UNiVL JRARY V, SAN DIEGO 0. \el\fi BIROS in high gales or storms are always interesting objects. It is very rarely that the powerful petrels of the coast succumb to the force of the wind, but sometimes their flight Is not strong enough to resist the hurricanes, and taking the wind on the side they fly along with it at a rate that is fairly dazzling to the eyes. The termination of such trips is not always pleasing to the birds. They are often hurried along with such velocity that they cannot recover their equilibrium, and they are dashed upon some land and killed. When caught In a high gale the birds always make for the lee side of some point of land or stationary object. The difficult part of their evolution Is to bring themselves up on the lee side without being killed. Some birds rise high In the air, and make a sort of double under curve, and generally fall with considerable force. The more powerful winged species curve around to breast the gale, and then allow themselves to drop gradually while facing the wind. The strug- gles of a powerful-winged bird in a gale are fascinating to one interested In aerial navi- gation. If caught in the rushing wind, the birds will do their best to save themselves from getting "lost." Birds do get lost In the wind-storms as well as in the rain and snow storms of dark nights. That is, the wind blows them far out of their accustomed haunts. Most of our birds are local in their habitations. They fly about within a com- paratively narrow range of territory, and If they get far beyond this they are to all in- tents and purposes lost. Thus seabirds are sometimes blown for many miles inland, where they feel as lonely and uncomfort- able as the land birds which have been blown far out to sea. WAKE-ROBIN BY JOHN BURROUGHS Second Edition, corrected, enlarged, and illustrated NEW YORK PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON Clje Htoerattie 1877 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by JOHN BURROUGHS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Copyright, 1876, By JOHN BURROUGHS. The Riverside Press, Cambridge. '. H. O. HOUGHTON AND rnwi-i. PUBLISHERS' NOTE TO SECOND EDITION. IN issuing a second and revised edition of Wake- Robin, the author has added a chapter on The Blue- bird, and otherwise enlarged and corrected the text here and there. The illustrations are kindly fur- nished by Prof. Baird, and are taken from the " His- tory of North American Birds," by himself. Dr. Brewer, and Mr. Ridgeway, and published by Little, Brown, & Co., the most complete work on our birds that has yet appeared. The hermit-thrush rep- resented is the Western hermit (Turdus usttilati's), and we have been obliged to substitute the black fly- catcher (Saponit nigricans) for the pewee, and the house finch (Corpodacit* frontalt's) for the purple finch ; but the difference is hardly appreciable in an uncolored engraving. Nmembtr, 1876. JOHN BURROUGHS lives near West Park, N. Y., and a picturesque place it is, with its beautiful verdant hill-stretches and the white of the country roads. He has a beautiful residence near the village, which commands a fine view of the Hud- son and resembles, both from its struc- ture and its location, the home of Wash- ington Irving. His famous study is a small detached building fronting toward the river, where, apart from the world and in sight of all these charms of na- ture, the larger portion of Mr. Bur- roughs's books were written. Despite its roughness, it was an ideal place for a genius. With his own hands he has as- sisted in the rearing of this quaint re- treat, which is a most primitive, un- painted, cedar-framed hut, innocent of window shutters without or within, the ideal of a Thoreau and a Burroughs. It is situated on a piece of territory which, from its untamed natural beauty and ruggedness, Mr. Burroughs has called his Whitman lands. A spot unusually wild and stern has been chosen for the cabin's location. Directly facing the porch is a cliff or wall of solid rock. This frowning rampart must present a deso- late outlook when winter robs of their verdure the few trees upon its summit; but Mr. Burroughs likes it. He says he gains repose and strength from those un- yielding heights, and it is they which have suggested the unique name by which his place is known, "Slab Sides." PREFACE. THIS is mainly a book about the Birds, or more properly an invitation to the study of Ornithology, and the purpose of the author will be carried out in proportion as it awakens and stimulates the interest of the reader in this branch of Natural History. Though written less in the spirit of exact science than with the freedom of love and old acquaintance, yet I have in no instance taken liberties with facts, or allowed my imagination to influence me to the extent of giving a false impression or a wrong coloring. I have reaped my harvest more in the woods than in the study ; what I offer, in fact, is a careful and con- scientious record of actual observations and experi- ences, and is true as it stands written, evtery word of it. But what has interested me most in Ornithology, is the pursuit, the chase, the discovery ; that part of it which is akin to hunting, fishing, and wild sports, and which I could carry with me in my eye and ear, wherever I went. vi PREFACE. I cannot answer with much confidence the poet's inquiry, " Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ? " but I have done what I could to bring home the " earth and the sky " with the sparrow I heard '-sing- ing at dawn on the alder bough." In other words, I have tried to present a live bird, a bird in the woods or the fields. with the atmosphere and asso- ciations of the place, and not merely a stuffed and labeled specimen. A more specific title for the volume would have suited me better, but not being able to satisfy myself in this direction, I cast about for a word thoroughly in the atmosphere and spirit of the book, which I hope I have found in ' Wake-Robin " the common name of the white Trillium, which blooms in all our woods, and which marks the arrival of all the birds. CONTENTS. Mi L THE RETURN or THE BIRDS ... 9 II. IN THE HEMLOCKS 47 III. ADIROXDAC 83 IV. BIRDS'-NKSTS 109 V. SPUING AT THE CAPITAL .... 145 VI. BIRCH BHOWSINGS 177 VII. THE BI.I EBIUD 211 VIII. THB IKVITATIOX . 225 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. SPRING in our northern climate may fairly be said to extend from the middle of March to the middle of June. At least, the vernal tide continues to rise until the latter date, and it is not till after the sum- mer solstice that the shoots and twigs begin to harden and turn to wood, or the grass to lose any of its fresh- ness and succulency. It is this period that marks the return of the birds, one or two of the more hardy or half-domesticated species, like the song-sparrow and the bluebird, n-u- ally arriving in March, while the rarer and more brilliant wood-birds bring up the procession in June, But each stage of the advancing season gives prom- inence to certain species, as to certain flowers. The 12 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. dandelion tells me when to look for the swallow, the dog-toothed violet when to expect the wood-thrush, and when I have found the wake-robin in bloom I know the season is fairly inaugurated. With me this flower is associated, not merely with the awakening of Robin, for he has been awake some weeks, but with the universal awakening and rehabilitation of nature. Yet the coming and going of the birds is more or less a mystery and a surprise. We go out in the morning, and no thrush or vireo is to be heard ; we go out again, and every tree and grove is musical ; yet again, and all is silent. Who saw them come ? Who saw them depart ? This pert little winter-wren, for instance, darting in and out the fence, diving under the rubbish here and coming up yards away, how does lie manage with those little circular wings to compass degrees and zones, and arrive always in the nick of time? Last August I saw him in the remotest wilds of the Adirondacs, impatient and inquisitive as usual ; a few weeks later, on the Potomac, I was greeted by the same hardy little busybody. Does he travel by easy stages from bush to bush and from wood to wood ? or has that compact little body force and courage to brave the night and the upper air, and so achieve leagues at one pull? And yonder bluebird with the earth tinge on his breast and the sky tinge on his back, did he come down out of heaven on that bright March morning THE RETURN OF 1 HE B1KDS. 13 when he told us so softly and plaintively that if we pleased, spring had come ? Indeed, there is nothing in the return of the birds more curious and suggestive than in the first appearance, or minors of the appear- ance, of this little blue-coat The bird at first seems a mere wandering voice in the air ; one hears its call or carol on some bright March morning, but is un- certain of its source or direction ; it falls like a drop of rain when no cloud is visible ; one looks and list- ens, but to no purpose. The weather changes, per- haps a cold snap with snow comes on, and it may be a week before I hear the note again, and this time or the next perchance see the bird sitting on a stake in the fence lifting his wing as he calls cheerily to his mate. Its notes now become daily more frequent ; the birds multiply, and, flitting from point to point, call and warble more confidently and gleefully. Their boldness increases till one sees them hovering with a saucy, inquiring air about barns and out- buildings, peeping into dove-cotes, and stable win- dows, inspecting knot-holes and pump-trees, intent only on a place to nest. They wage war against robins and wrens, pick quarrels with swallows, and seem to deliberate for days over the policy of taking forcible possession of one of the mud-houses of the latter. But as the season advances they drift more into the background. Schemes of conquest which they at first seemed bent upon are abandoned, and they settle down very quietly in their old quarters in remote stumpy fields. 14 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. Not long after the bluebird comes the robin, some- times in March, but in most of the Northern States April is the month of the robin. In large numbers they scour the fields and groves. You hear their piping in the meadow, in the pasture, on the hill-side. Walk in the woods, and the dry leaves rustle with the whir of their wings, the air is vocal with their cheery call. In excess of joy and vivacity, they run, leap, scream, chase each other through the air, diving and sweeping among the trees with perilous rapidity. In that free, fascinating, half-work and half-play pursuit, sugar-making, a pursuit which still lin- gers in many parts of New York, as in New England, the robin is one's constant companion. When the day is sunny and the ground bare, you meet him at all points and hear him at all hours. At sunset, on the tops of the tall maples, with look heavenward, and in a spirit of utter abandonment, he carols his simple strain. And sitting thus amid the stark, si- lent trees, above the wet, cold earth, with the chill of winter still in the air, there is no fitter or sweeter songster in the whole round year. It is in keeping with the scene and the occasion. How round and genuine the notes arc, and how eagerly our ears drink them in ! The first utterance, and the spell of winter is thoroughly broken, and the remembrance of it afar off. Robin is one of the most native and democratic of our birds ; he is one of the family, and seems much nearer to us than those rare, exotic visitants, as the THE KK1I KN OF THE BIRDS. l.'i orchard starling or rose-breasted grossbeak, with their distant, high-bred ways. Hardy, noisy, frolic- some, neighborly and domestic in his habits, strong of wing and bold in spirit, he is the pioneer of the thrush family, and well worthy of the finer artists whose coming he heralds and in a measure prepares us for. I could wish Robin less native and plebeian in one respect, the building of his nest. Its coarse mate- rial and rough masonry are creditable neither to his skill as a workman nor to his taste as an artist. I am the more forcibly reminded of his deficiency in this respect from observing yonder humming-bird's nest, which is a marvel of fitness and adaptation, a proper setting for this winged gem, the body of it composed of a white, felt-like substance, probably the down of some plant or the wool of some worm, and toned down in keeping with the branch on which it sits by minute tree-lichens, woven together by tint ads as fine and frail as gossamer. From Robin's good looks and musical turn we might reasonably prolict a domicile of equal fitness and elegance. At least I demand of him as clean and handsome a nest as the king-bird's, whose harsh jingle, compared with Rob- in's evening melody, is as the clatter of pots and ket- tles beside the tone of a flute. I love his note and !>etter even than those of the orchard starling or the Baltimore oriole ; yet his nest, compared with theirs, is a half-subterranean hut contrasted with a Roman villa. There is something courtly and poet- 16 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. ical in a pensile nest. Next to a castle in the air is a dwelling suspended to the slender branch of a tall tree, swayed and rocked forever by the wind. Why need wings be afraid of falling? Why build only where boys can climb ? After all, we must set it down to the account of Robin's democratic turn ; he is no aristocrat, but one of the people ; and therefore we should expect stability in his workmanship, rather than elegance. Another April bird, which makes her appearance sometimes earlier and sometimes later than Robin, and whose memory I fondly cherish, is the Phoebe- bird (Muscicapa nunciola), the pioneer of the fly- catchers. In the inland farming districts, I used to notice her, on some bright morning about Easter- day, proclaiming her arrival with much variety of motion and attitude, from the peak of the barn or hay-shed. As yet, you may have heard only the plaintive, homesick note of the bluebird, or the faint trill of the song-sparrow ; and Phoebe's clear, viva- cious assurance of her veritable bodily presence among us again is welcomed by all ears. At agreea- ble intervals in her lay she describes a circle or an ellipse in the air, ostensibly prospecting for insects, but really, I suspect, as an artistic flourish, thrown in to make up in some way for the deficiency of her musical performance. If plainness of dress indicates powers of song, as it usually does, then Phoebe ought to be unrivaled in musical ability, for surely that ashen-gray suit is the superlative of plainness ; and THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 17 that form, likewise, would hardly pass for a " perfect tiiniiv " of a bird. The seasonableness of her com- ing, however, and her civil, neighborly ways, shall make up for all deficiencies in song aud plumage. After a few weeks Phoebe is seldom seen, except as she darts from her moss-covered nest beneath some bridge or shelving cliff. Another April comer, who arrives shortly after Robin-redbreast, with whom he associates both at this season and in the autumn, is the gold-winged wood- pecker, alias " high-hole," alias " flicker," alias ." yarup." He is an old favorite of my boyhood, and his note to me means very much. lie announces his arrival by a long, loud call, repeated from the dry branch of some tree, or a stake in the fence a thoroughly melodious April sound. I think how Solomon finished that beautiful description of spring, " And the voice of the turtle is heard in the land," and see that a description of spring in this farming country, to be equally characteristic, should culminate in like manner, And the call of the high-hole comes up from the wood." It is a loud, strong, sonorous call, and does -not seem to imply an answer, but rather to subserve some purpose of love or music. It is 4< Yarup's " proclama- tion of peace and good-will to all. On looking at the matter closely, I perceive that most birds, not denom- inated songsters, have, in the spring, some note or sound or call that hints of a song, and answers imper- fectly the end of beauty and art As a " livelier iris 3 18 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. changes on the burnished dove," and the fancy of the young man turns lightly to thoughts of his pretty cousin, so the same renewing spirit touches the " si- lent singers," and they are no longer dumb ; faintly they lisp the first syllables of the marvelous tale. Witness the clear, sweet whistle of the gray-crested titmouse, the soft, nasal piping of the nuthatch, the amorous, vivacious warble of the bluebird, the long, rich note of the meadow-lark, the whistle of "the quail, the drumming of the partridge, the animation and loquacity of the swallows, and the like. Even the hen has a homely, contented carol ; and I credit the owls with a desire to fill the night with music. All birds are incipient or would-be songsters in the spring. I find corroborative evidence of this even in the crowing of the cock. The flowering of the maple is not so obvious as that of the magnolia ; nevertheless, there is actual inflorescence. Few writers award any song to that familiar little sparrow, the Socialis ; yet who that has observed him sitting by the way-side, and repeating, with devout at- titude, that fine sliding chant, does not recognize the neglect ? Who has heard the snow-bird sing ? Yet he has a lisping warble very savory to the ear. I have heard him indulge in it even in February. Even the cow-bunting feels the musical tendency, and aspires to its expression, with the rest. Perched upon the .topmost branch beside his mate or mates, for he is quite a polygamist, and usually has two or three demure little ladies in faded black beside him, THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 19 generally in the early part of the day, he seems literally to vomit up his notes. Apparently with much labor and effort, they gurgle and blubber up out of him, falling on the ear with a peculiar subtile ring, as of turning water from a glass bottle, and not without a certain pleasing cadence. Neither is the common woodpecker entirely insen- sible to the wooing of the spring, and, like the par- tridge, testifies his appreciation of melody after quite a primitive fashion. Passing through the woods, on some clear, still morning in March, while the metallic ring and tension of winter are still in the earth and air, the silence is suddenly broken by long, resonant hammering upon a dry limb or stub. It is Downy beating a reveille to spring. In the utter stillness and amid the rigid forms we listen with pleasure; and as it comes to my ear oftener at this season than at any other, I freely exonerate the author of it from the imputation of any gastronomic motives, and credit him with a genuine musical performance. It is to be expected, therefore, that " Yellow-ham- mer" will respond to the general tendency, and con- tribute his part to the spring chorus. His April call is his finest touch, his most musical expression. I recall an ancient maple standing sentry to a large sugar-bush, that, year after year, afforded protection to a hrood of yellow-hammers in its decayed heart. A week or two before the nesting seemed actually to have begun, three or four of these birds might be seen, on almost any bright morning, gamboling and 20 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. courting amid its decayed branches. Sometimes you would hear only a gentle, persuasive cooing, or a quiet, confidential chattering, then that long, loud call, taken up by first one, then another, as they sat about upon the naked limbs, anon, a sort of wild, rollicking laughter, intermingled with various cries, yelps, and squeals, as if some incident had excited their mirth and ridicule. Whether this social hilarity and boisterousness is in celebration of the pairing or mating ceremony, or whether it is only a sort of an- nual " house-warriiing " common among high-holes on resuming their summer quarters, is a question upon which I reserve my judgment. Unlike most of his kinsmen, the golden-wing pre- fers the fields and the borders of the forest to the deeper seclusion of the woods, and hence, contrary to the habit of his tribe, obtains most of his subsistence from the ground, probing it for ants and crickets. He is not quite satisfied with being a woodp.ecker. He courts the society of the robin and the finches, abandons the trees for the meadow, and feeds eagerly upon berries and grain. What may be the final up- shot of this course of living is a question worthy the attention of Darwin. Will his taking to the ground and his pedestrian feats result in lengthening his legs, his feeding upon berries and grains subdue his tints and soften his voice, and his associating with Robin put a song into his heart ? Indeed, what would be more interesting than the history of our birds for the last two or three centuries? THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 21 There can be no doubt that the presence of man has exerted a very marked and friendly influence upon them, since they so multiply in his society. The birds of California, it is said, were mostly silent till after its settlement, and I doubt if the Indians heard the wood- thrush as we hear him. Where did the bobolink disport himself before there were meadows in the North and rice fields in the South ? Was he the same blithe, merry -hearted beau then as now? And the sparrow, the lurk, and the goldfinch, birds that seem so indigenous to the open fields and so averse to the woods, we cannot conceive of their existence in a vast wilderness and without man. But to return. The song-sparrow, that universal favorite and firstling of the spring, comes before April, and its simple strain gladdens all hearts. May is the month of the swallows and the orioles. There are many other distinguished arrivals, indeed nine tenths of the birds are here by the last week in May, yet the swallows and orioles are the most con- spicuous. The bright plumage of the latter seems really like an arrival from the tropics. I see them flash through the blossoming trees, and all the fore- noon hear their incessant warbling and wooing. The swallows dive and chatter about the barn, or squeak ami build beneath the eaves ; the partridge drums in the fresh sprouting woods ; the long, tender note of the meadow-lark comes up from the meadow ; and at sunset, from every marsh and pond come the ten thousand voices of the hylas. May is the transition 22 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. month, and exists to connect April and June, the root with the flower. With June the cup is full, our hearts are satisfied, there is no more to be desired. The perfection of the season, among other things, has brought the per- fection of the song and plumage of the birds. The master artists are all here ; and the expectations excited by the robin and the song-sparrow are fully justified. The thrushes have all come ; and I sit down upon the first rock, with hands full of the pink azalea, to listen. With me, the cuckoo does not ar- rive till June ; and often the goldfinch, the king-bird, the scarlet tanager delay their coming till then. In the meadows the bobolink is in all his glory ; in the high pastures the field-sparrow sings his breezy ves- per-hymn ; and the woods are unfolding to the music of the thrushes. The cuckoo is one of the most solitary birds of our forests, and is strangely tame and quiet, appearing equally untouched by joy or grief, fear or anger. Something remote seems ever weighing upon his mind. His note or call is as of one lost or wander- dering, and to the farmer is prophetic of rain. Amid the general joy and the sweet assurance of things, I love to listen to the strange clairvoyant call. Heard a quarter of a mile away, from out the depths of the forest, there is something peculiarly weird and monk- ish about it. Wordsworth's lines upon the European species apply equally well to ours : " blithe new-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice : THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 23 O cuckoo ! shall I call the* bird ? Or but a wandering voice ? While I am lying on the gnus, Thy loud note -mites my ear! From hill to hill it seems to put, At once far oft 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 black-billed is the only species found in my locality, the yellow-billed abounds farther south. Their note or call is nearly the same. The former sometimes suggests the voice of a turkey. The call of the latter may be suggested thus : k-k-k-k-k-koto, kow, kow-ow, kow-ow. The yellow-billed will take up his stand in a tree, and explore its branches till he has caught every worm. He site on a twig, and with a peculiar sway- ing movement of his head examines the surrounding foliage. When he discovers his prey, he leaps upon it in a fluttering manner. In June the black-billed makes a tour through the orchard and garden, regaling himself upon the canker-worms. At this time he is one of the tamest of birds, and will allow you to approach within a few yards of him. I have even come within a few feet of one without seeming to excite his fear or sus- picion, lie is quite unsophisticated, or else royally Indifferent. 