to persuade him
that all these little birds save his bees by destroying’
moths and millers.
194 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

The orioles seem partial to this orchard, and already
have seven or eight nestsinit. They usually hang them on
the taller elms, out of reach of cats or boys; but
the last one that we found is tied to the dry limb of a
small apple tree, and placed only a little higher than a
man’s head. In looking into it we disturbed the sitting
bird, which darted out past us, winnowing the face as
she flew away with an angry scream.

In a moment half a dozen orioles of both sexes gath-
ered about us, scolding and fretting at the disturbance.
There seems to be a: bond of sympathy between them
in time of danger, and they pool their forces for the
common defense. The robins’ nests were very numer-
ous here, and some of them contained the second set of
eggs. In one tree were two chippies’ nests of addled
eggs, and in each nest was an egg of the cow bunting.
All the spring an albino robin sang in this orchard and
became an object of much interest to the family until
two men from the city came out gunning, and one of
them shot the bird. The life of every beautiful bird is
endangered when these tramping ruffians are abroad.
A: few days ago I saw two men drive under a shade
tree, shoot a robin off her nest, throw the bird into the
wagon, and drive away before we could reach him.

In the morning, on our way to the woods, we passed.
through some meadows all abloom with red clover, and
a score of bobolinks were singing all about us, some on
the wing, some on the fences, and some from their
perches on the twigs of bushes and trees; they were
changing places and breaking in upon one another’s
A SEARCH FOR A WHIPPOORWILL’S NEST. 195

songs with little regard for the proprieties, but with no
lack of melody. From all appearances there were nests
close at hand, as the birds made a great ado when we
approached certain localities, but after a fruitless search
for half an hour we again realized what we supposed we
already knew, that the nest of a bobolink is a very diffi-
cult thing to find. I have found a few, and a very few,
in comparison with the number secreted. I often think
the cunning creatures, in order to mislead, make the
greatest fuss when you are farthest from the nests;
besides, the female of this species, which alone does the
sitting, is almost the color of the grass next the ground.
There is more danger that you will step on the nest
than that you will find it.

In a stump by the fence a blue bird had a nest with
four eggs. While we were admiring the pale blue gems,
the male bird pleasantly caroled from a fence stake;
there was no touch of spite or of annoyance in his soft,
sweet warble. It was serenity itself. Never were song
and vespers sparrows more tuneful. They were making
up for the loss of the day before. If old Izaak Walton
had been present, he might well again have exclaimed,
as he is said to have done while listening to the thrushes:
“Lord, what music hast Thou prepared for Thy saints
in heaven, when Thou affordest such wonderful songs to
Thy creatures on earth!” We were tempted to linger
long in this attractive meadow, over which melody and
fragrance were so lavishly scattered, and the sun was
high in the heavens when we reached the woods. After
a search of less than half an hour our silent guide drew
196 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

a long, low whistle and exclaimed: “Gosh! I’ve struck
it; there isthe stump! move quiet, will you?” And sure
enough the whippoorwill fluttered away from almost
beneath our feet. Her flight was noiseless, and she
alighted on the truuk of a fallen tree, which she seemed
to hug closely, so as to be as little in sight as possible.
There were two eggs in the nest—if nest it could be
called—as the eggs lay on the ground unprotected, save
by the dry leaves. They were about the size of doves’
eggs, with white ground work, delicately mottled with
brown, and were of peculiar form, both ends being
nearly alike. When we moved away from the place
the bird returned close to the nest, but did not take her
place again on the eggs until we left the premises. The
whippoorwills are very unequally distributed. In sev-
eral counties in the central part of the State none are to
be found. They seem partial to oak-timbered lands,
with a sprinkling of pitch pine. Oneseldom finds them
in beech and maple woods. The whippoorwill and night
hawk are often mistaken for each other, and thought by
many to be one and the same bird. They resemble
each other in form and much in color, excepting that
the plumage of the former is more strongly marked and
the tail is round, the middle quills being the longest.
The night hawk has a white patch on the throat, and
white spots on each of the five outer wing primaries,
making a conspicuous white bar across the middle of
each wing. The tail is forked like that of the swallow.
They are similar in many of their habits, as neither of
them makes a nest, but deposits two eggs on a flat sur-
A SEARCH FOR A WHIPPOORWILL’S NEST. 197

face—the whippoorwills, in the woods, and the night
hawks, usually on city buildings. They both make a
guttural noise while on the wing, although the night
hawk never sings. They are both nocturnal in their
habits, and generally fly noiselessly like the owls. The
whippoorwills are more solitary in their habits, and pre-
fer the deeper woods, though occasionally they will ven-
ture near a farm house after dark, when they will sing
their monotonous and plaintive song during half the
night. The night hawk is oftener heard in the city than
elsewhere, during summer evenings, as he circles and
dives through the air in search of insects, which he
takes on the wing.

After leaving the whippoorwill’s nest, our guide, who
had fulfilled his mission and become quite communica-
tive, said he “might as well leave us and follow the
creek down through the woods and meadows, ‘sucker-
ing,’ andaf the suckers were shy, he knew where there
were lots of big fool frogs waiting to be catched.”

It was in this woods, years ago, that I first heard the
winter wren. Since then I have heard the song so fre-
quently here that I am always on the tip-toe of expecta-
tion when in this swamp, so on this occasion my friend
and I went in different directions, he in search of his
favorite flower, the showy lady’s slipper, and I to find
the little musical king of the woods. Soon I heard my
friend’s enthusiastic shout, “Come! ve found my win-
ter wren! I’ve found my winter wren!” I met him with
hands full of the most showy flower of the woods. It
was a find, so early in the season, but the wren, not to
198 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

be outdone by a blossom, suddenly startled us with his
wild, sweet song, only a short distance away, when he
fairly excelled himself, filling the place with wild mel-
ody.

The people with whom I was staying have a tame
crow with a history worth recording. About a year ago
the boys got possession of the bird soon after it had left
the nest. It was so cunning that they enjoyed playing
tricks on it. These were harmless, but the crow re-
sented the indignities, and cut their acquaintance, and
betook itself to the boys’ father, who is noted for his
kindliness to all creatures. His new master called his
black pet Peter, a name which the recipient readily rec-
ognized, and always answered to unless called when
he was angry. Peter followed his master about the
farm, to the woods, and to the neighbors. He some-
times made excursions about the neighborhood alone,
generally returning before dark. Last fall he got caught
out in a big snow storm, and did not, as usual, return
at night. As days went by and no news from Peter,
the family concluded he had either been killed, or had
gone off with other crows.

The snow had lain on the ground all winter, and been
exceedingly deep, but in March it went off suddenly
with a heavy rain. Soon after the ground became bare,
the master, who was at work in the orchard, saw, at a
little distance, a poor, tired, bedraggled crow walking
and hobbling along towards him. A second glance
showed it to be Peter, the prodigal. Instantly he had
the poor creature on his arm, caressing him as tenderly
A SEARCH FOR A WHIPPOORWILL’S NEST. 199

as though it were a returning truant boy. Peter was
beside himself with joy at the meeting, and tried his
best to express his affection for his friend. It seemed
too bad that he was not fully able to tell his adventures
and the cause of his absence, but these, through other
sources, were learned afterwards. During that Decem-
ber snow storm, Peter was blown to the ground at Clar-
ence, several miles from his home. A boy caught him,
and not knowing to whom he belonged, clipped short
his wings to prevent his flying off. The poor, homesick
bird could not walk through the deep snow, neither
could he fly, so he waited patiently through the winter
till the ground was bare, and then started afoot on his
journey. How he found his unknown way so many miles
through fields and woods and across roads will remain
amystery. Although again able to fly, he will not ven-
ture off-the premises, but attaches himself more closely
than ever to his old friend.

While waiting at the station, on the return to the city,
my attention was called to some curious work of a pair
of robins, showing that man is not the only animal that
makes mistakes. The railroad water tank is a large one
and elevated. It rests on a platform supported by a
dozen joists, which rest on larger beams, leaving eleven
spaces. A pair of robins commenced a nest in one of
these, but had not proceeded far with the work when
they doubtless became confused with the resemblance of
the spaces and started another nest in the next place ;
then another, and another, until each space was occu-
pied with a nest or a part of one. The birds worked
200 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

faithfully at these for several weeks, entirely finishing
some and leaving others in different stages of construc-
tion.

Eggs were deposited in at least three, but the birds
were unable to complete the contracts they had under-
taken, and finally deserted their immense folly.
A SUMMER DRIVE IN
THE LAKE COUNTRY.
In most books the I, or first person, is omitted ; in this
it will be retained: that, in respect to egotisn, is the main
difference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after
all, always the first person, that is speaking. I should not
talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom
L knew as well. Unfortunately [am confined to this theme
by the narrowness of my experience.

THOREAU’S “‘ WALDEN.”
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY.

I.