24 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. The plumage of the cuckoo is a rich glossy brown, and is unrivaled in beauty by any other neutral tint with which I am acquainted. It is also remarkable for its firmness and fineness. Notwithstanding the disparity in size and color, the black-billed species has certain peculiarities that remind one of the passenger-pigeon. His eye, with its red circle, the shape of his head, and his motions on alighting and taking flight, quickly suggest the resemblance ; though in grace and speed, when on the wing, he is far inferior. His tail seems dispro- portionately long, like that of the red thrush, and his flight among the trees is very still, contrasting strongly with the honest clatter of the robin or pigeon. Have you heard the song of the field-sparrow ? If you have lived in a pastoral country with broad upland pastures, you could hardly have missed him. Wilson, I believe, calls him the grass-finch, and was evidently unacquainted with his powers of song. The two white lateral quills in his tail, and his habit of running and skulking a few yards in advance of you as you walk through the fields, are sufficient to identify him. Not in meadows or orchards, but in high, breezy pasture-grounds, will you look for him. His song is most noticeable after sundown, when other birds are silent; for which reason he has been aptly called the vesper- sparrow. The farmer follow- ing his team from the field at dusk catches his sweet- est strain. His song is not so brisk and varied as THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 25 that of the song-sparrow, being softer and wilder, sweeter and more plaintive. Add the best parts of the lay of the latter to the sweet vibrating chant of the wood-sparrow, and you have the evening hymn of the vesper-bird, the poet of the plain, un- adorned pastures. Go to those broad, smooth, up- lying fields where the cattle and sheep are grazing, and sit down in the twilight on one of those warm, clean stones, and listen to this song. On every side, near and remote, from out the short grass which the herds are cropping, the strain rises. Two or three long, silver notes of peace and rest, ending in some subdued trills and quavers, constitute each separate song. Often you will catch only one or two of the bars, the breeze having blown the minor part away. Such unambitious, quiet, unconscious melody ! It is one of the most characteristic sounds in Nature. The grass, the stones, the stubble, the furrow, the quiet herds, and the warm twilight among the hills, are all subtilely expressed in this song ; this is what they are at last capable of. The female builds a plain nest in the open field, without so much as a bush or thistle or tuft of grass to protect it or mark its site ; you may step upon it or the cattle may tread it into the ground. But the danger from this source, I presume, the bird consid- ers less than that from another. Skunks and foxes have a very impertinent curiosity, as Finchie well knows, and a bank or hedge, or a rank growth of grass or thistles, that might promise protection aud 26 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. cover to mouse or bird, these cunning rogues would be apt to explore most thoroughly. The partridge is undoubtedly acquainted with the same process of rea- soning ; for, like the vesper-bird, she, too, nests in open, unprotected places, avoiding all show of con- cealment, coming from the tangled and almost im- penetrable parts of the forest, to the clean, open woods, where she can command all the approaches and fly with equal ease in any direction. Another favorite sparrow, but little noticed, is the wood or bush sparrow, usually called by the ornith- ologists Spizella pusilla. Its size and form is that of the socialis, but is less distinctly marked, being of a duller redder tinge. He prefers remote bushy heathery fields, where his song is one of the sweetest to be heard. It is sometimes very noticeable, es- pecially early in spring. I remember sitting one bright day in the still leafless April woods, when one of these birds struck up a few rods from me, repeat- ing its lay at short intervals for nearly an hour. It was a perfect piece of wood-music, and was of course all the more noticeable for being projected upon such a broad unoccupied page of silence. Its song is like the words, fe-o, fe-o, fe-o, few, few, few, fee fee fee, uttered at first high and leisurely, but running very rapidly toward the close, which is low and soft. Still keeping among the unrecognized, the white- eyed vireo, or fly-catcher, deserves particular men- tion. The song of this bird is not particularly sweet and soft ; on the contrary, it is a little hard and shrill, THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 27 like tl.at of the indigo-bird or oriole ; but for bright- ness, volubility, execution, and power of imitation, he is unsurpassed by any of our northern birds. His ordinary note is forcible and emphatic, but, as stated, not especially musical : Chick-a-re'r-chick, he seems to say, hiding himself in the low, dense undergrowth, and eluding your most vigilant search, as if playing some part in a game. But in July or August, if you are on good terms with the sylvan deities, you may listen to a far more rare and artistic performance. Your first impression will be that that cluster of azalea, or that clump of swamp-huckleberry, conceals three or four different songsters, each vying with the others to lead the chorus. Such a medley of notes, snatched from half the songsters of the field and for- est, and uttered with the utmost clearness and rapid- ity, I am sure you cannot hear short of the haunts of the genuine mocking-bird. If not fully and accu- rately repeated, there are at least suggested the notes of the robin, wren, cat-bird, high-hole, goldfinch, and song-sparrow. The pip, pip, of the last is produced so accurately that I verily believe it would deceive the bird herself ; and the whole nttered in such rapid succession that it seems as if the movement that gives the concluding note of one strain must form the first note of the next. The effect is very rich, and, to my ear, entirely unique. The performer is very careful not to reveal himself in the mean time ; yet there is a conscious air about the strain that impresses me with the idea that my presence is 28 THE RETURN OF THE BIEDS. understood and my attention courted. A tone of pride and glee, and, occasionally, of bantering jocose- ness, is discernible. I believe it is only rarely, and when he is sure of his audience, that he displays his parts in this manner. You are to look for him, not in tall trees or deep forests, but in low, dense shrubbery about wet places, where there are plenty of gnats and mosquitoes. The winter-wren is another marvelous songster, in speaking of whom it is dilficult to avoid superlatives. He is not so conscious of his powers and so ambitions of effect as the white-eyed fly-catcher, yet you will not be less astonished and delighted on hearing him. He possesses the fluency and copiousness for which the wrens are noted, and besides these qualities, and what is rarely found conjoined with them, a wild, sweet, rhythmical cadence that holds you entranced. I shall not soon forget that perfect June day, when, loitering in a low, ancient hemlock wood, in whose cathedral aisles the coolness and freshness seems per- ennial, the silence was suddenly broken by a strain so rapid and gushing, and touched with such a wild, sylvan plaintiveness, that I listened in amazement. And so shy and coy was the little minstrel, that I came twice to the woods before I was sure to whom I was listening. In summer he is one of those birds of the deep northern forests, that, like the speckled Canada warbler and the hermit-thrush, only the priv- ileged ones hear. The distribution of plants in a given locality is not THE RETFRN OF THE BIRDS. 29 more marked and defined than that of thu birds. Show a botanist a landscape, and he will tell you where to look for the lady's-slipper, the columbine, or the harebell. . On the same principles the ornithologist will direct you where to look for the greenlets, the wood-sparrow, or the chewink. In adjoining coun- ties, in the same latitude, and equally inland, but possessing a different geological formation and differ- ent forest-timber, you will observe quite a different class of birds. In a land of the beech and sugar - maple I do not find the same songsters that I know where thrive the oak, chestnut, and laurel. In going from a district of the Old Red Sandstone to where I walk upon the old Plutonic Rock, not fifty miles dis- tant, I miss in the woods the veery, the hermit- thrush, the chestnut-sided warbler, the blue-backed warbler, the green-backed warbler, the black and yel- low warbler, and many others, and find in their stead the wood-thrush, the chewink, the redstart, the yel- low-throat, the yellow-breasted fly-catcher, the white- eyed fly-catcher, the quail, and the turtle-dove. In my neighborhood here in the Highlands the distribution is very marked. South of the village I invariably find one species of birds, north of it an- other. In only one locality, full of azalea and swamp- huckleberry, I am always sure of finding the hooded warbler. In a dense undergrowth of spice-bush, witch-ha/el, and alder, I meet the worm-eating war- bler. In a remote clearing, covered with heath and fern, with here and there a chestnut and an oak, I go 30 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. to hear in July the wood-sparrow, and returning by a stumpy, shallow pond, I am sure to find the water- thrush. Only one locality within my range seems to pos- sess attractions for all comers. Here one may study almost the entire ornithology of the State. It is a rocky piece of ground, long ago cleared, but now fast relapsing into the wildness and freedom of nature, and marked by those half-cultivated, half-wild feat- ures which birds and boys love. It is bounded on two sides by the village and highway, crossed at va- rious points by carriage-roads, and threaded in all di- rections by paths and by-ways, along which soldiers, laborers, and truant school-boys are passing at all hours of the day. It is so far escaping from the axe and the bush-hook as to have opened communication with the forest and mountain beyond by straggling lines of cedar, laurel, and blackberry. The ground is mainly occupied with cedar and chestnut, with an undergrowth, in many places, of heath and bramble. The chief feature, however, is a dense growth in the centre, consisting of dogwood, water-beech, swamp- ash, alder, spice-bush, hazel, etc., with a net- work, of smilax and frost-grape. A little zigzag stream, the draining of a swamp beyond, which passes through this tangle-wood, accounts for many of its features and productions, if not for its entire existence. Birds that are not attracted by the heath or the cedar and chestnut, are sure to find some excuse for visiting this miscellaneous growth in the centre. Most of the 11IK KKIIIIN OF THE BIRDS. 31 common birds literally throng this idle-wild ; and I have met here many of the rarer species, such as the great-crested fly-catcher, the solitary warbler, the blue-winged swamp-warbler, the worm-eating warbler, the fox-sparrow, etc. The absence of all birds of prey, and the great number of flies and insects, both the result of proximity to the village, are considera- tions which no hawk-fearing, peace-loving minstrel passes over lightly ; hence the popularity of the re- sort. But the crowning glory of all these robins, fly- catchers, and warblers is the wood-thrush. More abundant than all other birds, except the robin and cat-bird, he greets you from every rock and shrub. Shy and reserved when he flrst makes his appearance in May, before the end of June he is tame and fa- miliar, and sings on the tree over your head, or on the rock a few paces in advance. A pair even built their nest and reared their brood within ten or twelve feet of the piazza of a large summer-house in the vicinity. But when the guests commenced to arrive and the piazza to be thronged with gay crowds, I noticed something like dread and foreboding in the manner of the mother-bird ; and from her still, quiet ways, and lial-it of sitting long and silently within a few feet of the precious charge, it seemed as if the dear creature had resolved, if possible, to avoid all obser- vation. If we take the quality of melody as the test, the wood-thrush, hermit-thrush, and the veery-thrush, stiunl :tt tin- head of our list of songsters. 32 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. The mocking-bird undoubtedly possesses the great- est range of mere talent, the most varied executive ability, and never fails to surprise and delight one anew at each hearing ; but being mostly an imitator, he never approaches the serene beauty and sublimity of the hermit-thrush. The word that best expresses my feelings, on hearing the mocking-bird, is admira- tion, though the first emotion is one of surprise and incredulity. That so many and such various notes should proceed from one throat is a marvel, and we regard the performance with feelings akin to those we experience on witnessing the astounding feats of the athlete or gymnast, and this, notwithstanding many of the notes imitated have all the freshness and sweetness of the originals. The emotions excited by the songs of these thrushes belong to a higher order, springing as they do from our deepest sense of the beauty and harmony of the world. The wood-thrush is worthy of all, and more than all, the praises he has received ; and considering the number of his appreciative listeners, it is not a little surprising that his relative and equal, the hermit- thrush, should have received so little notice. Both the great ornithologists, Wilson and Audubon, are lavish in their praises of the former, but have little or nothing to say of the song of the latter. Audubon says it is sometimes agreeable, but evidently has never heard it. Nuttall, I am glad to find, is more discrim- inating, and does the bird fuller justice. It is quite a rare bird, of very shy and secluded T1IK RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 33 habits, being found in the Middle and Eastern States, during the period of song, only in the deepest and most remote forests, usually in damp and swampy localities. On this account the people in the Adiron- dac region call it the u Swamp Angel." Its being so much of :\ recluse accounts for the comparative ig- norance that prevails in regard to it. The cast of its song is very much like that of the wood-thrush, and a good observer might easily con- found the two. But hear them together and the dif- ference is quite marked : the song of the hermit is in a higher key, and is more wild and ethereal. His instrument is a silver horn which he winds in the most solitary places. The song of the wood-thrush is more golden and leisurely. Its tone comes near to that of some rare stringed instrument. One feels that perhaps the wood-thrush has more compass and power, if he would only let himself out, but on the whole he comes a little short of the pure, serene, hymn-like strain of the hermit. Yet those who have heard only the wood-thrush may well place him h'rst on the list. He is truly a royal minstrel, and considering his liberal distribu- tion throughout our Atlantic seaboard, perhaps con- tributes more than any other bird to our sylvan mel- ody. One may object that he spends a little too much time in tuning his instrument, yet his careless and uncertain touches reveal its rare compass and power. He is the only songster of my acquaintance, ex- 34 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. cepting the canary, that displays different degrees of proficiency in the exercise of his musical gifts. Not long since, while walking one Sunday in the edge of an orchard adjoining a wood, I heard one that so ob- viously and unmistakably surpassed all his rivals, that my companion, though slow to notice such things, remarked it wonderingly ; and with one ac- cord we paused to listen to so rare a performer. It was not different in quality so much as in quantity. Such a flood of it ! Such copiousness ! Such long, trilling, accelerating preludes ! Such sudden, ecstatic overtures, would have intoxicated the dullest ear. He was really without a compeer a master-artist. Twice afterward I was conscious of having heard the same bird. The wood-thrush is the handsomest species of this family. In grace and elegance of mariner he has no equal. Such a gentle, high-bred air, and such inim- itable ease and composure in his flight and move- ment ! lie is a poet in very word and deed. His carriage is music to the eye. His performance of the commonest act, as catching a beetle, or picking a worm from the mud. pleases like a stroke of wit or eloquence. Was he a prince in the olden time, and do the regal grace and mien still adhere to him in his transformation ? What a finely proportioned form ! How plain, yet rich his color, the bright russet of his back, the clear white of his breast, with the dis- tinct heart-shaped spots ! It may be objected to Robin that he is noisy and demonstrative ; he hurries THK RKTfRX OF THE BIRHS. 35 away or rises to a branch with an angry note, and flirts his wings in ill-bred suspicion. The mavis, or red-thrush, sneaks and skulks like a culprit, hiding in the densest alders ; the cat-bird is a coquette and a flirt, as well as a sort of female Paul Pry ; and the cli.-uink shows his inhospitality by espying your movements like a Japanese. The wood-thrush has none of these under-bred traits. He regards me miMispiciously. or avoids me with a noble reserve, or, if lam quiet and incurious, graciously hops to- ward me, as if to pay his respects, or to make my ac- quaintance. I have pMMd under his nest within a few feet of his mate and brood, when he sat near by on a branch eying me sharply, but without opening his beak ; but the moment I raised my hand toward his defenseless household his anger and indignation were beautiful to behold. What a noble pride he has ! Late one October, after his mates and companions had long since gone south, I noticed one for several successive days in the dense part of this next-door wood, flitting noiselessly about, very grave and silent, as if doing penance for some violation of the code of honor. By many gen- tle, indiivrt approaches, I perceived that part of his tail-feathers were undeveloped. The sylvan prince could not think of returning to court in this plight, and so, amid the falling leaves and cold rains of autumn, was patiently biding his time. The soft, mellow flute of the veery nils a place in the chorus of the woods that the song of the vesper- 36 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. sparrow fills in the chorus of the fields. It has the the nightingale's habit of singing in the twilight, as indeed have all our thrushes. Walk out toward the forest in the warm twilight of a June day, and when fifty rods distant you will hear their soft, reverberat- ing notes, rising from a do/en different throats. It is one of the simplest strains to be heard, as simple as the curve in form, delighting from the pure element of harmony and beauty it contains, and not from any novel or fantastic modulation of it, thus contrasting strongly with such rollicking, hilarious songsters as the bobolink, in whom we are chiefly pleased with the tintinnabulation, the verbal and la- bial excellence, and the evident conceit and delight of the performer. I hardly know whether I am more pleased or an- noyed with the cat-bird. Perhaps she is a little too common, and her part in the general chorus a little too conspicuous. If you are listening for the note of another bird, she is sure to be prompted to the most loud and protracted sinking,, drowning all other sounds ; if you sit quietly down to observe a favorite or study a new-comer, her curiosity knows no bounds, and you are scanned and ridiculed from every point of observation. Yet I would not miss her ; I would only subordinate her a little, make her less conspicuous. She is the parodist of the woods, and there is ever a mischievous, bantering, half-ironical undertone in her lay, as if she were conscious of mimicking and THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 37 disconcerting some envied songster. Ambitious of song, practicing ami rabottlillg in private, she yet seems the least sincere and genuine of the sylvan minstrels, as if she had taken up music only to be in ill.- fashion, or not to be outdone by the robins and thrushes. In other words, she seems to sing from some outward motive, and not from inward joyous- DOM. She is a good versifier, but not a great poet. Vigorous, rapid, copious, not without fine touches, but destitute of any high, serene melody, her per- formance, like that of Thoreau's squirrel, always im- plies a spectator. There is a certain air and polish about her strain, however, like that in the vivacious conversation of a well-bred lady of the world, that commands respect. HIT inulernal instinct, also, is very strong, and that simple structure of dead twigs and dry grass is the centre of much anxious solicitude. Not long since, while strolling through the woods, my attention was attracted to a small densely grown swamp, hedged in with eglantine, brambles, and the everlasting smilax, from which proceeded loud cries of distress and alarm, indicating that some terrible calamity was threaten- ing my sombre-colored minstrel. On effecting an en- trancr. \vhi.-h. however, was not accomplished till I had dotVed coat and hat, so as to diminish the surface <\ to the thorns and brambles, and looking around me from a square yard of terra firma, I found : the spectator of a loathsome, yet fascinating scene. Three or four yards from me was the nest, 38 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. beneath which, in long festoons, rested a huge black snake ; a bird two thirds growji, was slowly disap- pearing between his expanded jaws. As he seemed unconscious of my presence, I quietly observed the proceedings. By slow degrees he compassed the bird about with his elastic mouth ; his head flattened, his neck writhed and swelled, and two or three undula- tory movements of his glistening body finished the work. Then, he cautiously raised himself up, his tongue flaming from his mouth the while, curved over the nest, and, with wavy, subtle motions, explored the interior. I can conceive of nothing more over- poweringly terrible to an unsuspecting family of birds than the sudden appearance above their domi- cile of the head and neck of this arch-enemy. It is enough to petrify the blood in their veins. Not find- ing the object of his search, he came streaming down from the nest to a lower limb, and commenced ex- tending his researches in other directions, sliding stealthily through the branches, bent on capturing one of the parent birds. That a legless, wingless creature should move with such ease and rapidity where only birds and squirrels are considered at home, lifting himself up, letting himself down, run- ning out on the yielding boughs, and traversing with marvelous celerity the whole length and breadth of the thicket, was truly surprising. One thinks of the great myth, of the Tempter and the " cause of all our woe," and wonders if the Arch One is not now play- ing off some of his pranks before him. Whether we THE BETIRN OF THE Bll:l-. 39 call it snake or devil matters little. I could but ad- mire his ti-n-ilil.- beauty, however; his black, shining folds, his easy, gliding movement, head erect, eyes i:li-UMiing, tongue playing like subtle flame, and the invisible means of his almost winged locomotion. The parent birds, in the mean while, kept up the most agonizing cry, at times fluttering furiously about their pursuer, and actually laying hold of his tail with their beaks and claws. On being thus at- tacked, the snake would suddenly double UJM.II him- self and follow his own body back, thus executing a strategic movement that at first seemed almost to paralyze his victim and place her within his grasp. Not quite, however. Before his jaws could close upon the coveted prize the bird would tear herself away, and, apparently faint and sobbing, retire to a hi.L'hrr branch. His reputed powers of fascination availed him little, though it is possible that a frailer and less combative bird might have been held by the fatal s|>ell. Presently, as he came gliding down the sU-mlor body of a leaning alder, his attention was at- trartrd by a slight movement of my arm; eying me an in-taut, with that crouching, utter, motionless gaze \\liirli I believe only snakes and devils can assume, he turned quickly, a feat which necessitated some- thing like crawling over his own body, and glided off through the branches, t-vidrntly recognizing in me a representative of the ancient parties he once so cun- ningly ruined. A few moments after, as he lay care- lessly disposed in the top of a rank alder, trying to 40 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. look as much like a crooked branch as his supple, shining form would admit, the old vengeance over- took him. I exercised my prerogative, and a well- directed missile, in the shape of a stone, brought him looping and writhing to the ground. After I had completed his downfall and quiet had been partially restored, a half-fledged member of the bereaved household came out from his hiding-place, and, jump- ing upon a decayed branch, chirped vigorously, no doubt in celebration of the victory. Till the middle of July there is a general equilib- rium ; the tide stands poised ; the holiday-spirit is unabated. But as the harvest ripens beneath the long, hot days, the melody gradually ceases. The young are out of the nest and must be cared for, and the moulting season is at hand. After the cricket has commenced to drone bis monotonous refrain be- neath your window, you will not, till another season, hear the wood-thrush in all his matchless eloquence. The bobolink has become careworn and fretful, and blurts out snatches of his song between his scolding and upbraiding, as you approach the vicinity of his nest, oscillating between anxiety for his brood and solicitude for his musical reputation. Some of the sparrows still sing, and occasionally across the hot fields, from a tall tree in the edge of the forest, comes the rich note of the scarlet tanager. This tropical- colored bird loves the hottest weather, and I hear him even in dog-days. The remainder of the summer is the carnival of THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 41 the swallows and fly-catchers. Kli s and insects, to anv amount, are to be had for the catching; an 1 the opportunity is well improved. See that sombre, ashen-colored pewee on yonder branch. A true sportsman he, who never takos his game at rest, but always on the wiiii,'. Yon vagrant fly, you purblind moth, beware how you come within his range ! Ob- serve his attitude, the curious movement of his head, hi^ i-ve in a fine frenzy rolling, glancing from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven." His sight is microscopic and his aim sure. Quick as thought he has seized his victim and is back to his perch. There is no strife, no pursuit, one fell swoop and the matter is ended. That little sparrow, as vu will observe, is less skilled. It is the Socialis, ami lie finds his subsistence properly in various ieedi ami the larva; of insects, though he occasionally has higher aspirations, and seeks to emulate the pewee, commencing and ending his career as a fly-catcln-r ly an awkward chase after a beetle or " miller." He is hunting around in the grass now, I suspect, with the desire to indulge this favorite whim. There! the opportunity is afforded him. Away goes a little cream-colored meadow-moth in the most tortuous course he is capable of, and away goes Sociolis in pursuit. The contest is quite comical, though I dare say it is serious enough to the moth. The chase con- tinues for a few yard-, \vhi-n there is a sudden rushing to cover in the grass, then a taking to wing again, wheu the search has become too close, and the moth 42 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. has recovered his wind. Socialis chirps angrily, and is determined not to be beaten. Keeping, with the slightest effort, upon the heels of the fugitive, he is ever on the point of halting to snap him up, but never quite does it, and so, between disappointment and expectation, is soon disgusted, and returns to pursue his more legitimate means of subsistence. In striking contrast to this serio-comic strife of the sparrow and the moth, is the pigeon-hawk's pursuit of the sparrow or the goldfinch. It is a race of sur- prising speed and agility. It is a test of wing and wind. Every muscle is taxed, and every nerve strained. Such cries of terror and consternation on the part of the bird, tacking to the right and left, and making the most desperate efforts to escape, and such silent determination on the part of the hawk, pressing the bird so closely, flashing and turning and timing his movements with those of the pursued as accurately and as inexorably as if the two constituted one body, excite feelings of the deepest concern. You mount the fence or rush out of your way to see the issue. The only salvation for the bird is to adopt the tactics of the moth, seeking instantly the cover of some tree, bush, or hedge, where its smaller size enables it to move about more rapidly. These pirates are aware of this, and therefore prefer to take their prey by one fell swoop. You may see one of them prowling through an orchard, with the yellow-birds hovering about him, crying, Pi-ty, pi-ty, in the most despond- ing tone ; yet he seems not to regard them, knowing, THE RKTUBN OF THE BIBDS. 43 as do they, that in the close branches they are as safe as if in a wall of adamant. August is the month of the high sailing hawks. The hen-hawk is the most noticeable. He likes the haze and calm of these long, warm days. He is a bird of leisure, and seems always at his ease. How beautiful and majestic are his movements ! So self- poised and easy, such an entire absence of haste, such a magnificent amplitude of circles and spirals, such a haughty, imperial grace, and, occasionally, such daring aerial evolutions ! With slow, leisurely movement, rarely vibrating his pinions, he mounts and mounts in an ascending spiral till he appears a mere speck against the sum- mer >ky ; then, if the mood seizes him, with wings half-closed, like a bent bow, he will cleave the air almost perpendicularly, as if intent on dashing him- self to pieces against the earth ; but on nearing the ground, he suddenly mounts again on broad, ex- panded wing, as if rebounding upon the air, and sails leisurely away. It is the sublimest feat of the sea- son. One holds his breath till he sees him rise If inclined to a more gradual and less precipitous descent he fixes his eye on some distant point in the earth beneath him, and thither bends his course. He is still almost meteoric in his speed and boldness. Tou see his path down the heavens, straight as a line ; if near, you hear the rush of his wings ; his shadow hurtles across the fields, and in an instant 44 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. you see him quietly perched upon some low tree or decayed stub in a swamp or meadow, with reminis- cences of frogs and mice stirring in his maw. When the south wind blows, it is a study to see three or four of these air-kings at the head of the valley far up toward the mountain, balancing and os- cillating upon the .strong current : now quite station- ary, except a slight tremulous motion like the poise of a rope-dancer, then rising and falling in long undu- lations, and seeming to resign themselves passively to the wind ; or, asain, sailing high and level far above the mountain's peak, no bluster and haste, but, as stated, occasionally a terrible earnestness and speed. Fire at one as he sails overhead, and, unless wounded badly he will not change his course or gait. His flight is a perfect picture of repose in motion. It strikes the eye as more surprising than the flight of the pigeon and swallow even, in that the effort put forth is so uniform and delicate as to escape observa- tion, giving to the movement an air of buoyancy and perpetuity, the effluence of power rather than the con- scious application of it. The calmness and dignity of this hawk, when at- tacked by crows or the king-bird, are well worthy of him. He seldom deigns to notice his noisy and fu- rious antagonists, but deliberately wheels about in that aerial spiral, and mounts and mounts till his pursuers grow dizzy and return to earth again. It is quite original, this mode of getting rid of an unworthy opponent, rising to heights where the braggart is THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 45 dazed and bewildered and loses his reckoning ! I am not sure but it is worthy of imitation. Hut summer wanes, and autumn approaches. The songsters of the seed-time are silent at the reaping of the harvest Other minstrels take up the strain. It is the heyday of insect life. The day is canopied with musical sound. All the songs of the spring and summer appear to be floating, softened and refined, in the upper air. The birds in a new, but less holi- day suit, turn their faces southward. The swallows flock and go ; the bobolinks flock and go ;- silently and unobserved, the thrushes go. Autumn arrives, bringing finches, warblers, sparrows and kinglets from th. North. Silently the procession passes. Yonder hawk, sailing peacefully away till he is lost in the horizon, is a symbol of the closing season and the de- parting birds. Ytllow-btllwJ Cuckoo. IN THE HEMLOCKS. IN THE HEMLOCKS. MOST people receive with incredulity a statement of tin* number of birds that annually visit our cli- mate. Very few even are aware of half the number that spend the summer in their own immediate vicin- ity. We little suspect, when we walk in the woods, whose privacy we are intruding upon, what rare and circuit visitants from Mexico, from Central and South America, and from the islands of the sea, are holding their reunions in the branches over our In-all-, or pursuing their pleasure on the ground be- fore us. I recall the altogether admirable and shining fam- ily \\hiarrow, and is not in any way associ- ate 1 with the cold and the snow. So different are the habits of birds in different localities. Even the crow does not winter here, and is seldom seen after December or before March. The snow-bird, or " black chipping-bird," as it is known among the farmers, is the finest architect of any of the ground-builders known to me. The site of its nest is usually some low bank by the road-sido near a wood. In a slight excavation, with a partially concealed entrance, the exquisite structure is placed. Horse and cow hair are plentifully used, imparting to the interior of the nest great symmetry and firmness as well as softness. Passing down through the maple arches, barely pausing to observe the antics of a trio of squirrels, two gray ones and a black one, I cross an an- cient brush fence and am fairly within the old hem- lock?, and in one of the most primitive, undisturbed nooks. In the deep moss I tread as with muffled feet, and the pupils of my eyes dilate in the dim, al- most religious light. The irreverent red squirrels, however, run and snicker at my approach, or mock the solitude with their ridiculous chattering and frisk- in-. Tin- nook is the chosen haunt of the winter wren. This is the only place and these the only woods in which I find him in this vicinity. His voice fills these dim aisles, as if aided by some marvelous sounding-board. Indeed, his song is very strong for 56 IN THE HEMLOCKS. so small a bird and unites in a remarkable degree brilliancy and plaintiveness. I think of a tremulous vibrating tongue of silver. You may know it is the song of a wren, from its gushing lyrical character : but you must needs look sharp to see the little min- strel, especially while in the act of singing. He is nearly the color of the ground and the leaves ; he never ascends the tall trees, but keeps low, flitting from stump to stamp and from root to root, dodging in and out of his hiding-places, and watching all in- truder with a suspicious eye. He has a very pert, almost comical look. His tail stands more than per- pendicular : it points straight toward his head. He is the least ostentatious singer I know of. He does not strike an attitude, and lift up his head in prepara- tion, and, as it were, clear his throat ; but sits there on a log and pours out his music, looking straight be- fore him, or even down at the ground. As a song- ster, he has but few superiors. I do not hear him after the first week in July. While sitting on this soft-cushioned log, tasting the pungent acidulous wood-sorrel ( Oxalis acetcllosa), the blossoms of which, large and pink-veined, rise everywhere above the moss, a rufous-colored bird flies quickly past, and, alighting on a low limb a few rods off, salutes me with " Whew ! Whew ! " or " Whoit ! Whoit ! " almost as you would whistle for your dog. I see by his impulsive, graceful move- ments, and his dimly speckled breast, that it is a thrush. Presently he utters a few soft, mellow, flute- IX THE HEMLOCKS. 57 like notes, one of the most simple expressions of mel- ody to be heard, and scuds away, and I see it is the veery, or Wilson's Uirush. He is the least of the thru-lies in size, being about that of the common bluebird, and he may be distinguished from his rela- tives by the dimness of the spots upon his breast. The wood-thrush has very clear, distinct oval spots on a white ground ; in the hermit, the spots run more into lines, on a ground of a faint bluish-white ; in veery, the marks are almost obsolete, and a few rods off his breast presents only a dull yellowish appear- ance. To get a good view of him you have only to git down in his haunts, as in such cases he seems equally anxious to get a good view of you. From those tall hemlocks proceeds a very fine insect-like warble, and occasionally I see a spray tremble, or catch the flit of a wing. I watch and watch till my head grows dizzy and my neck is in danger of permanent displacement, and still do not get a good view. Presently the bird darts, or, as it seems, fulls down a few feet in pursuit of a fly or a ninth, and I see the whole of it. but in the dim light am undecided. It is for such emergencies that I have brought my gun. A bird in the hand is worth half a dozen in the bush, even for ornithological purposes ; and no sure and rapid progress can be made in the study without taking life, without procuring speci- mens. This bird is a warbler, plainly enough, from his habits and manner ; but what kind of warbler ? Look on him and name him : a deep orange or flame- 58 IN THE HEMLOCKS. colored throat and breast; the same color showing also in a line over the eye and in his crown ; back variegated black and white. The female is less marked and brilliant. The orange-throated warbler would seem to be his right name, his characteristic cognomen ; but no, he is doomed to wear the name of some discoverer, perhaps the first who robbed his nest or rifled him of his mate, Blackburn ; hence, Blackburnian warbler. The burn seems appropriate enough, for in these dark evergreens his throat and breast show like flame. He has a very fine warble, suggesting that of the redstart, but not especially musical. I find him in no other woods in this vi- cinity. I am attracted by another warble in the same locality, and experience a like difficulty in getting a good view of the author of it. It is quite a noticeable strain, sharp and sibilant, and sounds well amid the old trees. In the upland woods of beech and maple it is a more familiar sound than in these solitudes. On taking the bird in hand, one cannot help exclaim- ing, " How beautiful ! " So tiny and elegant, the smallest of the warblers ; a delicate blue back, with a slight bronze-colored triangular spot between the shoulders ; upper mandible black ; lower mandible yellow as gold ; throat yellow, becoming a dark bronze on the breast. Blue yellow-back he is called, though the yellow is much nearer a bronze. He is remarkably delicate and beautiful, the handsomest as he is the smallest of the warblers known to me. IN THE HEMLOCKS. 59 It is never without surprise that I find amid these rugged, savage aspects of Nature creatures so fairy and delicate. But such is the law. Go to the sea or climb the mountain, and with the ruggedest and the savagest you will find likewise the fairest and the most delicate. The greatness and the minuteness of Nature pass all understanding. Ever since I entered the woods, even while listen- ing to the lesser songsters, or contemplating the silent forms about me, a strain has reached my euro from out the depths of the forest that to me is the finest sound in nature, the song of the hermit-thrush. I often hear him thus a long way off, sometimes over a quarter of a mile away, when only the stronger and more perfect parts of his music reach me ; and through the general chorus of wrens and warblers I detect this sound rising pure and serene, as if a spirit from some remote height were slowly chanting a divine accompaniment. This song appeals to the sentiment of the beautiful in me, and suggests a se- rene religious beatitude as no other sound in nature does. It is perhaps more of an evening than a morn- ing hymn, though I hear it at all hours of the day. It is very simple, and I can hardly tell the secret of its charm. " O spheral, spheral ! " he seems to say ; " O holy, holy ! O clear away, clear away ! O clear up, clear up ! " interspersed with the finest trills and the most delicate preludes. It is not a proud, gor- geous strain, like the tanager's or the grossbeak's ; suggests no passion or emotion, nothing personal, 60 IN THE HEMLOCKS. but seems to be the voice of that calm sweet so- lemnity one attains to in his best moments. It real- izes a peace and a deep solemn joy that only the finest souls may know. A few nights ago I ascended a mountain to see the world by moonlight ; and when near the summit the hermit commenced his evening hymn a few rods from me. Listening to this strain on the lone mountain, with the full moon just rounded from the horizon, the pomp of your cities and the pride of your civilization seemed trivial and cheap. I have seldom known two of these birds to be sing- ing at the same time in the same locality, rivaling each other, like the wood-thrush or the veery. Shoot- ing one from a tree, I have observed another take up the strain from almost the identical perch in less than ten minutes afterward. Later in the day when I had penetrated the heart of the old " Barkpeeling," I came suddenly upon one singing from a low stump, and for a wonder he did not seem alarmed, but lifted up his divine voice as if his privacy was undisturbed. I open his beak and find the inside yellow as gold. I was prepared to find it inlaid with pearls and dia- monds, or to see an angel issue from it. He is not much in the books. Indeed, I am ac- quainted with scarcely any writer on ornithology whose head is not muddled on the subject of our three prevailing song-thrushes, confounding either their figures or their songs. A writer in the " At- lantic" 1 gravely tells us the wood-thrush is some- 1 For December, 1858. IN THE HEMLOCKS. 61 times called the hermit, and then, after describing the song of the hermit witli great beauty and cor- rectness, coolly ascribes it to the veery ! The new Cyclopaedia, fresh from the study of Audubon, says the hermit's song consists of a single plaintive note, and that the veery's resembles that of the wood- thrush ! These observations deserve to be preserved with that of the author of " Out-door Papers," who tells us the trill of the hair-bird (Fringillla socialis) is produced by the bird fluttering its wings upon its sides ! The hermit-thrush may be easily identified by his color : his back being a clear olive-brown be- coming rufous on his rump and tail. A quill from his wing placed beside one from his tail on a dark ground presents quite a marked contrast. I walk along the old road, and note the tracks in the thin layer of mud. When do these creatures travel here ? I have never yet chanced to meet one. Here a partridge has set its foot ; there, a woodcock ; here, a squirrel or mink : there, a skunk ; there, a fox. What a clear, nervous track reynard makes ! how easy to distinguish it from that of a little dog, it is so sharply cut and defined ! A dog's track is coarse and clumsy beside it. There is as much wild- ness in the track of an animal as in its voice. Is a deer's track like a sheep's or a goat's ? What winged- tcM>r.