There are four in our little party, Emily, ‘Anemone’,
Lady Bess and the writer. Emily is my wife, ‘ Anem-
one’ our little daughter, and Lady Bess the horse. It
will be necessary to describe only the last men-
tioned, as she is the “active member of the
firm,’ and will do the heft of the work, and to
her the others of the party will be largely indebted for
the pleasures on the road. ‘Lady Bess’ isa young
Messenger mare, rangey, graceful, fleet-footed and
as black as night; her proud and lofty step
secured her the name. She takes the place of Max,
who for a few weeks will literally “live in clover.”
‘ Bess’ is nervous, high-strung and watchful, but gentle
as a kitten. She is a free driver, and goes with a slack
check-rein and without blinds on the bridle. We might
lay the lines over the dash, and she would keep the
road and give the proper share to teams that we might
meet. I am almost inclined to think that she has learned
to distinguish the songs of some of the birds, as she stops
so readily and pricks up her ears while we listen to some
pleasant singer by the roadside. She has learned to_
“pull up under shade trees in hot days, and say in her
204 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

horse language, “Had we not better rest a few minutes
under this tree while you pick me a mouthful of tender
grass, or gather for yourselves some of those pretty
elder blossoms or wild roses by the fence?” She seldom
appeals in vain, as we are all in full sympathy with her,
believing that she appreciates the kindness, and more
than repays all extra consideration. There is nothing
she enjoys more than a day’s picnicking in the woods,
where at lunch time she can stand near us and eat her
feed of oats while we sit on the ground eating dinner.
Our journey is to take a month or more, much of it
over familiar ground, and through several counties of
Western and Central New York. Our longest stopping
places are to be Honeoye Falls, Mount Morris, Portage,
Hammondsport, Cortland and Ithaca. On the way we
are to take in—figuratively of course—several of the
beautiful lakes that give such a charm to the scenery of
this part of the State. We are seeking pure air, sun-
shine and the fragrance of growing things, which we
shall find much more abundantly by this manner of
travel than by any other. We shall avoid what Ruskin
calls the great mistakes of travel, “ Rushing by waving
meadows and green cornfields, on the cars, to have the
longer time to walk on heated pavements.” We are
not in search of art galleries, cathedrals or ancient
ruins. The pictures will be such as are common in
country highways and byways—loads of hay and other
farm products, men and women going to or returning
from market, stages filled with dusty-looking passen-
gers, and people traveling in carriages or on horseback.-
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 905

We shall see orchards and meadows, flocks of sheep,
grazing young cattle, and cows coming from pasture.
We shall hear the singing of birds, and in the newer
places, the rhythmical clinking of the scythe and whet-
stone.

Our fourth day from home finds us less than fifty
miles from Buffalo. Although in July everything wears
the look of June. The fields were never fresher nor
the woods greener. The sweet elders are just beginning
to show their creamy white blossoms, and the tall tim-
othy is in its first purple bloom. The farmer may
worry about the late season and the backward corn, but
the travelers who were held in the city until July feel
grateful for the tardy appearance of the dry, sultry
days. Hardly had we left the pavements of the city
when the tinkling notes of the bobolinks and the
liquid strains of the song sparrows fell gratefully on the
ear, a pleasant welcome to the country roads, while the
fragrance of the wild roses and the stronger scent of
the new mown hay were in pleasant contrast to the
odors of the cattle pens and rendering establishments
that we passed through at East Buffalo. The roads were
a little heavy, but the late rains had entirely laid the
dust, and the morning air was as pure and sweet as one
ever needs to breathe. Farmers were busy in the fields,
afew making hay, but more with plow and hoe were
coaxing their backward corn. Not many people were
on the road. A few couples of young folks were on
their way to the city to.attend a celebration. Among

10
206 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

them were “David and Dora” who seemed to see lit-
tle but each other’s eyes. He, guarding her from the
perils of the road with an arm about her waist, while
she rested a hand lovingly on his knee. Some bare-
footed children were traveling towards the city with
little baskets of wild strawberries to sell. Nothing on
the way showed more plainly its “ear marks” than a
country school-house with its well-trodden grounds and
little stone play-houses about it. By the road were
holes in the dirt where the smaller children had made
mud pies. The sides of the house had been whittled
and marked by jack-knives, and a panel was broken
out of the front door. Through this open door rows of
children could be seen sitting on hard seats—harder
than common these long summer days, with everything
tempting them to come outside. The little schoolmam,
with book and ruler in hand, stood before a class. Ev-
idently she had a morning caller, as a woman wearing
a bonnet sat in a chair near the door. Was she there
to note the progress of her young hopefuls, or did she
come to remonstrate against some chastisement for a-
school offense? It is high time, Mr. Commissioners,
for both teachers and scholars to be out of school en-
joying the summer vacation.

All along the way we heard robins singing, and as we
passed meadows, bobolinks would start up out of the
grass, flutter across the meadows or alight on telegraph
poles, all the time singing us a welcome to the country.
_ The most conspicuous bird at this season is the vesper
sparrow, or grass finch. Although a field bird, he has
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 207

a great liking for the roadsides where he can see travel
and still have his fields for refuge if molested. He
often sings from a fence stake until you are opposite
him, when he will fly ahead three or four lengths of the
fence, and sing again. If observed too closely, he will
drop into the grass, and the song will be taken up by
another a little distance away. The house wrens are
very musical just now, as it is their nesting season. We
make many ahalt to listen to their rapid, rippling songs.
In a wild cherry tree by the roadside one was singing
and scolding by turns. The scolding part indicated
family relations. He was ona dry limb within reach
of one standing on the fence. A little examination re-
vealed a small, smooth hole in the dead branch just
above him, and a smart rap brought out the female
from her nest in this cavity. Immediately both birds
let fall upon us such a shower of epithets—probably all
uncomplimentary—that we hurridly left them alone
with their household cares. The pleasantest episode of
the morning drive was the performance of a cat-bird.
Several times this season, as we have passed a thicket
by a ravine, this cat-bird has made his appearance and
sung for us as long as we would listen. On this occa-
sion he failed to “show up” when we stopped opposite
the thicket, so I tried the usual successful method of
calling him out. A few coaxing words, and I heard his
cat call; then he suddenly appeared on a brush heap
by the road and commenced to sing. He fairly excelled
himself. He whistled, warbled, trilled and talked, ex-
celling any mocking bird that I ever heard, and as I
208 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

drove away it was with a feeling of wonder and in-
creased admiration for this sociable and skilled musician.

At Alden we spent a day very pleasantly botanizing
in the vicinity, with Dr. Wende, who occasionally takes
a day from his extensive practice to reinvigorate him-
self in the pursuit of his favorite study. On this occa-
sion we found many things of interest among the birds
and plants—among the latter, the beautiful (Calopogon
pulchellus). We found two nests of brown thrashers,
both with young birds, and two or three plovers’ nests.

As we passed through the Crittenden woods, on our
journey early the next morning, we stopped awhile to
hear the wood thrushes, which sing here from April to
August. The road from Corfu to the “ Brick House,”
thence to Pembroke, is a delightful one, and the farm-
ers we met along the way were pleasant and courteous.
Several were at work on the road, and each had a pleas-
ant word of salutation. One remarked that “ they were
mending their ways,” another that “we must be char-
itable towards their highways, as they would be better
on our return.” It is a pleasant custom on the road to
exchange the time of day, or to give a friendly saluta-
tion by word or gesture. It costs nothing, and speaks
much. It is a species of friendly culture not to be over-
looked, and the man who gives it has at least one mark
of a gentleman, good nature, while the one who re-
fuses to return it, is either a boor or a bear. One man
alone forgot for a moment his amiability. We were on
a cross-road and wished to strike the Buffalo and
Batavia turnpike a few miles from the latter place. To
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 909

our inquiries of a man coming out of a blacksmith shop,
we were told to “go a certain distance and turn to the
left.” As this would take us back again, I innocently
inquired, “ Why not turn to the right?” The burly man
straightened himself up and shouted, “ Turn to the right
if you wish to; what the d—l to you s’pose I care
which way you turn?” “ But I wish to go to Batavia,”
said I. “Then why didn’t you say so?” returned he, a
little mollified.

The further we proceed east, the better appear the
crops. Inthe town of Alabama, and in this of Oak-
field, the wheat fields are extensive, and present a fine
appearance.

During the past two days we have been stopping
with our friend, the Captain, proprietor of the “Old
Orchard.” The orchard is still full of objects of inter-
est. A part of it is as wild and leafy as the primitive
forest. This morning I found in blossom the largest
white violets, and the little geranium, and I counted
fifteen species of wild flowers usually found in the
woods. The orchard is full of singing birds. The pur-
ple finch, warbling vireo, gold finch, cat-bird, and robin
have all sung this morning in the tree under which I
am writing The squirrels are more plentiful than
ever, and three or four have appeared together in one
tree ; they chitter and cackle, bark and squeal as they
scamper up and down after one another, or sit erect
eating the young apples, which they hold to their
mouths as would a child. The good old gentleman
will not haveany of them killed, although they make

5
‘
210 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

considerable havoc among the apples. Along the garden
fence is an extensive row of red and white roses, just at
their best ; and such roses! How it gladdens one’s heart
to look at them! If they were hidden from sight, their
heavy fragrance would betray their presence.

I wish I could paint the picture that lies about me;
the old orchard that has dropped its apples for three
generations, the bank of roses flanking the lawn, the
cosy log house almost covered with vines, the waving
fields of wheat stretching away in the distance, with
fine maple woods in the background. It would not be
complete without a sketch of the fine-faced old gentle-
man in his arm chair on the lawn, with his two faithful
dogs lying at his feet; and then a pitcher of the well-
preserved cider from the cellar would give tone to the
picture. On the end of a log atthe corner of the house
was a robin’s nest with four eggs. We were admiring
it yesterday, but this morning both nest and eggs had
disappeared. A little frouzy-headed boy that they call
“Pat” was hanging about the premises, and I asked
him about the nest. “TI took it, sir, for they are bad
craturs with the cherries.” To the question of what he
did with the eggs, he answered promptly, “Sure, and
I ated ’em.”