-'l fleetness and agility may be inferred from the sharp, braided track of the gray squirrel upon the new snow ! Ah ! in nature is the best discipline. II.i\v wood-life sharpens the senses, giving a new 62 IN THE HEMLOCKS. power to the eye, the ear, the nose ! And are not the rarest and most exquisite songsters wood-birds ? Everywhere in these solitudes I am greeted with the pensive, almost pathetic note of the wood-pewee. The pewees are the true fly-catchers, and are easily identified. They are very characteristic birds, have strong family traits, and pugnacious dispositions. They are the least attractive or elegant birds of our fields or forest. Sharp-shouldered, big-headed, short- legged, of no particular color, of little elegance in flight or movement, with a disagreeable flirt of the tail, always quarreling with their neighbors and with one another, no birds are so little calculated to excite pleasurable emotions in the beholder, or to become objects of human interest and affection. The king- bird is the best dressed member of the family, but he is a braggart : and, though always snubbing his neighbors, is an arrant coward, and shows the white feather at the slightest display of pluck in his antag- onist. I have seen him turn tail to a swallow, and have known the little pewee in question to whip him beautifully. From the great crested to the little green fly-catcher, their ways and general habits are the same. Slow in flying from point to point, they yet have a wonderful quickness, and snap up the fleetest insects with little apparent effort. There is a constant play of quick, nervous movements under- neath their outer show of calmness and stolidity. They do not scour the limbs and trees like the war- blers, but, perched upon the middle branches, wait, IN THE HEMLOCKS. 68 like true hunters, for the game to come along. There is often a very audible snap of the beak as they seize their prey. The wood-pewee, the prevailing species in this lo- cality, arrests your attention by his sweet, pathetic cry. There is room for it also in the deep woods, as well as for the more prolonged and elevated strains. Its relative, the phoebe-bird, builds an exquisite nest of moss on the side of some shelving cliff or overhanging rock. The other day, passing by a ledge near the top of a mountain in a singularly des- olate locality, my eye rested upon one of these struct- ures, looking precisely as if it grew there, so in keeping was it with the mossy character of the rock, and I have had a growing affection for the bird ever since. The rock seemed to love the nest and to claim it as its own. I said, what a lesson in archi- tecture is here ! Here is a house that was built, but with such loving care and such beautiful adaptation of the means to the end, that it looks like a product of nature. The same wise economy is noticeable in the nests of all birds. No bird would paint its house white or red, or add aught for show. At one point in the grayest, most shaggy part of the woods, I come suddenly upon a brood of screech- owls, full grown, sitting together upon a dry, moss- draped limb, but a few feet from the ground. I IKIU-. within four or five yards of them and am look- ing about me, when my eye alights upon these gray, motionless figures. They sit perfectly upright, some 64 IN THE HEMLOCKS. with their backs and some with their breasts toward me, but every head turned squarely in my direction. Their eyes are closed to a mere black line ; through this crack they are watching me, evidently thinking themselves unobserved. The spectacle is weird and grotesque, and suggests something impish and un- canny. It is a new effect, the night side of the woods by daylight. After observing them a moment I take a single step toward them, when, quick as thought, their eyes fly wide open, their attitude is changed, they bend, some this way, some that, and, instinct with life and motion, stare wildly around them. Another step, and they all take flight but one, which stoops low on the branch, and with the look of a frightened cat regards me for a few seconds over its shoulder. They fly swiftly and softly, and disperse through the trees. I shoot one, which is of a tawny red tint, like that figured by Wilson, who mistook a young bird for an old one. The old birds are a beautiful ashen gray mottled with black. In the present instance, they were sitting on the branch with the young. Coming to a drier and less mossy place in the woods, I am amused with the golden-crowned thrush, which, however, is no thrush at all, but a warbler, the Sciurus aurocapUlus. He walks on the ground ahead of me with such an easy gliding motion, and with such an unconscious, preoccupied air, jerking his head like a hen or a partridge, now hurrying, now slackening his pace, that I pause to observe him. If IN THE HEMLOCKS. 65 I sit down, he pauses to observe me, and extends bis pretty rumblings on all sides, apparently very much engrossed with his own affairs, but never losing sight of me. But few of the birds are walkers, most being hoppers, like the robin. Satisfied that I have no hostile intentions, the pretty pedestrian mounts a limb a few feet from the ground, and gives me the benefit of one of his musi- cal performances, a sort of accelerating chant. Com- mencing in a very low key, which makes him seem at a very uncertain distance, he grows louder and louder, till his body quakes and his chant runs into a shriek, ringing in my ear with a peculiar sharpness. This lay may be represented thus : * Teacher teacher, TEACHER, TEACHER, TEACHER!" the ac- cent on the first syllable and each word uttered with increased force and shrillness. No writer with whom I am acquainted gives him credit for more musical ability than is displayed in this strain. Yet in this the half is not told. He has a for rarer song, which he reserves for some nymph whom he meets in the air. Mounting by easy flights to the top of the tall- est tree, he launches into the air with a sort of sus- pended, hovering flight, like certain of the finches, and hursts into a perfect ecstasy of song, clear, rin^in^, copious, rivaling the goldfinch's in vivacity, aii-l tin- linnet's in melody. This strain is one of the rarest biu of bird-melody to be heard, and is oftenest indulged in late in the afternoon or after sundown. Over the woods, hid from view, the ecstatic singer 5 66 IN THE HEMLOCKS. warbles his finest strain. In this song you instantly detect his relationship to the water-wagtail (Sciwus noveboracensis) ^erroneously called water-thrush, whose song is likewise a sudden burst, full and ring- ing, and with a tone of youthful joyousness in it, as if the bird had just had some unexpected good fort- une. For nearly two years this strain of the pretty walker was little more than a disembodied voice to me, and I was puzzled by it as Thoreau by his mys- terious night-warbler, which, by the way, I suspect was no new bird at all, but one he was otherwise familiar with. The little bird himself seems disposed to keep the matter a secret, and improves every op- portunity to repeat before you his shrill, accelerat- ing lay, as if this were quite enough and all he laid claim to. Still, I trust I am betraying no confidence in making the matter public here. I think this is preeminently his love-song, as I hear it oftenest about the mating season. I have caught half-sup- pressed bursts of it from two males chasing each other with fearful speed through the forest. Turning to the left from the old road, I wander over soft logs and gray yielding debris, across the little trout brook, until I emerge in the overgrown " Barkpeeling," pausing now and then on the way to admire a small, solitary white flower which rises above the moss, with radical, heart-shaped leaves, and a blossom precisely like the liverwort except in color, but which is not put down in my botany, or to ob- serve the ferns, of which I count six varieties, some gigantic ones nearly shoulder-high. IN THE HEMLOCKS. 67 At the foot of a rough, scraggy yellow birch, on a bank of club-moss, so richly inlaid with partridge- berry and curious shining leaves, with here and there in the bordering a spire of the false wintergrecn (Pyrola rotundifolia) strung with faint pink flowers and exhaling the breath of a May orchard, that it looks too costly a couch for such an idler, I recline to note what transpires. The sun is just past the me- ridian, and the afternoon chorus is not yet in full tune. Most birds sing with the greatest spirit and vivacity in the forenoon, though there are occasional l>iir-H later in the day, in which nearly all voices join; while it is not till the twilight that the full power and solemnity of the thrush's hymn is felt. My attention is soon arrested by a pair of hum- ming-birds, the ruby-throated, disporting themselves in a low bush a few yards from me. The female takes shelter amid the branches, and squeaks exult- ingly as the male, circling above, dives down as if to dislodge her. Seeing me, he drops like a feather on a slender twig, and in a moment both are gone. Then, as if by a preconcerted signal, the throats are all a tune. I lie on my back with eyes half closed, and analyze the chorus of warblers, thrushes, finches, and fly-catchers ; while, soaring above all, a little withdrawn and alone, rises the divine soprano of the hermit. That richly modulated warble proceeding from the top of yonder birch, and which un practiced ears would mistake for the voice of the scarlet tauager, comes from that rare visitant, the rose-breasted gross- 68 IN THE HEMLOCKS. beak. It is a strong, vivacious strain, a bright noon- day song, full of health and assurance, indicating fine talents in the performer, but not genius. As I come up under the tree he casts his eye down at me, but continues his song. This bird is said to be quite com- mon in the Northwest, but he is rare in the Eastern districts. His beak is disproportionately large and heavy, like a huge nose, which slightly mars his good looks ; but Nature has made it up to him in a blush rose upon his breast, and the most delicate of pink linings to the under side of his wings. His back is variegated black and white, and when flying low the white shows conspicuously. If he passed over your head, you would note the delicate flush under his wings. That bit of bright scarlet on yonder dead hemlock, glowing like a live coal against the dark background, seeming almost too brilliant for the severe northern climate, is his relative, the scarlet tanager. I occa- sionally meet him in the deep hemlocks, and know no stronger contrast in nature. I almost fear he will kindle the dry limb on which he alights. He is quite a solitary bird, and in this section seems to prefer the high, remote woods, even going quite to the mount- ain's top. Indeed, the event of my last visit to the mountain was meeting one of these brilliant creatures near the summit, in full song. The breeze carried the notes far and wide. He seemed to enjoy the ele- vation, and I imagined his song had more scope and freedom than usual. When he had flown far down IN THK HKMI.n 69 the mountain-side, the breeze still brought me his finest notes. In plumage he is the most brilliant bird we have. The bluebird is not entirely blue ; nor will the indigo-bird bear a close inspection, nor the gold- tim-li. nor the summer redbird. But the tanager loses nothing by a near view; the deep scarlet of his body ami tin- black of his wings and tail are quite perfect. This is his holiday suit ; in the fall he becomes a dull yellowish-green, the color of the female the whole season. One of the leading songsters in this choir of the old Barkpceling is the purple finch or linnet. He sits somewhat apart, usually on a dead hemlock, and warbles most exquisitely. He is one of our finest songsters, and stands at the head of the finches, as the hermit at the head of the thrushes. His song approaches an ecstasy, and, with the exception of the winter- wren's, is the most rapid and copious strain to be heard in these woods. It is quite destitute of the trills and the liquid, silvery, bubbling notes that char- actrri/e the wren's ; but there runs through it a round, richly modulated whistle, very sweet and very pleasing. The call of the robin is brought in at a certain point with marked effect, and, throughout, tin- variety is so great and the strain so rapid that tin- impression is as of two or three birds singing at the same time. He is not common here, and I only find him in these or similar woods. His color is pe- culiar, and looks as if it might have been imparted by dipping a brown bird in diluted pokeberry juice. 70 IN THE HEMLOCKS. Two or three more clippings would have made the purple complete. The female is the color of the song sparrow, a little larger, with heavier beak, and tail much more forked. In a little opening quite free from brush and trees, I step down to bathe my hands in the brook, when a small, light slate-colored bird flutters out of the bank, not three feet from my head, as I stoop down, and, as if severely lamed or injured, flutters through the grass and into the nearest bush. As I do not follow^ but remain near the nest, she chips sharply, which brings the male, and I see it is the speckled Canada warbler. I find no authority in the books for this bird to build upon the ground, yet here is the nest, made chiefly of dry grass, set in a slight excavation in the bank, riot two feet from the water, and looking a little perilous to anything but ducklings or sand- pipers. There are two young birds and one little speckled egg, just pipped. But how is this ? what mystery is here? One nestling is much larger than the other, monopolizes most of the nest, and lifts its open mouth far above that of its companion, though obviously both are of the same age, not more than a day old. Ah ! I see ; the old trick of the cow-bunt- ing, with a stinging human significance. Taking the interloper by the nape of the neck, I deliberately drop it into the water, but not without a pang, as I see its naked form, convulsed with chills, float down stream. Cruel ? So is Nature cruel. I take one life to save two. fn less than two days this pot- IX THK Hi.MI.OCKS. 71 bellie a singular freak of Nature, this instinct which prompts one bird to lay its eggs in the nests of others, ami thus shirk the responsibility of rearing its own young. The cow-buntings always resort to this cun- ning trick ; and when one reflects upon their nunilx-i s it is evident that these little tragedies are quite fre- quent. In Europe the parallel case is that of the cuckoo, and occasionally our own cuckoo imposes upon a robin or a thrush in the same manner. The cow-bunting seems to have no conscience about the matter, and, so far as I have observed, invariably selects the nest of a bird smaller than itself. Its egg is usually the first to hatch ; its young overreaches all the rest when food is brought ; it grows with great rapidity, spreads and fills the nest, and the starved and crowded occupants soon perish, when the parent bird removes their dead bodies, giving its whole energy and care to the foster-child. The warblers and smaller fly-catchers are generally the sufferers, though I sometimes see the slate- colored snow-bird unconsciously duped in like man- ner ; and the other day, in a tall tree in the woods, I discovered the black-throated green-backed warbler devoting itself to this dusky, overgrown foundling. An old fanner to whom I pointed out the fact was nmdi surprised that such things should happeu in his woods without his knowledge. 72 IN THE HEMLOCKS. These birds may be seen prowling through all parts of the woods at this season, watching for an opportunity to steal their egg into some nest. One day while sitting on a log I saw one moving by short flights through the trees and gradually near- ing the ground. Its movements were hurried and stealthy. About fifty yards from me it disappeared behind some low brush and had evidently alighted upon the ground. After waiting a few moments I cautiously walked in the direction. When about halfway I accidentally made a slight noise, when the bird flew up, and see- ing me hurried off out of the woods. Arrived at the place, I found a simple nest of dry grass and leaves partially concealed under a prostrate branch. I took it to be the nest of a sparrow. There were three eggs in the nest and one lying about a foot below it as if it had been rolled out, as of course it had. It suggested the thought that perhaps when the cow- bird finds the full complement of eggs in a nest, it throws out one and deposits its own instead. I re- visited the nest a few days afterward and found an egg again cast out, but none had been put in its place. The nest had been abandoned by its owner and the eggs were stale. In all cases where I have found this ogg, I have observed both male and female of the cow-bird linger- ing near, the former uttering his peculiar liquid, glassy note from the tops of the trees. In July the young, which have been reared in the IN THK IIK.MI.o. 73 same neighborhood, and which are now of a dull fawn color, begin to collect in small flocks, which grow to be quite large in autumn. The speckled Canada is a very superior warbler, having a lively, animated strain, reminding you of certain parts of the canary's though quite broken and incomplete ; the bird, the while hopping amid the branches with increased liveliness, and indulging in fine sibilant chirps, too happy to keep silent. His manners are quite marked. He has a habit of courtesying when he discovers you, which is very pretty. In form he is an elegant bird, somewhat slender, his back of a bluish lead-color becoming nearly black on his crown : the under part of his body, from his throat down, is of a light, delicate yel- low, with a belt of black dots across his breast He has a fine eye, surrounded by a light-yellow ring. The parent birds are much disturbed by my pres- ence, and keep up a loud emphatic chirping, which attracts the attention of their sympathetic neighbors, and one after another they come to see what lias hap- pened. The chestnut-sided and the lilackburnian come in company. The black-and-yellow warbler pan-.--; a moment and hastens away; the Maryland \rllo\v-throat peeps shyly from the lower bushes and utters his "Kip! lip!" in sympathy; the wood- pewee comes straight to the tree overhead, and the red-eyed vireo lingers and lingers, eying me with a curious, innocent look, evidently much puzzled. But all disappear again, one by one, apparently without a 74 IN THE HEMLOCKS. word of condolence or encouragement to the dis- tressed pair. I have often noticed among birds this show of sympathy, if indeed it be sympathy, and not merely curiosity, or desire to be forewarned of the approach of a common danger. An hour afterward I approach the place, find all still, and the mother bird upon the nest. As I draw near she seems to sit closer, her eyes growing large with an inexpressibly wild, beautiful look. She keeps her place till I am within two paces of her, when she flutters away as at first. In the brief in- terval the remaining egg has hatched, and the two little nestlings lift their heads without being jostled or overreached by any strange bedfellow. A week afterward and they were flown away, so brief is the infancy of birds. And the wonder is that they escape, even for this short time, the skunks and minks and muskrats that abound here, and that have a decided partiality for such tidbits. I pass on through the old Barkpeeling, now threading an obscure cow-path or an overgrown wood-road ; now clambering over soft and decayed logs, or forcing my way through a net-work of briers and hazels ; now entering a perfect bower of wild- cherry, beech, and soft-maple ; now emerging into a little grassy lane, golden with buttercups or white with daisies, or wading waist-deep in the red rasp- berry-bushes. Whir! whir! whir! and a brood of half-grown partridges start up like an explosion, a few paces IX THE HEMLOCKS. 75 from me, and, scattering, disappear in the bushes on all sides. Let me sit down here behind the screen of ferns and briers, and hear this wild-hen of the woods call together her brood. At what an early age the partridge flies ! Nature seems to concen- trate her energies on the wing, making the safety of the bird a point to be looked after first; and while the body is covered with down, and no signs of feath- ers are visible, the wing-quills sprout and unfold, and in an incredibly short time the young make fair head- way in flying. The same rapid development of wing may be ob- served in chickens and turkeys, but not in water- fowls, nor in birds that are safely housed in the nest till full-fledged. The other day, by a brook, I came suddenly upon a young sandpiper, a most beautiful creature, enveloped in a soft gray down, swift and nimble and apparently a week or two old, but with no signs of plumage either of body or wing. And it needed none, for it escaped me by taking to the water as readily as if it had flown with wings. Hark! there arises over there in the brush a soft, persuasive cooing, a sound so subtle and wild and un- obtrusive that it requires the most alert and watchful ear to hear it. How gentle and solicitous and full of yearning love ! It is the voice of the mother hen. Presently a faint timid " Yeap ! " which almost eludes the ear, is heard in various directions, the yoiinv responding. As no danger seems near, the cooing of the parent bird is soon a very audible 76 IN THE HEMLOCKS. clucking call, and the young move cautiously in the direction. Let me step never so carefully from my hiding-place, and all sounds instantly cease, and I search in vain for either parent or young. The partridge (Bonasa umbellus) is one of our most native and characteristic birds. The woods seem good to be in where I find him. lie gives a habitable air to the forest, and one feels as if the riffhful occupant was really at home. The woods where I do not find him seem to want something, as if suffering from some neglect of Nature. And then he is such a splendid success, so hardy and vigorous. I think he enjoys the cold and the snow. His wings seem to rustle with more fervency in midwinter. If the snow falls very fast, and promises a heavy storm, he will complacently sit down and allow himself to be snowed under. Approaching him at such times, he suddenly bursts out of the snow at your feet, scat- tering the flakes in all directions, and goes humming away through the woods like a bomb-shell, a pict- ure of native spirit and success. His drum is one of the most welcome and beauti- ful sounds of spring. Scarcely have the trees ex- panded their buds, when, in the still April mornings, or toward nightfall, when you hear the hum of his devoted wings. He selects not, as you would pre- dict, a dry and resinous log, but a decayed and crumbling one, seeming to give the preference to old oak-logs that are partially blended with the soil. If a log to his taste cannot be found he sets up his altar IN THK HF.MLO 77 on a rock, which becomes resonant beneath his fer- vent Mows. Who has seen the partridge drum? It is the next thing to catching a weasel asleep, though by much caution and tact it may be done. He does not hug the log, but stands very erect, expands his ruff, gives two introductory blows, pauses half a sec- ond, and then resumes, striking faster and faster till the sound becomes a continuous, unbroken whir, the whole lasting less than half a minute. The tips of his wings barely brush the log, so that the sound is produced rather by the force of the blows upon the air and upon his own body as in flying. One log will be used for many years, though not by the same drummer. It seems to be a sort of temple and held in great respect. The bird always approaches on foot, and leaves it in the same quiet manner, unless rudely disturbed. He is very cunning, though his wit is not profound. It is difficult to approach him bv stealth ; you will try many times before succeed- ing ; but seem to pass by him in a great hurry, mak- ing all the noise possible, and with plumage furled he stands as immovable as a knot, allowing you a good view and a good shot, if you are a sportsman. Passing along one of the old Barkpeelers' roads which wander aimlessly about, I am attracted by a singularly brilliant and emphatic warble, proceeding from the low bushes, and quieklv suggesting the voice of tin- Maryland yellow-throat. Presently the singer hops up on a dry twig, and gives me a good view. L-ai I -colored head and neck, becoming nearly black on tho breast; clear olive-green back, and yellow 78 IN THE HEMLOCKS. belly. From his habit of keeping near the ground, even hopping upon it occasionally, I know him to be a ground-warbler ; from his dark breast the ornithol- ogist has added the expletive mourning, hence the mourning ground-warbler. Of this bird both Wilson and Audubon confessed their comparative ignorance, neither ever having seen its nest or become acquainted with its haunts and general habits. Its song is quite striking and novel, though its voice at once suggests the class of warblers to which it belongs. It is very shy and wary, flying but a few feet at a time, and studiously concealing itself from your view. I discover but one pair here. The female has food in her beak, but carefully avoids betraying the locality of her nest. The ground-war- blers all have one notable feature, very beautiful legs, as white and delicate as if they had always worn silk stockings and satin slippers. High tree warblers have dark-brown or black legs and more brilliant plumage, but less musical ability. The chestnut-sided belongs to the latter class. He is quite common in these woods, as in all the woods about. He is one of the rarest and handsomest of the warblers ; his white breast and throat, chestnut sides, and yellow crown show conspicuously. But little is known of his habits or haunts. Last year I found the nest of one in an uplying beech-wood, in a low bush near the road-side, where cows passed and browsed daily. Things went on smoothly till the cow-bunting stole her egg into it, when other mishaps followed, and the nest was soon empty. A character- IN THE HEMLOCKS. 79 i.stic attitude of the male during this season is a slight drooping of the wings, and tail a little elevated, which gives him a very smart, bantam-like appearance. His song is fine and hurried, and not much of itself, but has its place in the general chorus. A far sweeter strain, falling on the ear with the true sylvan cadence, is that of the black-throated green-backed warbler, whom I meet at various points. He has no superiors among the true Sylvia. His song is very plain and simple, but remarkably pure and tender, and might be indicated by straight lines, thus, v ; the first two marks repre- senting two sweet, silvery notes, in the same pitch of voice, and quite unaccented ; the latter marks, the concluding notes, wherein the tone and inflection are changed. The throat and breast of the male are a rich black like velvet, his face yellow, and his back a yellowish green. Beyond the Barkpeeling, where the woods are mingled hemlock, beech, and birch, the languid mid- summer note of the black-throated blue-back falls on my ear. " Twea, twea, twea-e-e ! " in the upward slide, and with the peculiar c-///y of summer insects, but not destitute of a certain plaintive cadence. It is one of the most languid, unhurried sounds in all the woods. I feel like reclining upon the dry leaves at once. Audubon says he has never heard his love- song ; but this is all the love-song he has, and he is evidently a very plain hero with his little brown mis- tress. He assumes few attitudes, and is not a bold and -Miking gymnast, like many of his kindred. He 80 IN THE HEMLOCKS. has a preference for dense woods of beech and maple, moves slowly amid the lower branches and smaller growths, keeping from eight to ten feet from the ground, and repeating now and then his listless, indo- lent strain. His back and crown are dark blue ; his throat and breast, black ; his belly, pure white ; and he has a white spot on each wing. Here and there I meet the black and white creep- ing-warbler, whose fine strain reminds me of hair- wire. It is unquestionably the finest bird-song to be heard. Few insect strains will compare with it in this respect ; while it has none of the harsh, brassy character of the latter, being very delicate and tender. That sharp, uninterrupted, but still continued war- ble, which, before one has learned to discriminate closely, he is apt to confound with the red-eyed vireo's, is that of the solitary warbling vireo, a bird slightly larger, much rarer, and with a louder, less cheerful and happy strain. I see him hopping along length- wise of the limbs, and note the orange tinge of his breast and sides and the white circle around his eye. But the declining sun and the deepening shadows admonish me that this ramble must be brought to a close, even though only the leading characters in this chorus of forty songsters have been described, and only a small portion of the venerable old woods ex- plored. In a secluded swampy corner of the old Barkpeeling, where I find the great purple orchis in bloom, and where the foot of man or beast seems never to have trod, I linger long, contemplating the wonderful display of lichens and mosses that overrun IS THE HEMLOCKS. 81 both the smaller and the larger growths. Every Im-h and branch and sprig is dressed up in the most rich and fantastic of liveries ; and, crowning all, the long bearded moss festoons the branches or sways gran -fully from the limbs. Every twig looks a cent- ury old, though green leaves tip the end of it. A young yellow birch has a venerable, patriarchal look, and seems ill at ease under such premature honors. A decayed hemlock is draped as if by hands for some solemn festival. Mounting toward the upland again, I pause rever- ently as the hush and stillness of twilight come upon the woods. It is the sweetest, ripest hour of the day. And as the hermit's evening hymn goes up from the deep solitude below me, I experience that serene ex- altation of sentiment of which music, literature, and religion are but the faint types and symbols. Miryltnd Y.llow-thro.t. ADIRONDAC. ADIRONDAC. WHEN I went to the Adirondacs, which was in the summer of 1863, I was in the first flush of my ornithological studies, and was curious, above all else, to know what birds I should find in these solitudes what new ones, and what ones already known to me. In visiting vast, primitive, far-off woods one natu- rally expects to lind something rare and precious, or something entirely new, but it commonly happens that one is disappointed. Thoreau made three excur- sions into the Maine woods, and though he started the moose and caribou. h:id nothing more novel to report by way of bird notes, than the songs of the wood-thrush and the pewee. This was about my own experience in the Adirondacs. The birds for the most part prefer the vicinity of settlements and 86 ADIRONDAC. clearings, and it was at such places that I saw the greatest number and variety. At the clearing of an old hunter and pioneer by the name of Hewett, where we paused a couple of days on first entering the woods, I saw many old friends and made some new acquaintances. The snow-bird was very abundant here, as it had been at various points along the route, after leaving Lake George. As I went out to the spring in the morn- ing to wash myself a purple finch flew up before me, having already performed its ablutions. I had first observed this bird the winter before in the Highlands of the Hudson, where, during several clear but cold February mornings, a troop of them sang most charm- ingly in a tree in front of my house. The meeting with the bird here in its breeding haunts was a pleas- ant surprise. During the day I observed several pine finches a dark brown or brindlish bird, allied to the common yellow-bird, which it much resembles in its manner and habits. They lingered familiarly about the house, sometimes alighting in a small tree within a few feet of it. In one of the stumpy fields I saw an old favorite in the grass finch or vesper spar- row. It was sitting on a tall charred stub with food in its beak. But all along the borders of the woods and in the bushy parts of the fields there was a new song that I was puzzled in tracing to the author. It was most noticeable in the morning and at twilight, but was at all times singularly secret and elusive. I at last discovered that it was the white-throated ADIRONDAC. 87 sparrow, a common bird all through this region. Its song is very delicate and plaintive a thin, waver- ing, tremulous whistle, which disappoints one, how- ever, as it ends when it seems only to have begun. If the bird could give us the finishing strain of which this seems only the prelude, it would stand first among feathered songsters. By a little trout-brook in a low part of the woods adjoining the clearing, I had a good time pursuing and identifying a number of warblers the speckled Canada, the black-throated blue, the yellow-rumped, and Audubou's warbler. The latter, which was lead- ing its troop of young through a thick undergrowth on the banks of the creek where insects were plenty, was new to me. It being August, the birds were all moulting and sang only fitfully and by brief snatches. I remember hearing but one robin during the whole trip. This was by the Boreas River in the deep forest. It was like the voice of an old friend speaking my name. From Hewett's, after engaging his youngest son, the " Bub" of the family, a young man about twenty and a thorough woodsman, as guide, we took to the woods in good earnest, our destination being the Stillwater of the Boreas a long deep dark reach in one of the remote branches of the Hudson, about six miles distant. Here we paused a couple of days, putting up in a dilapidated lumberman's .shanty, and cooking our fish over an old stove which had been left there. The most noteworthv incident of 88 ADIRONDAC. our stay at this point was the taking by myself of half a dozen splendid trout out of the Stillwater, after the guide had exhausted his art and his patience with very insignificant results. The place had a very trouty look, but as the season was late and the river warm, I knew the fish lay in deep water from which they could not be attracted. In deep water accord- ingly, and near the head of the hole, I determined to look for them. Securing a chub I cut it into pieces about an inch long and with these for bait sank rny hook into the head of the Stillwater and just to one side of the main current. In less than twenty min- utes I had landed six noble fellows, three of them over one foot long each. The guide and my incredu- lous companions, who were watching me from the opposite shore, seeing my luck, whipped out their tackle in great haste and began casting first at a re- spectable distance from me, then all about me, but without a single catch. My own efforts suddenly became fruitless also, but I had conquered the guide and thenceforth he treated me with the tone and free- dom of a comrade and equal. One afternoon we visited a cave some two miles down the stream which had recently been discovered. We squeezed and wriggled through a big crack or 'left in the side of the mountain, for about one hun- dred feet, when we emerged into a large dome-shaped passage, the abode, during certain seasons of the year, of innumerable bats, and at all times of primeval darkness. There were various other crannies and ADIRONDAC. 89 pit-holes opening into it, some of which we explored. Tin- voice of running water was everywhere heard, betraying the proximity of the little stream by whose ceaseless corroding the cave and its entrance had been worn. This streamlet flowed out of the mouth of the cave and came from a lake on the top of the mount- ain ; this accounted for its warmth to the hand which surprised us all. Birds of any kind were rare in these woods. A pigeon-hawk came prowling by our camp, and the faint piping call of the nut-hatches, leading their young through the high trees was often heard. On the third day our guide proposed to conduct us to a lake in the mountains where we could float for deer. Our journey commenced in a steep and rugged as- cent, which brought us after an hour's heavy climb- ing, to an elevated region of pine forest, years before ravished by lumbermen, and presenting all manner of obstacles to our awkward and encumbered pedes- trian ism. The woods were largely pine, though yellow birch, beech, and maple were common. The satisfaction of having a gun, should any game show itself, was the chief compensation to those of us who were thus burdened. A partridge would occasionally whir up before us, or a red squirrel snicker and hasten to his den ; else the woods appeared quite tenantless. The most noted object was a mammoth pine, appar- ently the List of a great race, which presided over a cluster of yellow birches, on the side of the mountain. 90 ADIKONDAC. About noon we came out upon a long shallow sheet of water which the guide called Bloody-Moose Pond, from the tradition that a moose had been slaughtered there many years before. Looking out over the si- lent and lonely scene, his eye was the first to detect an object apparently feeding upon lily-pads, which our willing fancies readily shaped into a deer. As we were eagerly waiting some movement to confirm this impression, it lifted up its head, and lo ! a great blue heron. Seeing us approach, it spread its long wings and flew solemnly across to a dead tree on the other side of the lake, enhancing, rather than relieving the loneliness and desolation that brooded over the scene. As we proceeded it flew from tree to tree in ad- vance of us, apparently loath to be disturbed in its ancient and solitary domain. In the margin of the pond we found the pitcher-plant growing, and here and there in the sand the closed gentian lifted up its blue head. In traversing the shores of this wild, desolate lake, I was conscious of a slight thrill of expectation, as if some secret of Nature might here be revealed, or some rare and unheard-of game disturbed. There is ever a lurking suspicion that the beginning of things is in some way associated with water, and one may notice that in his private walks he is led by a curious attraction to fetch all the springs and ponds in his route, as if by them was the place for wonders and miracles to happen. Once, while in advance of my companions, I saw, from a high rock, a commotion in ADIRONDAC. 91 the water near the shore, but on reaching the point found only the marks of a musquash. Pressing on through the forest, after many advent- ures with the pine-knots, we reached, about the mid- dle of the afternoon, our destination, Nate's Pond, a pretty sheet of water, lying like a silver mirror in the lap of the mountain, about a mile long and half a mile wide, surrounded by dark forests of balsam, hemlock, and pine, and, like the one we had just passed, a very picture of unbroken solitude. It is not in the woods alone to give one this im- pression of utter loneliness. In the woods are sounds and voices, and a dumb kind of companion- ship; one is little more than a walking tree himself; but come upon these one of mountain-lakes, and the wildness stands relieved and meets you face to face. Water is thus facile and adaptive, that it makes the wild more wild, while it enhances more culture and art The end of the pond which we approached was quite shoal, the stones rising above the surface as in a summer-brook, and everywhere showing marks of the noble game we were in quest of foot-prints, dung, and cropped and uprooted lily-pads. After resting for a half hour, and replenishing our game-pouches at the expense of the most respectable frogs of the locality, we filed on through the soft, resinous pine- woods, intending to camp near the other end of the lake, where, the guide assured us, we should find a hunter's cabin ready built. A half-hour's march brought us to the locality, and a most delightful one 92 ADIRONDAC. it was, so hospitable and inviting that all the kindly and beneficent influences of the woods must have abided there. In a slight depression in the woods, about one hundred } T ards from the lake, though hidden from it for a hunter's reasons, surrounded by a heavy growth of birch, hemlock, and pine, with a lining of balsam and fir, the rude cabin welcomed us. It was of the approved style, three sides inclosed, with a roof of bark and a bed of boughs, and a rock in front that afforded a permanent back-log to all fires. A faint voice of running water was heard near by, and, following the sound, a delicious spring- rivulet was disclosed, hidden by the moss and debris as by a new fall of snow, but here and there rising in little well-like openings, as if for our special con- venience. On smooth places on the logs I noticed female names inscribed in a female hand ; and the guide told us of an English lady, an artist, who had traversed this region with a single guide, making sketches. Our packs unslung and the kettle over, our first move was to ascertain in what state of preservation a certain dug-out might be, which, the guide averred, he had left moored in the vicinity the summer before, for upon this hypothetical dug-out our hopes of venison rested. After a little searching it was found under the top of a fallen hemlock, but in a sorry con- dition. A large piece had been split out of one end, and a fearful chink was visible nearly to the water- line. Freed from the tree top, however, and calked ADIRONDAC. 93 witli a little moss, it floated with two aboard, which was quite enough for our purpose. A jack and an oar were necessary to complete the arrangement, and before the sun had set our professor of wood-craft had both in readiness. From a young yellow birch, an oar took shape with marvelous rapidity trimmed and smoothed with a neatness almost fastidious, no make-shift, but an instrument fitted for the delicate work it was to perform. A jack was made with equal skill and speed. A stout staff about three feet long was placed upright in the bow of the boat, and held to its place by a horizontal bar, through a hole in which it turned easily: a half wheel eight or ten inches in diameter, cut from a large chip, was placed at the top, around which was bent a new section of birch bark, thus forming a rude semicircular reflector. Three candles placed within the circle completed the jack. With moss and boughs seats were arranged one in the bow for the marksman, and one in the stern for the oarsman. A meal of frogs and squirrels was a good preparation, and when darkness came, all were keenly alive to the opportunity it brought Though by no means an expert in the use of the gun, adding the superlative degree of enthusiasm to only the positive degree of skill, yet it seemed tacitly agreed that I should act as marksman, and kill the deer, if such was to be our luck. After it was thoroughly dark we went down to make a >he very few. Among our own birds, the cuckoos and blue jays build open nests, without presenting any noticeable differ- ence in the coloring of the two sexes. The same is true of the pewees, the king-bird, and the sparrows, while the common blue- bird, the oriole, and orchard starling afford examples the other way. 122 BIKDS'-NESTS. In migrating northward, the males precede the fe- males by eight or ten days ; returning in the fall, the females and young precede the males by about the same time. After the woodpeckers have abandoned their nests, or rather chambers, which they do after the first sea- son, their cousins, the nut-hatches, chickadees, and brown creepers, fall heir to them. These birds, es- pecially the creepers and nut-hatches, have many of the habits of the picidee, but lack their powers of bill, and so are unable to excavate a nest for them- selves. Their habitation, therefore, is always second- hand. But each species carries in some soft material of various kinds, or, in other words, furnishes the tenement to its liking. The chickadee arranges in the bottom of the cavity a little mat of a light felt-like substance, which looks as if it came from the hatter's, but which is probably the work of numerous worms or caterpillars. On this soft lining the female depos- its six white eggs. I recently discovered one of these nests in a most interesting situation. The tree containing it, a vari- ety of the wild-cherry, stood upon the brink of the bald summit of a high mountain. Gray, time-worn rocks lay piled loosely about, or overtoppled the just visible by-ways of the red fox. The trees had a half- scared look, and that indescribable wildness which lurks about the tops of all remote mountains pos- sessed the place. Standing there I looked down upon the back of the red-tailed hawk as he flew out over r,ii:i'-.