To-morrow we go to Honeoye Falls.
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE, LAKE COUNTRY. 211

IL.

Early Monday morning we were again on the jour-
ney. The day was all that could be desired, pleasant,
with a cool breeze fragrant with blowing over wheat
and grass fields. Lady Bess was in high spirits, and
measured off the miles without show of weariness.
There are few pleasanter roads than the one from Oak-
field to Honeoye Falls. It is almost straight, six rods
wide, and well kept. It isa part of the old Albany and
Buffalo turnpike, and before the railroads traversed this
region it must have been a very prominent thoroughfare
for all kinds of travel. The country through which it
passes is one of the finest in the State—Genesee, Living-
ston and Monroe counties. All kinds of crops are look-
ing well, especially wheat, which will soon be ready for
the harvest. In Monroe County farmers are anticipating
a yield of twenty-five to forty bushels per acre. Large
areas of potatoes are growing and look promising. This
is the great potato region of the State, both in quantity
and quality. The meadows are yielding an abundant
crop of hay, much of it already secured. Early fruits
are plentiful, especially cherries, which are now being
marketed. In Mendon, this county, a provident farmer
a few years ago planted a row of cherry trees outside
the road fence in front of his premises, and this year
these wayside trees have produced for market seventy-
five bushels, and yielded abundantly to travelers, who
have often refreshed themselves with the luscious fruit.
912 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Besides the profit, the trees make a grateful shade in the
street, and add a pleasant feature to the landscape.

Our route to-day was through the pleasant villages of
Batavia, Stafford, Le Roy, Caledonia, Avon, East Avon
and Lima. The extensive trout ponds at Caledonia were
objects of interest, but the beautiful fish would have
looked more attractive in their wild state where they
could exercise their taste about being caught. It would
be tame sport fishing in these ponds for trout, much
like a chase after tame foxes.

In passing a corn field ‘Anemone’ espied a “scare-
crow ” still swinging from a pole. The effigy, as large
as life, and wearing an old stove-pipe hat, caught her
fancy, and turning to me she said, “ When you get home,
papa, you must make me a ‘scare-crow.’” Her mother
asked her “what she could do with a ‘scare-crow”?”
“Oh,” the child innocently replied, “but he will also
get me a crow to scare.”

At Avon we rested several hours and partook of a
good dinner at the hotel, where we found several ac-
quaintances from Buffalo staying. Of course we had
to drink of the attractivelooking water, which, like
leeks, breaks the promise when you smell or taste it. A
little of it goes a long ways, and it was some time before
any of us were thirsty enough to hanker after Avon
Springs water, however highly recommended as the
true elixir.

When we reached the high hills between the two
Avons a shower suddenly burst upon us, but as usual,
in such cases, a good Samaritan farmer standing in his
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 918

lawn beckoned us to drive into the carriage house till
the storm had passed over. The proprietor of the well-
conditioned estate was an intelligent and social gentle-
man, and the unpremeditated call proved an agreeable
episode of the day’s journey. One of the pleasantest
acquaintances that we have formed took place in this
way. A heavy shower caught us several miles from a
hotel. A kindly-looking man was at the gate, and see-
ing that the rain would be a drencher, told us to drive
into the barn, which was open and comfortable. The
shower turned into an afternoon rain, but the good man
and woman of the house most hospitably entertained us
till the next morning, and then sent us on our way re-
joicing that we had found such companionable people
among strangers.

In the late afternoon we found a pleasant unfenced
woods, in which were quantities of wild red raspberries.
It seemed such a good place for a picnic that a halt was
made. Lady Bess was ready and willing, as usual, to
participate.

We always carry a feed of oats, so that if caught too
far from a hotel when the horse needs a bite, we are in-
dependent in this matter. It took but a few moments
to fill our cups with berries, whose aroma and flavor
surpasses any that are ever grown in gardens. These,
and a few crackers, with a bottle of light wine, made us
a delicious little lunch, which many picnickers on a larger
scale might have envied. The little indigo birds sang
continuously above us, and a pair of yellow hammers
alighted on a neighboring stub to inspect our improvised
914 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

table. They saluted us a few times with their curious
and rapidly uttered “wake up,” “wake up,” and
then with that shrill scream flew away. On a little
hillside across the road, three woodchucks came out of
their burrows and fed awhile on the clover. These
homely though wholesome burrowing animals are very
cleanly in their eating habits, living almost entirely on
clover, unless they can find growing beans, of which
they are very fond. They are grotesque in their move-
ments, and billow along one end at a time as awkwardly
as a moving caterpillar. Few people are aware that
when fat and properly cooked these animals form a
most enviable dish that rivals in flavor the most savory
lamb. Woodchucks and muskrats had a peculiar charm
for Thoreau, and the sight of either always awakened
in him the liveliest interest.

The roadsides are just now beautified as never
earlier or later, by the sweet elders, which are in full
blossom. Their creamy white flowers are very showy
and fragrant. We miss them along many of the
model farms, and often turn aside and travel miles
of byroads where these beautiful bushes are al-
lowed to grow wild and luxuriant, a joy to man
and bird. There are few ornamental bushes grow:
ing in city lawns and gardens that can compare
in beauty and fragrance with this vagrant of
the hedges and highways. Like the clover and
dandelions, they are so common and without cost that
many people forget to admire them; but were they
blotted from the earth, or could they be obtained only
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 915

at great price, how eagerly would they be sought
after. I remember traveling in Wisconsin once in com-
pany with some people who had formerly lived in New
England ; one of the ladies said, “Oh, if I could only see
a hedge of elder bushes on the way, or hear the song of
a bobolink, I might get over my home-sickness.”

After a few days passed very pleasantly with friends
at Honeoye Falls, we drove to Hemlock Lake, a distance
of twelve miles. The drive is a most delightful one
over a smooth road, through a fine country. As you
leave Lima the blue hills of Ontario are in sight, some
of them so far distant that they seem to meet in the
clouds beyond. In many places the road is bordered by
the cichorium, a pleasing flower of brightest blue. On
arriving at the lake we found the best of quarters at the
St. James. This house is on the east side of the lake,
a mile from the foot, and has a fine view of the shores
and surrounding country. It is comparatively new, and
although the largest in the region, is often taxed to its
full capacity. The proprietors are most courteous and
accommodating, making our stay very agreeable. There
are many cottages near the foot and head of the lake,
and a few at intervening points. A good road runs
near the water the entire length on the east side, while
on the west many of the cottages are only accessible by
little boats, or by foot paths through the woods on the
steep hillsides. Most of the cottages are owned by peo-
ple from Rochester, Dansville and Honeoye Falls. A
few Buffalo people are stopping here this summer,
but most of our acquaintances here are from Rochester.
216 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Five steamboats make frequent trips around the lake,
stopping at the few landings, but more frequently
the passengers are taken off the steamers and landed by
little boats. We have enjoyed the hospitality of young
Capt. Tefft on board the little steamer that bears his
name, and shall carry away very pleasant remem-
brances of the many courtesies he has shown us during
our stay here.

Sunday was a gala day for the young. folks of the
surrounding country. They come to the lake by scores,
and probably by hundreds, in carriages, and always in
couples. The young men wore their best clothes, and the
young ladies, some of them very pretty, were abundantly
arrayed in theirsummer drapery of sashes and bonnet rib-
bons. They seemed -to be very clever people, and most
of the young men led the girls about by the hand or took
their arms as they promenaded about the premises.
Many of them had dinner at the hotel, while others, less
extravagant, refreshed themselves with lemonade and ice
cream. Of course the public piano had its share to bear
on the occasion, and during the afternoon and evening
the parlors rang with the blended voices of belles and
beaux, and made one think of the “evening sings,” as
described in “ Cape Cod Folks.” One cynical city lady
made some ungracious remarks about “ unmusical people
always and eternally trying to make music in public
places.” Yet I think this rustic though well-behaved
company had a fair share of pleasure. An hour later
and we shall be on our way to Mount Morris.
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. Q17

III.

A zigzag road, rising on to a high hill, leads from
Hemlock Lake to Livonia Station, a distance of four
miles. Many-of the views along the way are fine. As
you round the foot of the lake the Shore House is
in view, a mile above the outlet on the west, and
the Jaques House at the extreme foot. Here are several
very pleasantly situated cottages, all of which appeared
to be occupied. Six miles from Livonia is Lakeville, at
the foot of Conesus Lake, another beautiful sheet of
water, a little less in extent than Hemlock.

The drives along the western shore and by Long
Point is a delightful one, and many places, both on
this and the opposite shore, reveal picturesque nooks
and shaded points running out into the water that
ere long will be covered with cottages and summer
hotels, as the tide of travel and picnicking is turning
rapidly toward this gem among the hills.

The morning was warm,and we frequently stopped
under the shade trees to rest the horse and to admire
the scenery. We have stopped on so many bridges to
get the breeze that always sweeps up each little valley
and ravine that Bess has learned the trick, and is sure to
halt whenever we reach a bridge, especially if it is in
the shade.

A bridge always has a charm for the traveler, as the
surroundings are generally picturesque, and birds are
found abundantly in the vicinity. We look to see the
Phebe bird fly out when the horse’s feet strike the
218 : HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

planks; and robins, yellow birds, sparrows, and
orioles are frequently seen bathing in ee same
pool near by. It is amusing to see the’ swal-
lows come and dip their straws in the water and
then fly away to their nests. Some birds have
sufficient saliva to moisten the gathered materials,
but the barn swallows dip many of the sticks and
straws in water before arranging them in the outer
parts of their nests. The chimney swallows do not
pick up the material for their houses, but snap the dry
twigs from the trees. These swallows gather all their
building materials on the wing, generally snapping the
dry twigs from the branches of the locust tree. My at-
tention was first called to this curious fact in the old
cemetery on North Street, in company with Mr.
Cowell. We were watching the aerial movements of
these birds, when one of them apparently tried to light
on the leafless top of a tree. She hovered a minute,
balancing herself, then snapped a twig and flew away.
In two or three minutes she returned in company with
her mate, and during an hour that we watched them
they repeated the operation a score or more of times.
Sometimes they failed to break the stick at the first
trial, and after a short circle in the air they renewed
their efforts, always ending in success. Since then
I have seen many pairs engaged in the same labor.
From Geneseo, five or six miles up the river, brings
one in sight of the beautiful village of Mount Morris.
The flats here are about two miles wide, and the richest in
the State. Although the French statesman Talleyrand
A SUMMER DRIVE iN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 919

visited this spot almost a century ago, when the country
was comparatively a wilderness, his eye took in the
great beauty,and he saw the wonderful possibilities
in store when he exclaimed, “This is the loveliest spot
God ever made, and a region of the greatest promise.”
Wheat, broom corn, and sweet corn cover thousands of
acres, stretching acrossthe valley and away towards the
south as far as the eye can reach. In one field we saw
sixteen horses followed by cultivators. The sweet corn
will principally go into the canning houses, of which
there are two large establishments here.

Mount Morris is abundantly supplied with railroads.
The Erie, Lackawanna, and Genesee Valley roads run
through the place, the Lackawanna shortening the dis-
tance to Buffalo, and the Valley road making Rochester
more accessible.

Fortunately for us we are the guests of Henry McNair,
and during the week we alternate between his old
homestead, “ Elmwood” and his present home, “Oak
Croft ;” the former three miles up the valley, and the
latter in the village. Our host is a character, and has a
history, the incidents of which, were they collected and
written, would fill a most readable volume, stranger
and fuller of interest than most fiction. A man of the
“old school,” courteous, generous, and intrepid, he is a
most entertaining host. His twenty odd years spent in
Australia were full of enterprise and adventure. He
was one of the first to recognize the country as one
adapted to fruit culture, and a peach orchard which he
planted there became the wonder of the inhabitants in
920 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

the vicinity, as it afterward proved a source of profit to
the owner. When we get the better of his modesty and
succeed in persuading him to recite some of the thrill-
ing scenes which he saw enacted in that far-off gold
producing country, it is better than the stories of the.
“ Swiss Family Robinson.”

The homestead purchased from the Government by
his grandfather, containing about 2,000 acres of the
choice valley land, is still in the possession of the fam-
ily, and retains many landmarks commemorative of the
struggle of the early settlers and wild beasts and In-
dians. Mary Jemison, the ‘white woman,’ who for
several years had her home in the woods at the foot of
‘Squawkie Hill,’ was a frequent visitor at the house of
the McNairs, and the older members of the family
were quite familiar with many of the incidents of her
strange and eventful life. The McNair farm was for
many years the favorite camping grounds of the In-
dians, and every spring the ploughshare turns up scores
of arrow heads, hatchets, stone pestles, and other im-
plements of chase and camp. Built into the wall of a
well, on the premises of Charles McNair, is a large,
round “hard head,” marked and scarred by axe and
hammer. If. this stone could speak, among other
things it might tell the following story: In one of
their skirmishes with the whites, the Indians captured
several prisoners, most of whom were put to death by
torture. Among the captured was a blacksmith named
Raddix, a man of great strength and of athletic pro-
portions. In the hope of eventually gaining his liberty,
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 221

he made known his power of usefulness to the Indians,
who immediately turned his services to account. They
compelled him to carry this immense stone far back into
the deep woods, and under guard, in a rude cabin, to
use it as an anvil. Here for many months he ham-
mered out rude implements for his wily captors. He
finally escaped and made his way back to his friends,
but so emaciated with hard work and poor fare that he
was not at first recognized by his friends.

Mrs. McNair is an enthusiastic and practical bot-
anist, and is the local correspondent for various botan-
ical clubs in the State. Under her guidance we have
ransacked miles of woods, fields, and ravines in quest
of rare plants and flowers.

The flora of Mount Morris and vicinity is one of the
richest in the State. The showy orange-colored flower,
butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa), grows here in great
abundance. Also that rare and interesting plant Pin-
guicula vulgaris. On Murray Hill opposite, the high
banks, we find the grass of Parnassus (Parnassia Car-
olintana), and near by are broad patches of the delicate
starry catchfly (Silene stellata) adorning this notable
hillside. In the vicinity we find the following, some of
them common, many of them rare: Sickle-pod (Ar-
abis Canadensis), greenbriar (Smilax hispida), celan-
dine (Chelidoniwm majus), henbane (Hyoscyamus niger),
dogbane (Apocynum cannabinum), horse balm (Collin-
sonia Canadensis), bellwort (Campanula rotundifolia),
monkey, flower (Mimulus ringens), skullcap (Scutel-
larva lateriflora), and that elegant milkweed (Asclepias
222 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

quadrifolia). Some of these were out of blossom, as of
course is the arbutus, which is very plentiful in the
season on Murray Hill. That large, showy lily (Li-
lium superbum), with its nodding orange blossoms, is
very abundant in many fields here. I found one stalk
with eighteen symmetrical flowers.

IV.

The drive from Mount Morris to Silver Lake,
much of the way along the high banks of the Genesee
River, is full of objects of interest. Soon after crossing
the long covered bridge we reach the foot of Squawkie
Hill. Here we drive in a winding byway into the
woods to get a draught of water from Mary Jemison’s
Spring. One can still trace the path from the spring to
where her wigwam stood, and as if to be in keeping
with the old tradition, the beautiful Indian hemp is
growing about the premises. At the top of Squawkie
Hill the road reaches the very edge of the precipice,
and one gets the finest view to be had along the whole~
river shore. Although the Genesee runs through an
old and thickly settled part of the State, yet its wonder-
fully fine and diversified scenery seems to have been
overlooked, and to have received far less notice than it
deserves. One needs to drive along the banks, or in a
canoe float down its rapidly changing avaters, to appre-
ciate it. From its source in Pennsylvania to Portage-
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 223

ville it is like a mountain brook, some of the way dash-
ing down declivities among the rocks, and then again
flowing gently through fertile fiells. At Portage it
enters a deep and rocky gorge, then within a few miles
leaps three noted falls ; from these falls to Mount Mor-
ris the stream lies deep in a wooded and rocky canon,
and for miles its waters are inaccessible from either
shore. At Mount Morris it again emerges into an open
country and flows quietly through the richest valley of
the State, till reaching Rochester it tumbles over
rapids and down the upper and lower falls and enters a
five-mile gorge, which for picturesqueness is a minia-
ture of the lower Niagara.

Silver Lake is well named, as the contour of the sur-
rounding hills is such as to give its waters a peculiarly
silver appearance in the sunlight, and its surface is
often entirely unruffled. What a travesty on this
peaceful lake to make it the home of the monster ser-
pent, which for a season was the “seven days’ wonder ”
of the world. I remember one New York reporter
wrote of this harmless, manufactured automaton:
“Each morning and evening this water-devil can be
seen lashing the waters into such a fury that for rods
away they become a seething, boiling cauldron of fiery
foam.” The Walker House, in the grove, is an excel-
lent hotel, and is presided over by a genial host and
hostess. The long, deep piazza, overhung with vines,
and overlooking the lake, is an inviting place to while
away the hot summer days, and many who have
enjoyed it for a brief time this season have booked it
224 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

for a longer stay the coming summer. Being near
Portage, the temptation was irresistible to turn aside
for a brief period and visit these beloved haunts where
so many birds sing so late in the season. We reached
Portageville just at sunset, and as we were ascending
the hill that leads to the Cascade House the notes
of one solitary wood thrush floated on the evening
air; no other sound came from the woods. It seemed
for the hour as if the birds had all left this favorite lo-
cality, or had stopped singing for the season ; but early
next morning, during a walk in the woods east of the
hotel, we heard the wood thrush, cheewink, cat-bird,
golden-crowned thrush, Hudsonian and quavering spar-
rows and both the red-eyed and solitary vireos; and
later in the day, the indigo bird, purple finch, song
sparrow, and scarlet tanager added their voices to the
summer chorus. It was pay many fold for the extra
journey. In many respects this charming retreat sur-
passes any other in its attractions for the naturalist.
The flora is more abundant and varied, while the song
birds are here in greater numbers than in any other lo-
cality of the State. What a field this would have been
for Thoreau. What summer idyls he would have writ-
ten of the ravine, and of the upper and lower Letch-
worth woods, so full of rare plants and interesting
animal life. I often wonder that Burroughs does‘not
substitute for some of his barren pitch pine and scrub
oak sections this favored region in which to make
excursions. Like “ Wordsworth’s Yarrow,” Portage
will bear visiting and revisiting.
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 225

The commodious hotel is pleasantly situated, and com-
mands a view of most delightful scenery, on the one side
wild and picturesque, on the other pastoral and artistic.