\KSTS. 123 the earth beneath me. Following him, my eye also took in farms and settlements and villages and other mountain ranges that grew blue in the distance. The parent birds attracted my attention by appear- in:: with tii< id in their beaks, and by seeming much put out. Yet so wary were they of revealing the locality of their brood, or even of the precise tree that held them, that I lurked around over an hour without gaining a point on them. Finally a bright and curious boy who accompanied me secreted him- self under a low, projecting rock close to the tree in which we supposed the nest to be, while I moved off* around the mountain-side. It was not long be- fore the youth had their secret. The treey^which was low and wide branching, and overrun with lich- ens, appeared at a cursory glance to contain not one dry or decayed limb. Yet there was one a few feet long, in which, when my eyes were piloted thither, I detected a small round orifice. As my weight began to shake the branches, the consternation of both old and young was great. The stump of a limb that held the nest was about three inches thick, and at the bottom of the tunnel was ex- cavated quite to the bark. With my thumb I broke in the thin wall, and the young, which were full- fledged, looked out upon the world for the first time. Presently one of them, which a significant chirp, as much as to say, " It is time we were out of this," be- gan to climb up toward the proper entrance. Plarinect identical with those of our common hen or red-tailed hawk. They sail along in the same calm, effortless, interminable manner, and sweep around in the same ample spirals. The shape of their wings and tail, in- deed their entire effect against the sky, except in size and color, is very nearly the same as that of the hawk mentioned. A dozen at a time may often be seen high in air, amusing themselves by sailing serenely round and round in the same circle. They are less active and vigilant than the hawk ; never poise themselves on the wing, never dive and gambol in the air, and never swoop down upon" their prey ; unlike the hawks also, they appear to have no enemies. The crow fights the hawk, and the king- bird and crow-blackbird fight the crow ; but neither takes any notice of the buzzard. He excites the enmity of none, for the reason that he molests none. The crow has an old grudge against the hawk, be- cause the hawk robs the crow's nest, and carries off his young ; the kingbird's quarrel with the crow is upon the same grounds. But the buzzard never at- tacks live game, or feeds upon new flesh when old can be had. 154: SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. In May, like the crows, they nearly all disappear very suddenly, probably to their breeding-haunts near the sea-shore. Do the males separate from the fe- males at this time, and go by themselves ? At any rate, in July I discovered that a large number of buzzards roosted in some woods near Rock Creek, about a mile from the city limits ; and, as they do not nest anywhere in this vicinity, I thought they might be males. I happened to be detained late in the woods, watching the nest of a flying squirrel, when the buzzards, just after sundown, began to come by ones and twos and alight in the trees near me. Pres- ently they came in greater numbers, but from the same direction flapping low over the woods, and tak- ing up their position in the middle branches. On alighting, each one would blow very audibly through his nose, just as a cow does when she lies down ; this is the only sound I have ever heard the buzzard make. They would then stretch themselves after the manner of turkeys, and walk along the limbs. Some- times a decayed branch would break under the weight of two or three, when, with a great flapping, they would take up new positions. They continued to come till it was quite dark, and all the trees about me were full. I began to feel a little nervous, but kept my place. After it was entirely dark and all was still, I gathered a large pile of dry leaves and kindled it with a match, to see what they would think of -a fire. Not a sound was heard till the pile of leaves was in full blaze, when instantaneously every SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 155 buzzard started. I thought the tree-tops were com- ing down upon me, so great was the uproar. But the woods were soon cleared, and the loathsome pack disappeared in the night. About the first of June I saw numbers of buz- zards sailing around over the great Falls of the Po- tomac. A glimpse of the birds usually found here in the latter part of winter may be had in the following ex- tract, which I take from my diary under date of Feb- ruary 4th : " Made a long excursion through the woods and over the hills. Went directly north from the Capi- tol for about three miles. The ground bare and the day cold and sharp. In the suburbs, among the scattered Irish and negro shanties, came suddenly upon a flock of birds, feeding about like our North- ern snow-buntings. Every now and then they ut- tered a piping disconsolate note, as if they had a very sorry time of it. They proved to be shore-larks, the first I had ever seen. They had the walk character- istic of all larks ; were a little larger than the spar- row; had a black spot on the breast, with much white on the under parts of their bodies. As I ap- proached them the nearer ones paused, and, half squatting, eyed me suspiciously. Presently, at a movement of my arm, away they went, flying exactly like the snow-bunting, and showing nearly as much white." (I have since discovered that the shore-lark is a regular visitant here in February and March, 156 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. when large quantities of them are shot or trapped, and exposed for sale in the market. During a heavy snow I have seen numbers of them feeding upon the seeds of various weedy growths in a large market- garden well into town.) " Pressing on, the walk be- came exhilarating. Followed a little brook, the east- ern branch of the Tiber, lined with bushes and a rank growth of green brier. Sparrows started out here and there and flew across the little bends and points. Among some pines just beyond the boundary, saw a number of American goldfinches, in their gray winter dress, pecking the pine-cones. A golden-crowned kinglet was there also, a little tuft of gray feathers, hopping about as restless as a spirit. Had the old pine-trees food delicate enough for him also ? Far- ther on, in some low open woods, saw many sparrows, the fox, white-throated, white-crowned, the Can- ada, the song, the swamp, all herding together along the warm and sheltered borders. To my sur- prise saw a cheewink also, and the yellow-rumped warbler. The purple finch was there likewise, and the Carolina wren and brown creeper. In the higher, colder woods not a bird was to be seen. Returning, near sunset, across the eastern slope of a hill which overlooked the city, was delighted to see a number of grass-finches or vesper sparrows ( FringiUa gram- inea), birds which will be forever associated in my mind with my father's sheep pastures. They ran before me, now flitting a pace or two, now skulking in the low stubble, just as I had observed them when a boy." SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 157 A month later, March 4th, is this note : "After the second memorable inauguration of President Lincoln, took my first trip of the season. The afternoon was very clear and warm, real ver- nal sunshine at last, though the wind roared like a lion over the woods. It seemed novel enough to find within two miles of the White House a simple woods- man chopping away as if no President was being in- augurated ! Some puppies, snugly nestled in the cavity of an old hollow tree, he said, belonged to a wild dog. I imagine I saw the ' wild dog,' on the other side of Rock Creek, in a great state of grief and trepidation, running up and down, crying and yelping, and looking wistfully over the swollen flood, which the poor thing had not the courage to brave. This day, for the first time, I heard the song of the Canada sparrow, a soft, sweet note, almost running into a warble. Saw a small, black, velvety butterfly with a yellow border to its wings. Under a warm bank found two flowers of the houstonia in bloom. Saw frogs' spawn near Piny Branch, and heard the hyla." Among the first birds that make their appearance in "Washington, is the crow-blackbird. He may come any time after the 1st of March. The birds congre- gate in large flocks, and frequent groves and parks, alternately swarming in the tree-tops and filling the air with their sharp jangle, and alighting on the ground in quest of food, their polished coats glisten- ing in the sun from very blackness, as they walk 158 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. about. There is evidently some music in the soul of this bird at this season, though he makes a sad failure in getting it out.. His voice always sounds as if he were laboring under a severe attack of influ- enza, though a large flock of them heard at a dis- tance on a bright afternoon of early spring, produce an effect not unpleasing. The air is filled with crackling, splintering, spurting, semi-musical sounds, which are like pepper and salt to the ear. All parks and public grounds about the city are full of blackbirds. They are especially plentiful in the trees about the White House, breeding there and waging war on all other birds. The occupants of one of the offices in the west wing of the Treasury one day had their attention attracted by some object striking violently against one of the window-panes. Looking up, they beheld a crow-blackbird pausing in mid-air, a few feet from the window. On the broad stone window-sill lay the quivering form of a purple finch. The little tragedy was easily read. The blackbird had pursued the finch with such murderous violence, that the latter, in its desperate efforts to es- cape, had sought refuge in the Treasury. The force of the concussion against the heavy plate-glass of the window had killed the poor thing instantly. The pursuer, no doubt astonished at the sudden and novel termination of the career of its victim, hovered a moment, as if to be sure of what had happened, and made off. (It is not unusual for birds, when thus threatened SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 159 with destruction by their natural enemy, to become so terrified as to seek safety in the presence of man. I was once startled, while living in a country vil- lage, to behold, on entering my room at noon, one October day, a quail sitting upon my bed. The af- frighted and bewildered bird instantly started for the open window, into which it had no doubt been driven by a hawk.) The crow-blackbird has all the natural cunning of his prototype, the crow. In one of the inner courts of the Treasury building there is a fountain with sev- eral trees growing near. By midsummer, the black- birds become so bold as to venture within this court. Various fragments of food, tossed from the surround- ing windows, reward their temerity. When a crust of dry bread defies their beaks, they have been seen to drop it into the water, and when it had become soaked sufficiently, to take it out again. They build a nest of coarse sticks and mud, the whole burden of the enterprise seeming to devolve upon the female. For several successive mornings just after sunrise, I used to notice a pair of them fly- ing to and fro in the air above me, as I hoed in the garden, directing their course, on the one hand, to a marshy piece of ground about half a mile distant, and disappearing on their return, among the trees about the Capitol. Returning, the female always had her beak loaded with building material, while the male, carrying nothing, seemed to act as her escort, flying a little above and in advance of her, and utter- 160 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. ing now and then his husky, discordant note. As I tossed a lump of earth up at them the frightened mother-bird dropped her mortar, and the pair skurried away, much put out. Later, they avenged themselves by pilfering my cherries. The most mischievous enemies of the cherries, however, here, as at the North, are the cedar wax- wings, or " cherry -birds." How quickly they spy out the tree! Long before the cherry begins to turn, they are around, alert and cautious. In small flocks they circle about, high in air, uttering their fine note, or plunge quickly into the tops of remote trees. Day by day they approach nearer and nearer, recon- noitring the premises, and watching the growing fruit. Hardly have the green lobes turned a red cheek to the sun, before their beaks have scarred it. At first they approach the tree stealthily, on the side turned from the house, diving quickly into the branches in ones and twos, while the main flock is ambushed in some shade tree not far off. They are most apt to commit their depredations very early in the morning and on cloudy, rainy days. As the cherries grow sweeter the birds grow bolder, till, from throwing tufts of grass, one has to throw stones in good ear- nest, or lose all his fruit. In June they disappear, following the cherries to the north, where by July, they are nesting in the orchards and cedar groves. Among the permanent summer residents here (one might say city residents, as they seem more abun- dant in town than out), the yellow warbler or sum- SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 161 mer yellow-bird is conspicuous. He comes about the middle of April, and" seems particularly attached to the silver poplars. In every street, and all day long, one may hear his thin, sharp warble. When nesting, the female comes about the yard, pecking at the clothes-line, and gathering up bits of thread to weave into her nest. Swallows appear in Washington from the first to the middle of April. They come twittering along in the way so familiar to every New England boy. The barn swallow is heard first, followed in a day or two by the squeaking of the cliff-swallow. The chimney-swallows, or swifts, are not far behind, and remain here, in large numbers, the whole season. The purple martins appear in April, as they pass north, and again in July and August on their return, accompanied by their young. The national capital is situated in such a vast spread of wild, wooded, or semi-cultivated country, and is in itself so open and spacious, with its parks and large government reservations, that an unusual number of birds find their way into it in the course of the season. Rare warblers, as the black-poll, the yellow red-poll, and the bay-breasted, pausing in May on their northward journey, pursue their insect game in the very heart of the town. I have heard the veery thrush in the trees near the White House; and one rainy April morning, about six o'clock, he came and blew his soft, mellow flute in a pear-tree in my garden. The tones had all 11 162 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. the sweetness and wildness they have when heard in June in our deep Northern forests. A day or two afterward, in the same tree, I heard for the first time the song of the golden-crowned wren, or kinglet, the same liquid bubble and cadence which characterize the wren-songs generally, but much finer and more delicate than the song of any other variety known to me ; beginning in a fine, round, needle-like note, and rising into a full, sustained warble ; a strain, on the whole, remarkably exquisite and pleasing, the singer being all the while as busy as a bee, catching some kind of insects. If the ruby-crowned sings as well (and no doubt it does), Audubon's enthusiasm con- cerning its song, as he heard it in the wilds of Labra- dor, is not a bit extravagant. The song of the kinglet is the only characteristic that allies it to the wrens. The Capitol grounds, with their fine large trees of many varieties draw many kinds of birds. In the rear of the building the extensive grounds are pecul- iarly attractive, being a gentle slope, warm and pro- tected, and quite thickly wooded. Here in early spring I go to hear the robins, cat-birds, blackbirds, wrens, etc. In March the white-throated and white- crowned sparrows may be seen, hopping about on the flower-beds or peering slyly from the evergreens. The robin hops about freely upon the grass, notwith- standing the keeper's large-lettered warning, and at intervals, and especially at sunset, carols from the tree-tops his loud hearty strain. The kingbird and orchard starling remain the Sl'KING AT THE CAPITAL. 163 whole season, and breed in the tree-tops. The rich, copious song of the starling may be heard there all the forenoon. The song of some birds is like scarlet, strong, intense, emphatic. This is the character of the orchard starlings ; also of the tanagers and the various grossbeaks. On the other hand, the songs of other birds, as of certain of the thrushes, sug- gests the serene blue of the upper sky. In February, one may hear, in the Smithsonian grounds, the song of the fox-sparrow. It is a strong, richly modulated whistle, the finest sparrow note I have ever heard. A curious and charming sound may be heard here in May. You are walking forth in the soft morning air, when suddenly there comes a burst of bobolink melody from some mysterious source. A score of throats pour out one brief, hilarious, tuneful jubilee, and are suddenly silent. There is a strange remote- ness, and fascination about it. Presently you dis- cover its source skyward, and a quick eye will detect the gay band pushing northward. They seem to scent the fragrant meadows afar off, and shout forth snatches of their songs in anticipation. The bobolink does not breed in the District, but usually pauses in his journey and feeds during the day in the grass-lands north of the city. "When the season is backward, they tarry a week or ten days, singing freely and appearing quite at home. In large flocks they search over every inch of ground, and at intervals hover on the wing or alight in the 164 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. tree-tops, all pouring forth their gladness at once, and filling the air with a multitudinous musical clamor. They continue to pass, traveling by night, and feeding by day, till after the middle of May, when they cease. In September, with numbers greatly in- creased, they are on their way back. I am first ad- vised of their return by hearing their calls at night as they fly over the city. On certain nights the sound becQmes quite noticeable. I have awakened in the middle of the night, and, through the open window, as I lay in bed, heard their faint notes. The warblers begin to return about the same time, and are clearly distinguished by their timid yeaps. On dark cloudy nights the birds seem confused by the lights of the city, and apparently wander about above it. In the spring the same curious incident is repeated, though but few voices can be identified. I make out the snow-bird, the bobolink, the warblers, and on two nights during the early part of May I heard very clearly the call of the sandpipers. Instead of the bobolink, one encounters here, in the June meadows, the black-throated bunting, a bird closely related to the sparrows, and a very persistent, if not a very musical songster. He perches upon the fences and upon the trees by the roadside, and, spreading his tail, gives forth his harsh strain, which may be roughly worded thus : fscp fscp, fee fee fee. Like all sounds associated with early summer, it soon SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 165 1ms a charm to the ear quite independent of its in- trinsic merits. Outside of the city limits, the great point of inter- est to the rambler and lover of nature is the Rock Creek region. Rock Creek is a large, rough, rapid stream, which has its source in the interior of Mary- land, and flows into the Potomac between Washing- ton and Georgetown. Its course, for five or six miles out of Washington, is marked by great diver- sity of scenery. Flowing in a deep vajley, which now and then becomes a wild gorge with overhang- ing rocks and high precipitous headlands, for the most part wooded ; here reposing in long, dark reaches, there sweeping and hurrying around a sud- den bend or over a rocky bed ; receiving at short in- tervals small runs and spring rivulets, which open up vistas and outlooks to the right and left, of the most charming description, Rock Creek has an abun-. dance of all the elements that make up not only pleas- ing, but wild and rugged scenery. There is, perhaps, not another city in the Union that has on its very threshold so much natural beauty and grandeur, such as men seek for in remote forests and mountains. A few touches of art would convert this whole region, extending from Georgetown to what is known as Crystal Springs, not more than two miles from the present State Department, into a park unequaled by anything in the world. There are passages between these two points as wild and savage, and apparently as remote from civilization, as anything one meets 166 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. with in the mountain sources of the Hudson or the Delaware. One of the tributaries to Rock Creek within this limit is called Piny Branch. It is a small, noisy brook, flowing through a valley of great natural beauty and picturesqueness, shaded nearly all the way by woods of oak, chestnut, and beech, and abounding in dark recesses and hidden retreats. I must not forget to mention the many springs with which this whole region is supplied, each the centre of some wild nook, perhaps the head of a little valley one or two hundred yards long, through which one catches a glimpse, or hears the voice of the main creek rushing along below. My walks tend in this direction more frequently than in any other. Here the boys go too, troops of them, of a Sunday, to bathe and prowl around, and indulge the semi-barbarous instincts that still lurk within them. Life, in all its forms, is most abundant near water. The rank vegetation nurtures the in- sects, and the insects draw the birds. The first week in March, on some southern slope where the sunshine lies warm and long, I usually find the hepatica in bloom, though with scarcely an inch of stalk. In the spring runs the skunk cabbage pushes its pike up through the mould, the flower appearing first, as if Nature had made a mistake. It is not till about the 1st of April that many wild- flowers may be looked for. By this time the hepa- tica, anemone, saxifrage, arbutus, houstonia, and blood- SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 167 root may be counted on. A week later, the claytonia, or spring beauty, water-cress, violets, a low buttercup, vetch, corydalis, and potentilla appear. These com- prise most of the April flowers, and may be found in great profusion in the Rock Creek and Piny Branch region. In each little valley or spring run some one species predominates. I know invariably where to look for the first liverwort, and where the largest and finest may be found. On a dry, gravelly, half-wooded hill- slope the birds-foot violet grows in great abundance, and is sparse in neighboring districts. This flower, which I never saw in the North, is the most beautiful and showy of all the violets, and calls forth rapturous applause from all persons who visit the woods. It grows in little groups and clusters, and bears a close resemblance to the pansies of the gardens. Its two purple, velvety petals seem to fall over tiny shoulders like a rich cape. On the same slope, and on no other, I go about the 1st of May for lupine, or sun-dial, which makes the ground look blue from a little distance ; on the other, or northern side of the slope, the arbutus, during the first half of April, perfumes the wild-wood air. A few paces farther on, in the bottom of a little spring run, the mandrake shades the ground with its minia- ture umbrellas. It begins to push its" green finger- points up through the ground by the 1st of April, but is not in bloom till the 1st of May. It has a single white, wax-like flower, with a sweet, sickish odor, 168 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. growing immediately beneath its broad leafy top. By the same run grow water-cresses and two kinds of anemones, the Pennsylvania and the grove anem- one. The bloodroot is very common at the foot of al- most every warm slope in the Rock Creek woods, and, where the wind has tucked it up well with the cover- lid of dry leaves, makes its appearance almost as soon as the liverwort. It is singular how little warmth is necessary to encourage these earlier flowers to. put forth ! It would seem as if some influence must come on in advance