You have only to travel a few rods to either woods to
find plants that in other localities could not be collected
in twice the area, while such birdsas the scarlet tanager,
purple finch, and Hudsonion sparrows come and sing in
the lawn at the very doors of the hotel, and in the sea-
son of song you can.sit on the veranda and hear the
golden-crowned, the wood and Wilson’s thrushes which
make their home in both the east and west woods. Just
across the river, and up among the hemlocks and chest-
nuts, I have listened hours to my silver-throated “ Pan,”
the winter wren. This forest is my ‘ Mecca,’ my ‘ Wal-
den Pond,’ and the days here are all too short, and the
spaces between visits too long, and whenever I come, I
am sorry that I did not come sooner, and arrange to
stay longer.

It is a two days’ journey from Portage to Naples, near
the head of Canandaigua Lake ; the second day was par-
tially along the western shoreof Honeoye Lake, another
pleasant sheet of water lying deep in the bosom of the
hills. The shores are less bold and rocky than those of
Hemlock, but equally picturesque and well wooded.
The fishing is said to be extremely good here, but the
fish are of poor quality in hot weather, as the water is
usually warm and more or less roily. A shower of con-
siderable severity overtook us midway up the shore,
and the most generous shelter in reach wasa huge bass-
wood that overhung the road. It seemed for a time as
226 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

if the whole artillery of heaven was concentrated near
the spot, and even our trusty horse ‘showed signs of ter-
ror as the flashes of lightning fell in blinding sheets
followed by peals of thunder that shook the hills. Dur-
ing the afternoon we routed a flock of young quails that
were feeding by the roadside with the old birds; al-
though the brood was large, and it seemed as though
we could easily pick up a half dozen, they scattered so
quickly and effectually that a half hour’s search failed
to reveal one of them; but as soon as we drove ashort
distance, one after another could be seen scudding
across the road in answer to the turkey calls of the old
ones. About as interesting little creatures as we see
along the way are the chipmunks and red squirrels that
dodge behind rails and scamper on the fences, some-
times stopping just ahead of us long enough to eat an
apple or head of wheat, and then with a chipper of glee
run along again, sometimes keeping pace with us for
many rods. On this road were many patches of the
showy Oswego tea (Monarda didyma). Ata little dis-
tance its bright crimson heads show even prettier than
the cardinal flower, which also grows in the same vicin-
ity, and in many respects it rivals the latter flower even
on a closer inspection. All the labiates now begin
to show color, and some of them are really
pretty, while the swails and low grounds are in
many places covered with the Joe pye weed
(ELupatorium-purpureum) and the purple milkweed
(Ascleyias purpurascens). Nature is ever generous at
all seasons in ornamenting by some means her waste
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 227

places. When vegetation ceases, then beautiful ice and
snow will adorn the earth ; cell life will only give place
tocrystallization. The rain had left the roads heavy, and
it was near dark when we drove around and down the
long steep hill through the woods to the village, where
we hoped to find a quiet resting-place after an unusually
hard day’sride. It has beenapleasure heretofore to chron-
icle the best of entertainment at all our stopping places,
and we have often left with a feeling of indebtedness for
courtesies and favors generously bestowed by both
friends and strangers on the road. Here our reception
was interesting and our entertainment phenomenal. As
we reined up to the hotel to which we had been directed
on the way, a tall, thin man of the hair-pin type met us
at the carriage and almost embraced us in his eager wel-
come ; he was so affectionately brotherly that I almost
looked to hear him ask for the “strawberry mark on
some arm” in recognition of along lost kindred. “ Were
we tired? Would we stop with him for the night?
What a fine horse, and what an easy carriage! Were
we traveling for pleasure or business? His was a tem-
perance house, and just the place for tired man and beast;
did we wish supper, etc., etc.?” to all of which we could
only answer that “ we would stay with him, as we were
very tired, and quite hungry and a little thirsty,” and
suggested that at least “a cup of strong tea would be
very acceptable.” As ourroom was not in readiness, we
were ushered into the public parlor to await supper.
An hour latter the tall man made his appearance and
announced that “It would not be convenient to get a
228 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

warm supper, as it was wash-day with the women folks.”
Nearly another hour and supper was announced, and
“such a supper!” not like Bob Cratchit’s, but still,
“such asupper!’ Few words would name the dishes, but
in the mouth of other than Christians these words would
necessarily be strong and emphatic. Weonly demurred
at the tea, and asked for headache’s sake that it be a little
stronger ; it came back still weaker, when we suggested
to the good woman—who, by the way, was as thick as
the man was thin—that “ probably she had forgotten to
put the tea in the pot, and had only steeped the water,”
but like “ Barmody’s soup,” the liquid seemed to grow
thin with each additional cooking. The hair-pin look-
ing man, who had hen-hussied himself into the room,
catching part of the colloquy, wittily (?) remarked,
“This is a temperance house, this is, and probably the
women folks are opposed to anything strong.” The
sickly-looking butter testified otherwise, but like most
obituary poetry, the occasion had a ludicrous side that
partially made amends for physical discomfort. At a
late hour we were shown the room, which had been
“put to rights,” and preparations were made for slum-
ber; they were only preparations, however, for what
with unaired feather bed and pillows, whose strength
only rivaled the butter and put to shame the tea, and
with a swarm of mosquitoes and other hungry little
inhabitants, the rest and sleep were not quite what
are “promised to the just.” One was reminded of
the inscription on a Swedish inn, “ You will find at
Trolhate excellent beds, bread, meat and wine—pro-
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. ZLd

vided you bring them with you.” I think it was Wil-
liam Black, the novelist, who said, “ When you have
dined on ham and eggs and whiskey the night before,
to breakfast on ham and eggs and tea is a great relief
the morning after,” but with such a supper and tea as
were given us last night, a breakfast like Black’s dinner
would have been welcome by at least one member of
the party.

Pretty early the following morning we paid the bill,
which was a round one, and went on our way weak, but
rejoicing. Temperance indeed is a good thing, but sad
as it may seem, truth compels the traveler to chronicle °
the fact that excellent temperance hotels are even fewer
and further between than angels’ visits.

In contrast to this ‘inn,’ I remember another old hotel,
or country tavern as it was long called, which we have
always found so full of real comfort and good living,
that I approach it with a kind of hungry expectancy.
It was one hot July morning, an hour or so before noon,
that we first came in sight of the little hamlet in which
this house stands. It was more country than village.
A large brook of clear, shining water, overhung with
thick shade trees, ran along one side of the principal
street. A long rambling hotel with broad verandas,
and extensive outlying barns and sheds, attracted
my attention. An old couple, landlord and landlady, —
sat on the veranda in large rocking chairs. They
greeted us with a cheerful good-morning as we drove
up in front of the house, and to the request for dinner,
the kindly Hed old lady said that “they had nearly
230 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

given up keeping hotel, but if we could put up with
their homely fare, we should come in and let the boy
take care of the horse.” First, “the little girl must
have a glass of milk ;” then said the motherly woman,
“There is a large airy room up stairs, with a bed and
sofa, where you can all take a nice little nap to rest
yourselves for dinner.” The room was sweet and tidy,
and when called to dinner, we were all as fresh as in
early morning, and twice as hungry.

It only grieved us that the good couple should find it
in their hearts to make apologies for such a dinner as
they set before us. Tender, juicy, sugar-cured ham and
fresh eggs; the lightest of home-made bread, with sweet
grass butter yellow as gold; peas and lettuce just from
the garden; cool cucumbers that were growing on the
vines ten minutes before ; a cup of coffee, fragrant. and
the color of amber ; oolong tea in which the strength
and aroma emulated each other. This would seem
enough to satisfy even a connoisseur of the table, but
the dinner was not to be finished without red raspber-
ries with thick cream, and a generous strawberry short-
cake. The pleasant, cordial manner of providing the
entertainment corresponded with the wholesome things
provided.

We lingered till late in the afternoon, and left regret-
fully this pleasant, restful old country tavern ; nor is it
strange that we have driven over that hilly road, con-
siderably out of our route several times since, to enjoy
the entertainment provided by this real landlord and
landlady? They compliment us with the remark that
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 931

“they too look forward pleasantly to our annual “stop
over” with them.

Perhaps I have dwelt too long over these two ‘way-
side’ places, but they are the types of the two extremes
which travelers must find in a country where so many
men think they can ‘keep hotel.’

Naples is a lovely village, lying between wooded
hills, in a pleasant, fertile valley and shows signs of thrift
and enterprise. From here to Canandaigua Lake, a
distance of four or five miles, much of the cleared land
is covered with vineyards.

Vs

Our route from Naplesto Hammondsport, by the way
of Bath, was an unfamiliar one. The first mile or two
lay through a delightful woods, much of it pine and
hemlock. The veeries and wood thrushes were singing
their morning hymns, and the warblers were having a
jubilee in the evergreens. The early morning was per-
fect, and the pleasant surroundings soon put us all again
on good terms with the world. The evening before we
had passed a party of Gypsies camping at the lower
end of the woods. They were a hard-looking set, men,
women, children and dogs. The redeeming features
were three or four fine looking horses and one or two
good traveling wagons. They exercised good taste in
choosing this charming spot in which to light their
232 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

camp-fires. Weexpected to see them making prepara-
tions for breakfast, but early as it was, we found them
missing. Like others of their tribe, “they had folded
their tents and quietly stolen away.” The place was
so inviting that the nomad spirit took possession of us,
and we determined also for a time to be Gypsies. We
were not at all satisfied that the “active member of the
firm” had fared better than the others. As usual, we
were prepared for such emergencies, having with us a
feed of oats and a comfortable lunch of bread and butter,
canned tongue, sardines and a bottle of ‘Tokay.’ A little
farther along was an open space, with a clear brook run-
ning through it. This place was selected, and the prep-
arations for breakfast soon completed. Taking off the
bridle and pouring a generous feed of oats on the clean
grass, we invited Bess to enjoy herself. .A mossy knoll
near by answered for table and chairs, and we were
soon busy and as much at home as though to the
“manor born.” The dining room was neat and spacious,
with no smoke or smell of pent-up cooking. <A flood of
warm sunshine lay on the grass and trees about us, mak-
ing them a still richer green in the light. A soft breeze
shook the sweet elder blossoms down from their feath-
ery sprayed corymbs, powdering us with pearl and
perfume. In a hemlock near us a red squirrel laughed at
and scolded us by turns, for invading his premises. A
woodpecker drummed away on the dry limb of a tree,
contrasting pleasantly with the soft chirp of some hand-
some cedar birds that sat nearly motionless in a small
maple. Just as we were in readiness to start, the squir-
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 983

rel which had been so inquisitive came down the tree,
and crossing the road in front of us, ran along on the
crooked fence, uttering his saucy, defiant chitter. The
little girl called vehemently for me “to catch him!” and
she was inclined to be indignant that I did not doso. A
year ago, a8 we were driving around the Park Meadow,
a red squirrel, not quite grown, crossed the road and
made for a shade tree in the grass. I sprang out of the
carriage and gave chase, and just before it got out of
reach in the tree, caught it. We carried it home, where
it became the pet of the household. Since then
“ Anemone” thinks I have only to make the effort, to
catch any squirrel we may see by the roadside.

As we passed out into the open country between
meadows, a perfume, strongand sweet as rose or violet,
seemed to fill the land. At first it was a surprise, but
soon we saw that one of the meadows was filled with
clover, whose blossoms were neither red nor white, but a
kind of compromise, more nearly pink. It was the
Alsike, the most strongly-fragrant of the leguminous
family. This beautiful clover was formerly supposed to
be a hybrid between the red and white clover, hence
its botanical name by Linneeus (Trifolium-hybridum),
but it is now conceded to be a distinct species. Still I
am inclined to think that it hybridizes with our little
white clover (T.-repens). Our clovers are all sweet-
scented, particularly the last named, which is such a
favorite with the honey bees. The red clover, with an
entirely different odor and quality of honey, is loved
equally well by the wholesome country bumble-bee, the
934 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

bass singer in the insect choir. The sweet clover, form-
erly cultivated in gardens for its perfume, has now
taken possession of hundreds of miles of roadsides,
where it not only beautifies these waste places, but sheds
a delightful aroma for all who travel these favored
thoroughfares. The old bed of the abandoned Genesee
Valley Canal is a wilderness of this handsome and fra-
grant plant, which is now placed among the weeds, far
more interesting and useful in this vagabond life than
when petted in the garden.

In ascending and descending steep hills, Bess has had
a new experience on this journey. The driving with
her heretofore has been about the city or neighboring
level country. She knew nothing about holding back,
and the first steep hill that we had to descend tried
severely her faith, and a little her patience. As the
carriage began to crowd, she wavered a minute, looked.
back inquiringly, and almost beseechingly, and then
stopped. I alighted, patted her neck a minute, and step-
ping in front of her, said, “Come along, Bess.” The fear
was all gone. She needed no rein, but followed along
slowly and carefully, every little while putting her nose
on my shoulder, perfectly confident that all was right.
She has now learned to zigzag across the roads up and
down hills, as all teams do, down the steeps at Mount
Royal, Montreal. The first time she did this of her
own accord, Anemone, watching her admiringly, said,
“Papa, Lade must have a great many thinks in her head
to be so cunning.” Our drive to Liberty was over a roll-
ing country, thence through a pleasant valley to Avoca,
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 235

where we stopped for dinner. As we started out in the
afternoon, we overtook in the village two Italians, one
carrying a heavy pole, the other leading a huge per-
forming bear. Horses almost invariably shy at a bear;
not so, Bess. She sprang forward for it, and it was
with difficulty I kept her from running the ungainly
creature down. It seemed to be a new experience to
the Italians, who screamed and howled upon us some
imprecation, but they were lively in giving us plenty of
the road.

We spent a few days pleasantly with friends at Bath,
but the weather was intensely hot and dry, making
travel uncomfortable, excepting in the early and later
portions of the day.

Arrangements had already been made to spend a
week at Hammondsport. So we concluded to start
‘very early in the morning in order to avoid heat and
fatigue, the two chief drawbacks of summer travel by
private conveyance.

The carriage was at the door about 3 o’clock, and we
were some miles on the way before the first signs of the
morning appeared in the east. It seemed a little weird
and uncanny at first to start out into an unknown coun-
try in the night, but just as the first streaks of dawn
‘appeared, a delightful change came over the face of
nature. We were well up the valley as the stars
began to fade out and the yellow to overspread the
eastern sky. A heavy perfume of grass and growing
grain filled the cool, dewy air. The sibilant song of the
_hair bird, insect like, was the first sound of awakening
236 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

nature; then the robins joined in the chorus, imme
diately followed by the blue bird, vespers, Savannas,
and song sparrows. It seemed that ina minute or two
after the first note a hundred birds had joined in the
morning anthem. It was one of the most delightful
concerts to which I have ever listened, and lasted an
hour or more, with little interruption. Occasionally
the barking of a farm dog, or the crowing of a cock,
would break in upon the chorus, but even these clarion
sounds made no discord in the melodies. It was one of
the most enjoyable drives of the journey, and when we
came in sight of the blue lake, the shadows still reached
well across to the western shore.

For many years this sheet of water was called
Crooked Lake, probably from its divisions, but it has
again taken its Indian name, Keuka, or Ogo-ya-ga,
meaning promontory, projecting into the lake. It isa’
gem of pure blue water, “a liquid eye in the face of
nature.” The country about has long been noted for
its fine scenery, but it is now becoming famed for its
vineyards and champagnes. There are three ends to
the lake, and a village at each. Hammondsport at the
south, Penn Yan at the northeast, and Branchport at the
northwest. A hilly peninsula, now covered with vine-
yards, runs down between the arms from the north.
This old-fashioned, picturesque village is becoming a
favorite resort for these who enjoy fine scenery, good
boating and fishing, and freedom from dress parade.
The large and pleasantly- situated hotel, near the steam-
boat landing, kept by the Fairchild Brothers, is a
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 237

delightful abiding place. The fare is first class, and the
friendly, cheerful service excellent. For dinner, salmon
trout, caught the same morning from the cool waters
of the lake, was a daily feature at table.

Many of the drives in the neighborhood are pleasant,
and full of objects of interest. There are flourishing
vineyards to examine, and wine cellars to explore,
that will keep one busy for days; and then if you
care tolearn the process of making still wines or cham-
pagnes, you will find experts who will cheerfully show
you all the mysteries.

For hot, sultry days you will find shady nooks and
rocky glens that afford cool and pleasant retreats for
reading or visiting, or for day dreaming, if you are
romantically inclined.

A daily walk took us past a well-kept garden, contain-
ing many flowers, some of them rare. We often
exchanged greetings with the pleasant old gardener, who
delighted to learnedly expatiate on names and charac-
teristics of his favorites. On one occasion I was admir-
ing a flower that was new to me, and taking out pen-
cil and book to make a memorandum, asked for the
botanical name. His puzzled look showed that it was
also unknown to him, but after hesitating for a moment
he replied, “Ah! mon, call the beauty whatever you
loike. Far be it from the loikes of me to tell a gintleman
what he should calla purty flower. A pleasant morning
to you, and the Lord bless you through the day!” His.
courteous escape from the dilemma.is still my blessing, as
the thought of it has since caused many a pleasant laugh.
288 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

We found the roads from Lake Keuka to the head
of Lake Seneca in excellent condition. The scenery
along the way was pleasantly diversified with fields and
woods, sharp hills and fertile little valleys. Clouds and
sunshine alternated during the forenoon, and the wind
was equally variable. It Was pleasant to see the shad-
ows and sunshine chasing each other over the billowy
fields of grain and unmown meadows. One could
plainly see the spots in each that were rankest or
thinnest by the way in which they were moved by the
wind. The landscape was full of color—yellow stubble-
fields, gray meadows of over-ripe grass, oat fields of the
finest shades of light green, and, handsomest of all, the
fields of corn with drooping leaves that look like
rich ribbons of green satin. Corn is beautiful in growth,
in all stages, from the little green leaf, just peeping out
of the brown earth, to the fluted columns surmounted
with golden grain.