underground and get things ready, so that when the outside temperature is propitious, they at once venture out. I have found the bloodroot when it was still freezing two or three nights in the week ; and have known at least three varieties of early flowers to be buried in eight inches of snow. Another abundant flower in the Rock Creek region is the spring beauty. Like most others it grows in streaks. A few paces from where your attention is monopolized by violets or arbutus, it is arrested by the claytonia, growing in such profusion that it is im- possible to set the foot down without crushing the flowers. Only the forenoon walker sees them in all their beauty, as later in the day their eyes are closed, and their pretty heads drooped in slumber. In only one locality do I find the ladies'-slipper, a yellow variety. The flowers that overleap all bounds in this section are the houstonias. By the 1st of April they are very noticeable in warm, damp places along the borders of the woods and in half-cleared fields, but by SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 169 May these localities are clouded with them. They become visible from the highway across wide fields, and look like little puffs of smoke clinging close to the ground. On the 1st of May I go to the Rock Creek or Piny Branch region to hear the wood-thrush. I always find him by this date leisurely chanting his lofty strain ; other thrushes are seen now also, or even earlier, as Wilson's, the olive-backed, the hermit, the two latter silent, but the former musical. Occasionally in the earlier part of May I find the woods literally swarming with warblers, exploring every branch and leaf, from the tallest tulip to the lowest spice-bush, so urgent is the demand for food during their long Northern journeys. At night they are up and away. Some varieties, as the blue yellow- back, the chestnut-sided, and the Blackburnian, during their brief stay, sing nearly as freely as in their breed- ing haunts. For two or three years I have chanced to meet little companies of the bay-breasted warbler, searching for food in an oak wood, on an elevated piece of ground. They kept well up among the branches, were rather slow in their movements, and evidently disposed to tarry but a short time. The summer residents here, belonging to this class of birds, are few. I have observed the black and white creeping warbler, the Kentucky warbler, the worm eating warbler, the redstart, and the gnat- catcher, breeding near Rock Creek. Of these the Kentucky warbler is by far the most 170 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. interesting, though quite rare. I meet with him in low, damp places in the woods, usually on the steep sides of some little run. I hear at intervals a clear, strong, bell-like whistle or warble, and presently catch a glimpse of the bird as he jumps up from the ground to take an insect or worm from the under side of a leaf. This is his characteristic movement. He be- longs to the class of ground warblers, and his range is very low, indeed lower than that of any other species with which I am acquainted. He is on the ground nearly all the time, moving rapidly along, taking spiders and bugs, overturning leaves, peeping under sticks and into crevices, and every now and then leaping up eight or ten inches, to take his game from beneath some overhanging leaf or branch. Thus each species has its range more or less marked. Draw a line three feet from the ground, and you mark the usual limit of the Kentucky warbler's quest for food. Six or eight feet higher bounds the usual range of such birds as the worm-eating warbler, the mourning ground warbler, the Maryland yellow-throat. The lower branches of the higher growths and the higher branches of the lower growths are plainly preferred by the black-throated blue-backed warbler, in those localities where he is found. The thrushes feed mostly on and near the ground, while some of the vireos and the true fly-catchers explore the highest branches. But the Sylviada?, as a rule, are all partial to thick, rank undergrowths. The Kentucky warbler is a large bird for the genus, SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 171 and quite notable in appearance. His back is clear olive-green ; his throat and breast bright yellow. A still more prominent feature is a black streak on the side of the face, extending down the neck. Another familiar bird here, which I never met with in the North, is the gnatcatcher, called by Audubon the blue gray fly-catching warbler. In form and man- ner it seems almost a duplicate of the cat-bird, on a small scale. It mews like a young kitten, erects its tail, flirts, droops its wings, goes through a variety of motions when disturbed by your presence, and in many ways recalls its dusky prototype. Its color above is a light, gray blue, gradually fading till it becomes white on the breast and belly. It is a very small bird, and has a long, facile, slender tail. Its song is a lisping, chattering, incoherent warble, now faintly reminding one of the goldfinch, now of a min- iature cat-bird, then of a tiny yellow-hammer, having much variety, but no unity, and little cadence. Another bird which has interested me here is the Louisiana water-thrush, called also large-billed water- thrush, and water-wagtail. It is one of a trio of birds which has confused the ornithologists much. The other two species are the well-known golden-crowned thrush (Sciurus aurocapillus) or wood-wagtail, and the Northern, or small, water-thrush (Sci^lrus nove- boracensts). The present species, though not abundant, is fre- quently met with along Rock Creek. It is a very quick, vivacious bird, and belongs to the class of ec- 172 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. static singers. I have seen a pair of these thrushes, on a bright May day, flying to and fro between two spring runs, alighting at intermediate points, the male breaking out into one of the most exuberant, unpre- meditated strains I ever heard. Its song is a sudden burst, beginning with three or four clear round notes much resembling certain tones of the clarionet, and terminating in a rapid, intricate warble. This bird resembles a thrush only in its color, which is olive-brown above, and grayish-white be- neath, with speckled throat and breast. Its habits, manners, and voice suggest those of the lurk. I seldom go the Rock Creek route without being amused and sometimes annoyed by the yellow-breasted chat. This bird also has something of the manners and build of the cat-bird, yet he is truly an original. The cat-bird is mild and feminine compared with this rollicking polyglot. His voice is very loud and strong and quite uncanny. No sooner have you penetrated his retreat, which is usually a thick undergrowth in low, wet localities, near the woods or in old fields, than he begins his serenade, which for the variety, grotesqueness, and uncouthness of the notes, is not unlike a country skimmerton. If one passes directly along, the bird may scarcely break the silence. But pause a while or loiter quietly about, and your presence stimulates him to do his best. He peeps quizzically at you from beneath the branches, and gives a sharp feline mew. In a moment more he says very dis- tinctly, who, who. Then in rapid succession follow SPRING AT TI1K CAPITAL. 173 notes the most discordant that ever broke the sylvan silence. Now he barks like a puppy, then quacks like a duke, then rattles like a kingfisher, then squalls like a fox, then caws like a crow, then mews like a cat. Now he calls as if to be heard a long way off, then changes his key, as if addressing the specta- tor. Though very shy, and carefully keeping himself screened when you show any disposition to get a bet- ter view, he will presently, if you remain quiet, ascend a twig, or hop out on a branch in plain sight, lop his tail, droop his wings, cock his head, and become very melodramatic. In less than half a minute he darts into the bushes again, and again tunes up, no French- man rolling his r's so fluently. C-r-r-r-r-r, whrr, that '* it, chee, quack, cluck, yit-yil-yit, now hit it, tr-r-r-r, when, caw, caw, cut, cut, tea-boy, who, who, mew, mew, and so on till you are tired of listening. Observing one very closely one day, I discovered that he was limited to six notes or changes, which he went through in reg- ular order, scarcely varying a note in a dozen repe- titions. Sometimes, when a considerable distance off, he will fly down to have a nearer view of you. And such a curious, expressive flight, legs extended, head lowered, wings rapidly vibrating, the whole action piquant and droll ! The chat is an elegant bird both in form and color. Its plumage is remarkably firm and compact Color above, light olive-green ; beneath, bright yellow ; beak, black and strong. 174 Sl'RING AT THE CAPITAL. The cardinal grossbeak, or Virginia red-bird, is quite common in the same localities, though more in- clined to seek the woods. It is much sought after by bird-fanciers, and by boy gunners, and conse- quently is very shy. This bird suggests a British red-coat ; his heavy, pointed beak, his high cockade, the black stripe down his face, the expression of weight and massiveness about his head and neck, and his erect attitude, give him a decided soldierlike ap- pearance ; and there is something of the tone of the fife in his song or whistle, while his ordinary note, when disturbed, is like the clink of a sabre. Yester- day, as I sat indolently swinging in the loop of a grape-vine, beneath a thick canopy of green branches, in a secluded nook by a spring run, one of these birds came pursuing some kind of insect, but a few feet above me. He hopped about, now and then uttering his sharp note, till, some moth or beetle trying to escape, he broke down through the cover almost where I sat. The effect was like a firebrand coming down through the branches. Instantly catching sight of me, he darted away much alarmed. The female is tinged with brown, and shows but little red except when she takes flight. By far the most abundant species of woodpecker about Washington is the red-headed. It is more common than the robin. Not in the deep woods, but among the scattered dilapidated oaks and groves, on the hills and in the fields, I hear, almost every day, his uncanny note, ktr-rr, ktr-r-r, like that of some SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 175 4arger tree-toad, proceeding from an oak grove just beyond the boundary. He is a strong scented fellow, and very tough. Yet how beautiful, as he flits about the open woods, connecting the trees by a gentle arc of crimson and white ! This is another bird with a military look. His deliberate, dignified ways, and his bright uniform of red, white, and steel-blue, bespeak him an officer of rank. Another favorite beat of mine is northeast of the city. Looking from the Capitol in this direction, scarcely more than a mile distant, you see a broad green hill-slope, falling very gently, and spreading into a large expanse of meadow-land. The summit, if so gentle a swell of greensward may be said to have a summit, is covered with a grove of large oaks; and, sweeping back out of sight like a mantle, the front line of a thick forest bounds the sides. This emerald landscape is seen from a number of points in the city. Looking along New York Avenue from Northern Liberty Market, the eye glances, as it were, from the red clay of the street, and alights upon this fresh scene in the distance. It is a standing invitation to the citizen to come forth and be refreshed. As I turn from some hot, hard street, how inviting it looks ! I bathe my eyes in it as in a fountain. Sometimes troops of cattle are seen grazing upon it. In June the gathering of the hay may be witnessed. When the ground is covered with snow, numerous stacks, or clusters of stacks, are still left for the eye to contem- plate. 176 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. The woods which clothe the east side of this hill, and sweep away to the east, are among the most charming to be found in the District. The main growth is oak and chestnut, with a thin sprinkling of laurel, azelia, and dogwood. It is the only locality in which I have found the dog-tooth violet in bloom, and the best place J know of to gather arbutus. On one .slope the ground is covered with moss, through which the arbutus trails its glories. Emerging from these woods toward the city, one sees the white dome of the Capitol soaring over the green swell of earth immediately in front, and lifting its four thousand tons of iron gracefully and lightly into the air. Of all the sights in Washington, that which will survive longest in my memory is the vision of the great dome thus rising cloud-like above the hills. BIRCH BROWSINGS. Cardinal Grosibeak. BIRCH BROWSINGS. THE region of which I am about to speak lies in the southern part of the State of New York, and comprises parts of three counties, Ulster, Sullivan, and Delaware. It is drained by tributaries of both the Hudson and Delaware, and, next to the Adiron- dac section, contains more wild land than any other tract in the State. The mountains which traverse it, and impart to it its severe northern climate, belong properly to the Catskill range. On some maps of the State they are called the Pine Mountains, though with obvious local impropriety, as pine, so far as I 180 BIRCH BROWSINGS. have observed, is nowhere found upon them. " Birch Mountains " would be a more characteristic name, as on their summits birch is the prevailing tree. They are the natural home of the black and yellow birch, which grow here to unusual size. On their sides beech and maple abound ; while mantling their lower slopes, and darkening the valleys, hemlock formerly enticed the lumberman and tanner. P^xcept in re- mote or inaccessible localities, the latter tree is now almost never found. In Shandaken and along the Esopus, it is about the only product the country yielded, or is likely to yield. Tanneriesby the score have arisen and flourished upon the bark, and some of them still remain. Passing through that region the present season, I saw that the few patches of hemlock that still lingered high up on the sides of the mountains were being felled and peeled, the fresh vrhite bowls of the trees, just stripped of their bark, being visible a long distance. Among these mountains there are no sharp peaks, or abrupt declivities, as in a volcanic region, but long, uniform ranges, heavily timbered to their summits, and delighting the eye with vast, undulating horizon lines. Looking south from the heights about the head of the Delaware, one sees, twenty miles away, a continual succession of blue ranges, one behind the other. If a few large trees are missing on the sky line, one can see the break a long distance off. Approaching this region from the Hudson River side, you cross a rough, rolling stretch of country, BIRCH BROWSINGS. 181 skirting the base of the Catskills, which from a point near Saugerties sweep inland ; after a drive of a few hours you are within the shadow of a high, bold mountain, which forms a sort of but-end to this part of the range, and which is simply called High Point. To the east and southeast it slopes down rapidly to the plain, and looks defiance toward the Hudson, twenty miles distant ; in the rear of it, and radiating from it west and northwest, are numerous smaller ranges, backing up, as it were, this haughty chief. From this point through to Pennsylvania, a dis- tance of nearly one hundred miles, stretches the tract of which I speak. It is a belt of country from twenty to thirty miles wide, bleak and wild, and but sparsely settled. The traveler on the New York and Erie Railroad gets a glimpse of it. Many cold, rapid trout streams, which flow to all points of the compass, have their source in the small lakes and copious mountain springs of this region. The names of some of them are Mill Brook. Dry Brook, Willewemack, Beaver Kill, Elk Bush Kill, Panther Kill, Neversink, Big Ingin, and Callikoon. Beaver Kill is the main outlet on the west. It joins the Delaware in the wilds of Hancock. The Never- sink lays open the region to the south, and also joins the Delaware. To the east, various Kills unite with the Big Ingin to form the Esopus, which flows into the Hudson. Dry Brook and Mill Brook, both fa- mous trout streams, from twelve to fifteen miles long } find their way into the Delaware. 182 BIRCH BROWSINGS. The east or Pepacton branch of the Delaware it- self takes its rise near here, in a deep pass between the mountains. I have many times drunk at a copious spring by the roadside, where the infant river first sees the light. A few yards beyond, the water flows the other way, directing its course through the Bear Kill and Schoharie Kill into the Mohawk. Such game and wild animals as still linger in the State, are found in this region. Bears occasionally make havoc among the sheep. The clearings at the head of a valley are oftenest the scene of their depre- dations. Wild pigeons, in immense numbers, used to breed regularly in the valley of the Big Ingin and about the head of the Neversink. The tree-tops for miles were full of their nests, while the going and coming of the old birds kept up a constant din. But the gunners soon got wind of it, and from far and near were wont to pour in during the spring, and to slaughter both old and young. This practice soon had the effect of driving the pigeons all away, and now only a few pairs breed in these woods. Deer are still met with, though they are becoming scarcer every year. Last winter near seventy head were killed on the Beaver Kill alone. I heard of one wretch, who, finding the deer snowbound, walked up to them on his snowshoes, and one morning be- fore breakfast slaughtered six, leaving their carcasses where they fell. There are traditions of persons having been smitten blind or senseless when about to BIRCH BROWSINGS. 183 commit some heinous offense, but the fact that this villain escaped without some such visitation throws discredit on all such stories. The great attraction, however, of this region, is the brook trout, with which the streams and lakes abound. The water is of excessive coldness, the thermometer indicating 44 and 45 in the springs, and 47 or 48 in the smaller streams. The trout are generally small, but in the more remote branches their number is very great. In such localities the fish are quite black, but in the lakes they are of a lustre and brill- iancy impossible to describe. These waters have been much visited of late years by fishing parties, and the name of Beaver Kill is now a potent word among New York sportsmen. One lake, in the wilds of Callikoon, abounds in a peculiar species of white sucker, which is of excellent quality. It is taken only in spring, during the spawning season, at the time " when the leaves are as big as a chipmunk's ears." The fish run up the small streams and inlets, beginning at nightfall, and continuing till the channel is literally packed with them, and every inch of space is occupied. The fishermen pounce upon them at such times, and scoop them up by the bushel, usually wading right into the living mass and landing the fish with their hands. A small party will often secure in this manner a wagon .load of fish. Certain conditions of the weather, as a warm south or southwest wind, are considered most favorable for the fish to run. 184 BIRCH BROWSINGS. Though familiar all my life with the outskirts of this region, I have only twice dipped into its wilder portions. Once in I860 a friend and myself traced the Beaver Kill to its source, and encamped by Bal- sam Lake. A cold and protracted rain-storm coming on, we were obliged to leave the woods before we were ready. Neither of us will soon forget that tramp by an unknown route over the mountains, en- cumbered as we were with a hundred and one super- fluities which we had foolishly brought along to solace ourselves with in the woods ; nor that halt on the summit, where we cooked and ate our fish in a driz- zling rain ; nor, again, that rude log-house, with its sweet hospitality, which we reached just at nighfall on Mill Brook. * In 1868 a party of three of us set out for a brief trouting excursion, to a body of water called Thomas's Lake, situated in the same chain of mountains. On this excursion, more particularly than on any other I have ever undertaken, I was taught how poor an Indian I should make, and what a ridiculous figure a party of men may cut in the woods when the way is uncertain and the mountains high. We left our team at a farm-house near the head of the Mill Brook, one June afternoon, and witli knap- sacks on our shoulders struck into the woods at the base of the mountain, hoping to cross the range that intervened between us and the lake by sunset. "We engaged a good-natured, but rather indolent young man, who happened to be stopping at the house, and BIRCH BROWSINGS. 185 who had carried a knapsack in the Union armies, to pilot us a couple of miles into the woods so as to guard against any mistakes at the outset It seemed the easiest thing in the world to find the lake. The lay of the land was so simple, according to accounts, that I felt sure I could go to it in the dark. " Go up this little brook to its source on the side of the mount- ain," they said. " The valley that contains the lake heads directly on the other side." What could be easier ! But on a little further inquiry, they said we should u bear well to the left " when we readied the top of the mountain. This opened the doors again ; " bearing well to the left " was an uncertain perform- ance in strange woods. We might bear so well to the left that it would bring us ill. But why bear to the left at all, if the lake was directly opposite ? Well, not quite opposite ; a little to the left. There were two or three other valleys that headed in near there. We could easily find the right one. But to make assurance doubly sure, we engaged a guide, as stated, to give us a good start, and go with us beyond the bearing-to-the-left point. He had been to the lake the winter before and knew the way. Our course, the first half-hour, was along an obscure wood-road which had been used for drawing ash logs off the mountain in winter. There was some hem- lock, but more maple and birch. The woods were dense and free from underbrush, the ascent gradual. Most of the way we kept the voice of the creek in our ear on the right. I approached it once, and 186 BIRCH BROWSINGS. found it swarming with tront. The water was as cold as one ever need wish. After a while the ascent grew steeper, the creek became a mere rill that issued from beneath loose, moss-covered rocks and stones, and with much labor and puffing we drew ourselves up the rugged declivity. Every mountain has its steepest point, which 'is usually near the summit, in keeping, I suppose, with the providence that makes the darkest hour just before day. It is steep, steeper, steepest, till you emerge on the smooth, level or gently rounded space at the top, which the old ice- gods polished off so long ago. We found this mountain had a hollow in its back where the ground was soft and swampy. Some gi- gantic ferns, which we passed through, came nearly to our shoulders. We passed also several patches of swamp honeysuckles, red with blossoms. Our guide at length paused on a big rock where the land began to dip down the other way, and con- cluded that he had gone far enough, and that we would now have no difficulty in finding the lake. " It must lie right down there," he said, pointing with his hand. But it was plain that he was not quite sure in his own mind. He had several times wavered in his course, and had shown considerable embarrassment when bearing to the left across the summit. Still we thought little of it. We were full of confidence, and, bidding him adieu, plunged down the mountain- side, following a spring run that we had no doubt led to the lake. BIRCH BROWSINGS. 