Late in the afternoon we meta bevy of pretty young
girls returning from a rural picnic. Their bright gar-
ments, with bows and ribbons fluttering in the breeze,
seemed almost a part of themselves. The sight made
one think of Emerson’s expression: “The delicious
faces of children, and the beauty of young school girls.”
It made one glad to look upon them and witness their
unrepressed joyousness. They answered our few ques-
tions about the way with a frankness that was exhila-

eating. Surely there is no pleasanter sight than a com-
pany of fair, young girls in their holiday attire, unless
it be a company of fairer older ones.
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 939

-

Two sweltering nights and one day of hard work was
enough for us at Watkins. It was a hot morning in
which we undertook to “do the Glen, ” andlong before
night the undertaking was cause for repentance. Boys
and girls and happy lovers may enjoy the silvery cas-
cades, the leaping falls, the pearling pools and gray
rocks with hanging moss, the cool, dark recesses, with
only glimpses of the blue sky, seen through rifts of over-
hanging rocks. They may enjoy the climbing up and
the crawling down. Very likely they do, and they are
quite welcome to therustic bridges, the shady foot-paths,
and the interminable flights of slippery stairs. The
Glen is picturesque, grand, sublime. It is a wonderful
work of nature, and it has had the assistance of art. I
left it with deep regrets—regret that I carried away a
headache, a rheumatic leg, and a lame back as the tro-
phies of the day’s toilsome explorations.

It was pleasant to again be on the road, especially as
a refreshing rain during the night had laid the dust
and cooled the air, which was freighted with the odors
of growing things. To the languid incense from milk-
weeds and oat fields was added the more pungent fra-
grance of the labiates by the roadsides. One thought
of that gem by Willis, ‘Dawn?

«Tis a morn for life
In its most subtle luxury. The air
Is like a breathing from a rarer world :
It has come over gardens, and the flowers
That kissed it are betrayed.
I know it has been trifling with the rose
And stooping to the yiolet, There is joy
For all God’s creatures in it. The wet leaves
240 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Are stirring at its touch, and birds are singing
Asif to breathe were music; and the grass
Sends up its modest odor with the dew,

Like the small tribute of humility.”

In many meadows men were cutting grass, usually
with machines, but in a few stumpy lots of newly
cleared land they were still mowing it with the old-
fashioned scythes. It was pleasant to hear the swish as
the blade went through the wet grass, laying it in cool
swaths or little windrows. Occasionally a mower stop-
ped to sharpen the scythe with the long, glistening
whetstone, awakening rhythmical echoes in the neigh-
boring groves. All along we were regaled with the
delicious odors of the new mown hay. In one meadow
a barefooted boy with a straw hat, from which the rim
was gone, was violently whipping the ground with a
wisp of grass. Soon afterwards we saw him wipe his
hands on his pantaloons, and we knew that he had just
swallowed the delectable morsel which he had robbed
from the bumble-bees.

Ithaca, at the head of Cayuga Lake, isa charming
village. We saw it to advantage from the top of the
high hill as we approached it from the west. It was
the quiet season at this noted seat of learning, as most
of the students were away on their vacation. There
was such a look of home comfort about the pretty
dwellings, well-kept lawns and shady streets, that one
could understand why it is such a favorite place for
young men and women who like pleasing surroundings
as well as excellent educational advantages.
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 941

On our way to Cortland we went a few miles out of
the course to enjoy the drive over the rocky road along
the eastern shore of the lake from Ithaca to Ludlow-
ville. It gave us fine views of the lake and of the
western shore.

VI.

Hills are a necessary feature in a pleasant landscape.
This fact has been emphasized in the mind during our
few days’ stayin this thriving, busy village of Cortland.
Look whichever way you will, your eyes rest on near
or distant hills, a few still crowned with dark forests,
but most of them smiling under cultivation. The vil-
lage is situated in a broad and fertile valley, through
which the clear, bright waters of the Tioughnioga
River flow. Why the Indians called this river O’nan-
no-gi-is-ka, meaning shagbark hickory, is a query, as
there are few, if any, hickories in the county, the tim-
ber being principally maple, beech, basswood, white
ash, and wild cherry: but there is no accounting for
names. A stranger passing through this county might
think by the guide boards at the corners of the country
roads that he was traveling in the “Old World,” so
generally did the early settlers appropriate classical
names in their local nomenclature. The townships in
this county are Virgil, Homer, Solon, Tully, Lapeer,
Marathon, Truxton, Cincinnatus, etc. The villages have
been equally honored. Two Cincinnatuses nestle near
249 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

each other in the Otselic Valley. A lovely Homer
stretches along the banks of the Tioughnioga, near
enough to shake hands with its younger but more enter-
prising neighbor, Cortland ; while East Homer beckons
to both from a neighboring hillside. One can find
Dryden a few miles to the south, Ithaca and Scipio at
the west, and Pompey a little way at the north.
‘One day in company with some old-time friends, we
drove over to the old homestead in Solon for a day’s
picnic in the woods. The trees about the farm house
have grown almost out of recognition, but the row
of large maples on the hillside have all dis-
appeared but two, and they stand up, grand
but lonely in their isolation, like some aged
people who have survived their cotemporaries. The
beautiful sugar bush across the flat has been cut down,
and now blackened stumps and sunburnt grass are seen
in the place of the smooth boled beeches and towering
maples. Onthe way to the woods we passed through
the large orchard, in which every tree was familiar.
Although the orchard was mostly of seedlings, the fruit
was better than any other that we shall ever taste again.
Each tree had an individual history, and nearly every
onea name. The “Good Tree, ” that ripened its apples
so early, was missing, but the large “greening” next
to it was still thrifty and full of apples. One year a
late frost in the spring killed nearly all the fruit in
the locality, but a large limb of this tree had been
partially broken off and hung by a little wood and
bark. The check of sap caused it to blossom a week or
‘

A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 2943

ten days later than the rest of the tree, so it escaped
the effects of the frost, and, in the fall, was loaded with
apples.

The “ Sheep-nose,” a large, crooked tree, standing by
a stone wall, was a great resort for the squirrels, which
harvested most of its fruit. One tree bore apples which
resembled pears in flavor. It went by the name of
“ pear-apple-tree.” An old nursery, occupying one
corner of the field, long ago became a tangled thicket of
vines, brambles and scraggy apple trees. It was a favor-
ite place for the shyer birds, and nearly every summer
cuckoos and cedar birds had nests in this tangle.

One spring my father gave me permission to graft
the lower row of trees. The operations were fairly
successful, but boy-like I made a “mess” of it. Instead
of putting only one kind of cions in a tree, I thought a
variety would be better; as a result some of these trees
rival “Joseph’s coat of many colors.” In one are
“ golden sweets,” “fall pipins,” “pear mains,” “ Bald-
wins,” “ greenings,” ‘“ Tunecliffs,” “early boughs,” etc.,
summer, fall, and winter fruit, all colors and sizes, grow-
ing together. How many pleasant associations cluster
about this orchard! How many friends have trodden
its paths, and eaten of its fruits! What beauty and
fragrance it provided for those who long dwelt so
near it!

On the way back to Cortland, we stopped on the hill
south of the village to get a panoramic view of the beau-
tiful valley below. The sun had risen, and the steeples
of the villages glistened in the light. Long silvery
244 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

streaks of fog hung over the winding river, shutting
portions of it and the valley from view. Some of its
edges were just ruffled by a puff of the morning breeze,
while here and there it rose in billowy waves and floated
up the valley; but whether in bars of defined outlines, or
in undulating waves, it seemed the poetical feature in
the landscape. The ancients supposed the mists and
vapors to be the breath of the river gods. Ruskin inter-
prets the fog to be the Daphne of Grecian mythology,
and the sun dispelling it, Apollo. He says “ Daphne is
the daughter of one of the great river gods of Arcadia;
the earth is her mother; she, in her first life, is the mist
filling the valley; the sun pursuing, and effacing it from
dell to dell, is literally Apollo pursuing Daphne.”
Emily suggests that “more likely these mists are the
curtains that Amphitrite hangs before her beautiful
nymphs while they are making their morning toilets.”
But all fanciful interpretations were dispelled by little
Anemone, who innocently said, “ Why, mamma, that is
only fog hanging over the river.”

The journey back to Buffalo was more direct, but
made by easy stages, much of it in the early morning,
or late in the afternoon. At no time did we hurry; but
whenever the horse showed any signs of weariness, we
looked for the nearest place of entertainment. Nothing
tires a sympathetic driver more than to ride after
a fatigued or hungry animal. In pleasantly discours-
ing of “Road Horses,” in the April Atlantic, H. C.
Merwin says: “In fact, a good roadster is something
like a satisfactory bank account—your pleasure in his
A SUMMER DRIVE IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 245

capacity is great, almost in proportion as the drafts
which you make upon it are small.’ In the forty-five
days’ journey we traveled something over one thousand
miles directly, or in short-side excursions. We returned
brown and hearty, with good appetites, and in good
condition to sleep. Lady Bess had gained several
pounds, and her coat was fine and glossy. Had she
been asked the following morning if she was ready to
repeat the journey, I think she would have nodded her
head and whinnied, ‘yes.’
ORNITHOLOGICAL
NOMENCLATURE.
ORNITHOLOGICAL NOMENCLATURE.

To many, nomenclature has been a puzzling factor in
the study of ornithology. Until a recent period the
scientific names have been so often changed, and so mul-
tiplied, that one found he had as much to unlearn as to
learn. Happily that has changed, and henceforth we
may expect something like the same permanency in this
classification that we have in that of botany and in most
of the other sciences.

The committee appointed by the “Ornithological
Union,” have agreed on a uniform system, and have
lately issued a ‘Check List,’ which is to-be the estab-
lished text with ornithologists.

As a convenience to those who are interested in the
subject, and who have not ready access to more preten-
tious works, I have subjoined a list of common and sci-
entific names to all, or nearly all, the birds seen in this
locality, omitting the water birds, birds of prey, and
some of the game birds.

Bobolink ss iccsicdsviuchs deisaciaaraten (Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
COW Bird i iiccsieusecaiseceweatens aeaecioaun (Molothrus ater)
Red-winged Blackbird............. (Agelaius pheniceus)
Meadow Lark sc... cc. cessed er ncdene (Sturnella magna)
Orchard Oriole.......,.. 00.000 c cece eee (Icterus spurius)
Baltimore Oriole...............0 eee eee (Icterus galbula)

Rusty Blackbird.............+. (Scolecophagus carolinus)
250 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Crow Blackbird.............0eseeee (Quiscalus quiscula)
Evening Grosbeak............ (Coccothranstes vespertina)
Pine Grosbeak..............0.0 ees (Pinicola eneucleator)
Purple Finch. ..........0000000: (Carpodacus purpureus)
American Crossbill............ (Lozia curvirostra minor)
White-winged Crossbill................ (Loxia leucoptera)
Common Redpoll...............00085 (Acanthis linaria)
American Goldfinch.................0045 (Spinus tristis)
Pine: HIN Chess awnareteveccaecars wae a veg aia pits dais att (Spinus pinus)
Snow Bunting............. .... (Plectrophenax nivalis)
Lapland Longspur.............000. (Calcarius lapponicus)
Grass Finch........0.. 0b eee e eee (Poocetes gramineus)
Savanna Sparrow..(Ammodramus sandwichensis savanna)
White-crowned Sparrow......... (Zonotrichia leucophrys)
White-throated Sparrow........... (Zonotrichia albicollis)
Tree Sparrow.... 0... eee ee eee ees (Spizella monticola)
Chipping Sparrow........ 22... eee ee eee (Spizella socialis)
Field Sparrow............. cece eee eee (Spizella pusilla)
Black Snowbird.......... ccc cece eee (Junco hyemalis)
Song Sparrow.......-.. 2... ee eee ..(Melospiza fasciata)
Swamp Sparrow................05. (Melospiza georgiana)
0x: BRATTOW se sasavaecren de anaesw ewe (Passerella tliaca)
Chewink........ 0. cece eee (Pipilo erythrophthalmus)
Cardinal Grosbeak...... al sated Sate (Cardinalis cardinalis)
Rose-breasted Grosbeak...........4. (Habia ludoviciana)
M16 Bird ssc eesnsssrervbe elaisiieeiiaenaieth (Passerina cyanea)
Scarlet Tanager................. (Piranga erythromelas)
Purple Martinncccasciscws ves eaaserae sae (Progne sudis)
Cliff, or Have Swallow.......... (Petrochelidon lunifrons)
Barn Swallow............... '...(Chelidon erythrogaster)

White-bellied Swallow.............. ( Tachycineta bicolor)
ORNITHOLOGICAL NOMENCLATURE. 251

Bank Swallow............ cee eee eens (Clivicola riparia)
Northern Waxwing.................. (Ampelis garrulus)
Cherry, or Cedar Bird............... (Ampelis cedrorum)
Great Northern Shrike................. (Lanius borealis)
White-rumped Shrike .(Zanius ludovicianus excubitorides)
Red-eyed Vireo........ cece cece ee ee eee (Vireo olivaceus)
Brotherly-love Vireo.............. (Vireo philadelphicus)
Warbling Viled. ie cusscceck aries wewaa dees (Vireo gilvus)
Yellow-throated Vireo.............205. (Vireo flavifrons)
Solitary Vireo. .issescses sea ene ce wen (Vireo solitarius)
White-eyed Vireo................ (Vireo noveboracensis)
Black and White Creeper.............. (Mniotilta varia)

Blue-Winged Yellow Warbler.....(Helminthophila pinus)
Golden-winged Warbler.....(Helminthophila chrysoptera)

Nashville Warbler........... (Helminthophila ruficapilla)
Blue Yellow-backed Warbler...(Compsothlypis americana)
Cape May Warbler................46. (Dendroica tigrina)
Summer Yellow Bird................. (Dendroica estiva)
Black-throated Blue Warbler.....(Dendroica cwrulescens)
Yellow-rumped Warbler............ (Dendroica coronata)
Cerulean Warbler ...............005 (Dendroica cerulea)
Black and Yellow Warbler, .. (Dendroica maculosa)
Magnolia Warbler, i
Chestnut-sided Warbler........(Dendroica pennsylvanica)
Bay-breasted Warbler.............. (Dendroica castanea)
Black-poll Warbler............ Gi ute (Dendroica striata)
Blackburnian Warbler......... (Dendroica blackburnia)
Black-throated Green Warbler......... (Dendroica virens)
Red-poll Warbler......(Dendroica palmarum hypochrysea)
Golden-crowned Thrush........... (Seturus aurocaptllus)

New York Water Thrush....... (Steurus noveboracensis)
252 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.

Mourning Warbler............. (Geothlypis philadelphia)
Maryland Yellow-throat............. (Geothlypis trichas)
Yellow-breasted Chat............ 0.500005 (Icteria virens)
Hooded Warbler........... 2.0. eeees (Sylvania mitrata)
Black-capped Yellow Warbler...... ....(Sylvania pusilla)
Canadian Fly-catching Warbler..... (Sylvania canadensis)
American Redstart...............08 (Setophaga ruticilla)
American Titlark.......... Heectges (Anthus pensylvanicus)
Cat Bird siscncareeaven nantes (Galeoscoptes carolinensis)
Brown Thrasher.............004. (Harporhynchus rufus)
House: Wrens sccancoue eva yer newer eras (Troglodytes edon)
Winter WHOM). v6 sis0's win ate cere tdoe hace (Troglodytes hyemalis)
Short-billed Marsh Wren........... (Cystothorus stellaris)
Long-billed Marsh Wren.......... (Cystothorus palustris)
Brown Creeper........... (Certhia familiaris americana)
White-bellied Nuthatch.............. (Sitta carolinensis)
Red-bellied Nuthatch.... ..........08 (Sttta canadensis)
Black-capped Chickadee............. (Parus atricapilius)
Carolina Chickadee...............4. (Parus carolinensis)
Golden-crowned Kinglet.............4. (Regulus satrapa)
Ruby-crowned Kinglet.............. (Regulus calendula)
Blue Gray Gnatcatcher.............. (Polioptila cerulea)
Wood Thrush............cee eee '..(Turdus mustelinus)
Wilsort's Thrush. 5.0202 s2c0c00 ame (Turdus fuscescens)
Olive-backed Thrush...... (Turdus ustulatus swainsonit)
Hermit Thrush............ 0.00005 (Turdus aonalaschke)
Robitewsrcveshax cen ewdveters eek (Merula migratoria)
Blue Bird aa svecwawie vans. eu naw wastes (Sialia sialis)
American Woodcock................. (Philohela minor)
Wilson’s Snipe........... cece ee eees (Gallinago delicata)

Red 668 sear cciraceesato as iia ve pe Mere (Aegialitis vocifera)
ORNITHOLOGICAL NOMENOLATURE. 953

American Quail.................45 (Colinus virginianus)
Partridge, “‘Ruffed Grouse”.......... (Bonasa umbellus)
Passenger Pigeon, ‘Wild Pigeon” .(Zetopistes migratorius)
Mourning Dove.................. (Zenaidura macroura)
Yellow-billed Cuckoo............. (Coccyzus americanus)
Black-billed Cuckoo......... (Coccyzus erythrophthalmus)
Belted Kingfisher...................006. (Ceryle alcyon)
Hairy Woodpecker.................. (Dryobates villosus)
Downy Woodpecker................ (Dryobates pubescens)
Yellow-billed Woodpecker.......... (Sphyrapicus varius)
Pileated Woodpecker............... (Ceophloeus ptleatus)
Red-headed Woodpecker... ..(Melanerpes erythrocephalus)
Red-bellied Woodpecker .. .......(Melanerpes carolinus)
High-hole, Flicker.................65 (Colaptes auratus)
Whip-poor-will........ ..... ....(Antrostomus vociferus)
Night Hawk............. pegaie (Chordetles virginianus)
Chimney Swift......... Set ee does pan (Chaetura pelagica)
Ruby-throated Hummingbird........ (Trochylus colubris)
Kingbird se isc eseses cate econ en (Tyrannus tyrannus)
Great Crested Flycatcher........... (Myiarchus crinitus)
Phosbe Bird » sss scenes ani tone eas (Sayornis phebe)
Olive-sided Flycatcher............... (Contopus borealis)
Wood, Pewee c.:.csc cece dig eee tes (Contopus virens)
Yellow-bellied Flycatcher........ (Lmpidonaz flavientris)
Least Flycatcher................. (Zinpidonax minimus)
Shore Lark... cece cece vege re aes (Otocoris alpestris)
Blue Jays .ca vse secnaw ey rea nen (Cyanocitta cristata)
CROWAteiaa gai ee bee cata eaes (Corvus americanus)

 

Norr.—The writer acknowledges Dr. Bergtold and J. F. Cowell as authority for
some of the migrants and visitants in the above list.