187 In these woods, which had a southeastern expos- ure, I first began to notice the wood-thrush. In coming up the other side I had not seen a feather of any kind, or heard a note. Now the golden trillide-de of the wood thrush sounded through the silent woods. While looking for a fish-pole about half-way down the mountain, I saw a thrush's nest in a little sapling about ten feet from the ground. After continuing our descent till our only guide, the spring run, became quite a trout brook, and its tiny murmur a loud brawl, we began to peer anx- iously through the trees for a glimpse of the lake, or for some conformation of the land that would indicate its proximity. An object which we vaguely discerned in looking under the near trees and over the more distant ones, proved, on further inspection, to be a patch of ploughed ground. Presently we made out a burnt fallow near it. This was a wet blanket to our enthusiasm. No lake, no sport, no trout for supper that night. The rather indolent young man had either played us a trick, or, as seemed more likely, had missed the way. We were particularly anxious to be at the lake between sundown and dark, as at that time the trout jump most freely. Pushing on, we soon emerged into a stumpy field, at the head of a steep valley, which swept around toward the west About two hundred rods below us was a rude log-house, with smoke issuing from the chimney. A boy came out and moved toward the spring with a pail in his hand. We shouted to him, 188 BIRCH BROWSINGS. when he turned and ran back into the house without pausing to reply. In a moment the whole family hastily rushed into the yard, and turned their faces toward us. If we had come down their chimney, they could not have seemed more astonished. Not making out what they said, I went down to the house, and learned to my chagrin that we were still on the Mill Brook side, having crossed only a spur of the mount- ain. We had not borne sufficiently to the left, so that the main range, which, at the point of crossing, suddenly breaks off to the southeast, still intervened between us and the lake. We were about five miles, as the water runs, from the point of starting, and over two from the lake. We must go directly back to the top of the range where the guide had left us, and then, by keeping well to the left, we would soon come to a line of marked trees, which would lead us to the lake. So turning upon our trail, we doggedly began the work of undoing what we had just done, in all cases a disagreeable task, in this case a very laborious one also. It was after sunset when we turned back, and before we had got half-way up the mountain it began to be quite dark. We were often obliged to rest our packs against trees and take breath, which made our progress slow. Finally a halt was called, beside an immense flat rock which had paused in its slide down the mountain, and we prepared to encamp for the night. A fire was built, the rock cleared off, a small ration of bread served out, our accoutrements hung up out of the way of the hedgehogs that were BIRCH BROWSINGS. 189 suppose 1 to infest the locality, and then we disposed ourselves for sleep. If the owls or porcupines (and I think I heard one of the latter in the middle of the night) reconnoitred our camp, they saw a buffalo robe spread upon a rock, with three old felt hats ar- ranged on one side, and three pairs of sorry-looking cowhide boots protruding from the other. When we lay down, there was apparently not a mosquito in the woods ; but the " no-see-ems," as Thoreau's Indian aptly named the midges, soon found us out, and after the fire had gone down annoyed us much. My hands and wrists suddenly began to smart and itch in a most unaccountable manner. My first thought was that they had been poisoned in some way. Then the smarting extended to my neck and face, even to my scalp, when I began to suspect what was the matter. So wrapping myself up more thoroughly, and stowing my hands away as best I could, I tried to sleep, being some time behind my companions, who appeared not to mind the " no-see-ems." I was fur- ther annoyed by some little irregularity on my side of the couch. The chambermaid had not beaten it up well. One huge lump refused to be mollified, and each attempt to adapt it to some natural hollow in my own body brought only a moment's relief. But at last I got the better of this also and slept. Late in the night I woke up, just in time to hear a golden- crowned thrush sing in a tree near by. It sang as loud and cheerily as at midday, and I thought myself, after all, quite in luck. Birds occasionally sing at 190 BIRCH BROWSINGS. night, just as the cock crows. I have heard the hair- bird, and the note of the king-bird ; and the ruffed grouse frequently drums at night. At the first faint signs of day, a wood-thrush sang a few rods below us. Then after a little delay, as the gray light began to grow around, thrushes broke out in full song in all parts of the woods. I thought I had never before heard them sing so sweetly. Such a leisurely, golden chant ! it consoled us for all we had undergone. It was the first thing in order, the worms were safe till after this morning chorus. I judged that the birds roosted but a few feet from the ground. In fact, a bird in all cases roosts where it builds, and the wood-thrush occupies, as it were, the first story of the woods. There is something singular about the distribution of the wood-thrushes. At an earlier stage of my ob- servations I should have been much surprised at find- ing it in these woods. Indeed, I had stated in print on two occasions that the wood-thrush was not found in the higher lands of the Catskills, but that the her- mit-thrush and the veery, or Wilson's thrush, were common. It turns out that this statement is only half true. The wood-thrush is found also, but is much more rare and secluded in its habits than either of the others, being seen only during the breeding season on remote mountains, and then only on their eastern and southern slopes. I have never yet in this region found the bird spending the season in the near and familiar woods, which is directly contrary BIRCH BBOWSINGS. 191 to observations I have made in other parts of the State. So different are the habits of birds in differ- ent localities. As soon as it was fairly light we were up and ready to resume our march. A small bit of bread- and-butter and a swallow or two of whiskey was all we had for breakfast that morning. Our supply of each was very limited, and we were anxious to save a little of both, to relieve the diet of trout to which we looked forward. . At an early hour we reached the rock where we had parted with the guide, and looked around us into the dense, trackless woods with many misgivings. To strike out now on our own hook, where the way was so blind and after the experience we had just had? was a step not to be carelessly taken. The tops of these mountains are so broad, and a short distance hi the woods seems so far, that one is by no means mas- ter of the situation after reaching the summit. And then there are so many spurs and offshoots and changes of direction, added to the impossibility of making any generalization by the aid of the eye, that before one is aware of it he is very wide of his mark. I remembered now that a young farmer of my ac- quaintance had told me how he had made a long day's march through the heart of this region, without path or guide of any kind, and had hit his mark squarely. He had been bark-peeling in Callikoon, a famous country for bark, and, having got enough of it, he desired to reach his home on Dry Brook without 192 BIRCH BROWSINGS. making the usual circuitous journey between the two places. To do this necessitated a march of ten or twelve miles across several ranges of mountains and through an unbroken forest, a hazardous under- taking in which no one would join him. Even the old hunters who were familiar with the ground dis- suaded him and predicted the failure of his enterprise. But having made up his mind, he possessed himself thoroughly of the topography of the country from the aforesaid hunters, shouldered his axe, and set out, holding a straight course through the woods, and turning aside for neither swamps, streams, nor mount- ains. When he paused to rest he would mark some object ahead of him with his eye, in order that on getting up again he might not deviate from his course. His directors had told him of a hunter's cabin about midway on his route, which if he struck he might be sure he was right. About noon this cabin was reached, and at sunset he emerged at the head of Dry Brook. After looking in vain for the line of marked trees, we moved off to the the left in a doubtful, hesitating manner, keeping on the highest ground and blazing the trees as we went. We were afraid to go down hill, lest we should descend too soon ; our vantage- ground was high ground. A thick fog coming on, we were more bewildered than ever. Still we pressed forward, climbing up ledges and wading through ferns for about two hours, when we paused by a spring that issued from beneath an immense wall of BIRCH BROWSINGS. 193 rock that belted the highest part of the mountain. There was quite a broad plateau here, and the birch wood was very dense, and the trees of unusual size. After resting and exchanging opinions, we all con- cluded thut it was best not to continue our search en- cumbered as we were ; but we were not willing to abandon it altogether, and I proposed to my com- panions to leave them beside the spring with our traps, while I made one thorough and final effort to find the lake. If I succeeded and desired them to come forward, I was to fire my gun three times ; if I failed and wished to return, I would fire it twice, they, of course responding. So filling my canteen from the spring, I set out again, taking the spring run for my guide. Before I had followed it two hundred yards it sank into the ground at my feet. I had half a mind to be super- stitious and to believe that we were under a spell, since our guides played us such tricks. However, I determined to put the matter to a further test, and struck out boldly to the left. This seemed to be the keyword, to the left, to the left. The fog had now lifted, so that I could form a better idea of the lay of the land. Twice I looked down the steep sides of the mountain, sorely tempted to risk a plunge. Still I hesitated and kept along on the brink. As I stood on a rock deliberating, I heard a crackling of the brush, like the tread of some large game, on a plateau below me. Suspecting the truth of the case, I moved stealthily down, and found a herd of young cattle U 194 BIRCH BROWSINGS. leisurely browsing. We had several times crossed their trail, and had seen that morning a level, grassy place on the top of the mountain, where they had passed the night. Instead of being frightened, as I had expected, they seemed greatly delighted, and gathered around me as if to inquire the tidings from the outer world, perhaps the quotations of the cat- tle market. They came up to me, and eagerly licked my hand, clothes, and gun. Salt was what they were after, and they were ready to swallow anything that contained the smallest percentage of it. They were mostly yearlings and as sleek as moles. They had a very gamy look. We were afterwards told that, in the spring, the farmers round about turn into these woods their young cattle, which do not come out again till fall. They are then in good condition, not fat, like grass-fed cattle, but trim and supple, like deer. Once a month the owner hunts them up and salts them. They have their beats, and seldom wander beyond well-defined limits. It was interesting to see them feed. They browsed on the low limbs and bushes, and on the various plants, munching at every- thing without any apparent discrimination. They attempted to follow me, but I escaped them by clambering down some steep rocks. I now found myself gradually edging down the side of the mount- ain, keeping around it in a spiral manner, and scan- ning the woods and the shape of the ground for some encouraging hint or sign. Finally the woods became more open, and the descent less rapid. The trees BIRCH BROWSINGS. 195 were remarkably straight and uniform in size. Black birches, the first I had seen, were very numerous. I felt encouraged. Listening attentively, I caught from a breeze just lifting the drooping leaves, a sound that I willingly believed was mode by a bull- frog. On this hint, I tore down through the woods at my highest speed. Then I paused and listened again. This time there was no mistaking it ; it was the sound of frogs. Much elated, I rushed on. By and by I could hear them as I ran. Pthrung, pthrung, croaked the old ones ; pug-, pug, shrilly joined in the smaller fry. Then I caught, through the lower trees, a gleam of blue, which I first thought was distant sky. A sec- ond look and I knew it to be water, and in a moment more I stepped from the woods and stood upon the shore of the lake. I exulted silently. There it was at last, sparkling in the morning sun, and as beautiful as a dream. It was so good to come upon such open space and such bright hues, after wandering in the dim, dense woods ! The eye is as delighted as an es- caped bird, and darts gleefully from point to point. The lake was a long oval, scarcely more than a mile in circumference, with evenly wooded shores, which rose gradually on all sides. After contem- plating the scene for a moment, I stepped back into the woods ami loading my gun as heavily as I dared, discharged it three times. The reports seemed to fill all the mountains with sound. The frogs quickly hushed, and I listened for the response. But no re- 196 BIRCH BROWSINGS. sponse came. Then I tried again, and again, but without evoking an answer. One of my companions, however, who had climbed to the top of the high rocks in the rear of the spring thought he heard faintly one report. It seemed an immense distance below him, and far around under the mountain. I knew I had come a long way, and hardly expected to be able to communicate with my companions in the manner agreed upon. I therefore started back, choos- ing my course without any reference to the circuitous route by which I had come, and loading heavily and firing at intervals. I must have aroused many long- dormant echoes from a Rip Van Winkle sleep. As my powder got low, I fired and halloed alternately, till I came near splitting both my throat and gun. Finally, after I had begun to have a very ugly feel- ing of alarm and disappointment, arid to cast about vaguely for some course to pursue in the emergency that seemed near at hand, namely, the loss of my companions now I had found the lake, a favoring breeze brought me the last echo of a response. I re- joined with spirit, and hastened with all speed in the direction whence the sound had come, but after re- peated trials, failed to elicit another answering sound. This filled me with apprehension again. I feared that my friends had been misled by the reverber- ations, and I pictured them to myself hastening in the opposite direction. Paying little attention to my course, but paying dearly for my carelessness after- ward, I rushed forward to undeceive them. But they BIRCH BROWSINGS. 197 had not been deceived, and in a few moments an an- swering shout revealed them near at hand. I heard their tramp, the bushes parted, and we three met again. In answer to their eager inquiries, I assured them that I had seen the lake, that it was at the foot of the mountain, and that we could not miss it if we kept straight down from where we then were. My clothes were soaked with perspiration, but I shouldered my knapsack with alacrity, and we began the descent. I noticed that the woods were much thicker, and had quite a different look from those I had passed through, but thought nothing of it, as I expected to strike the lake near its head, whereas I had before come out at its foot. We had not gone far when we crossed a line of marked trees, which my companions were disposed to follow. It intersected our course nearly at right angles, and kept along and up the side of the mountain. My impression was that it led up from the lake, and that by keeping our own course we should reach the lake sooner than if we followed this line. About half-way down the mountain, we could see through the interstices the opposite slope. I encour- aged my comrades by telling them that the lake was between us and that, and not more than half a mile distant We soon reached the bottom, where we found a small stream and quite an extensive alder- swamp, evidently the ancient bed of a lake. I ex- plained to my half-vexed and half-incredulous com- 198 BIRCH BROWSINGS. panioiis that we were probably above the lake, and that this stream must lead to it. " Follow it," they said ; " we will wait here till we hear from you." So I went on, more than ever disposed to believe that we were under a spell, and that the lake had slipped from my grasp after all. Seeing no favorable sign as I went forward, I laid down my accoutre- ments, and climbed a decayed beech that leaned out over the swamp and promised a good view from the top. As I stretched myself up to look around from the highest attainable branch, there was suddenly a loud crack at the root. With a celerity that would at least have done credit to a bear, I regained the ground, having caught but a momentary glimpse of the country, but enough to convince me no lake was near. Leaving all incumbrances here but my gun, 1 still pressed on, loath to be thus baffled. After floundering through another alder-swamp for nearly half a mile, I flattered myself that I was close on to the lake. I caught sight of a low spur of the mount- ain sweeping around like a half extended arm, and I fondly imagined that within its clasp was the object of my search. But I found only more alder-swamp. After this region was cleared, the creek began to descend the mountain very rapidly- Its banks be- came high and narrow, and it went whirling away with a sound that seemed to my ears like a burst of ironical laughter. I turned back with a feeling of mingled disgust, shame, and vexation. In fact I was almost sick, and when I reached my companions, after BIRCH BROWSINGS. 199 an absence of nearly two hours, hungry, fatigued, and disheartened, I would have sold my interest in Thom- as's Lake at a very low figure. For the first time, I heartily wished myself well out of the woods. Thomas might keep his lake, and the enchanters guard his possession ! I doubted if he had ever found it the sec- ond time, or if any one else ever had. My companions who were quite fresh, and who had not felt the strain of baffled purpose as I had, assumed a more encouraging tone. After I had rested a while, and partaken sparingly of the bread and whiskey, which in such an emergency is a great improvement on bread and water, I agreed to. their proposition that we should make another attempt. As if to reassure us, a robin sounded his cheery call near by, and the winter-wren, the first I had heard in these woods, set his music-box going, which fairly ran over with fine, gushing, lyrical sounds. There can be no doubt but this bird is one of our finest songsters. If it would only thrive and sing well when caged, like the canary, how far it would sur- pass that bird ! It has all the vivacity and versatil- ity of the canary, without any of its shrillness. Its song is indeed a little cascade of melody. We again retraced our steps, rolling the stone, as it were, back up the mountain, determined to commit ourselves to the line of marked trees. These we finally reached, and, after exploring the country to the right, saw that bearing to the left was still the order. The trail led up over a gentle rise of ground, 200 BIRCH BROWSINGS. and in less than twenty minutes we were in the woods I had passed through when I found the lake. The error I had made was then plain ; we had come off the mountain a few paces too far to the right, and so had passed down on the wrong side of the ridge, into what we afterwards learned was the valley of Alder Creek. We now made good time, and before many minutes I again saw the mimic sky glance through the trees. As we approached the lake a solitary woodchuck, the first wild animal we had seen since entering the woods, sat crouched upon the root of a tree a few feet from the water, apparently completed nonplussed by the unexpected appearance of danger on the land side. All retreat was cut off, and he looked his fate in the face without flinching. I slaughtered him just as a savage would have done, and from the same mo- tive, I wanted his carcass to eat. The mid-afternoon sun was now shining upon the lake, and a low, steady breeze drove the little waves rocking to the shore. A herd of cattle were brows- ing on the other side, and the bell of the leader sounded across the water. In these solitudes its clang was wild and musical. To try the trout was the first thing in order. On a rude raft of logs which we found moored at the shore, and which with two aboard shipped about a foot of water, we floated out and wet our first fly in Thomas's Lake ; but the trout refused to jump, and, to be frank, not more than a dozen and a half were BIRCH BROWSINGS. 201 caught during our stay. Only a week previous, a party of three had taken in a few hours all the fish they could carry out of the woods, and had nearly surfeited their neighbors with trout. But from some cause they now refused to rise, or to touch any kind of bait : so we fell to catching the sun-fish which were small but very abundant. Their nests were all along shore. A space about the size of a breakfast-plate was cleared of sediment and decayed vegetable mat- ter, revealing the pebbly bottom, fresh and bright, with one or two fish suspended over the centre of it. keeping watch and ward. If an intruder approached, they would dart at him spitefully. These fish have the air of bantam cocks, and with their sharp, prickly fins and spines, and scaly sides, must be ugly custom- ers in a hand to hand encounter with other finny warriors. To a hungry man they look about as un- promising as hemlock slivers, so thorny and thin are they ; yet there is sweet meat in them, as we found that clay. Much refreshed, I set out with the sun low in the west to explore the outlet of the lake and try for trout there, while my companions made further trials in the lake itself. The outlet, as is usual in bodies of water of this kind, was very gentle and private. The stream, six or eight feet wide, flowed silently and evenly along for a distance of three or four rods, when it suddenly, as if conscious of its freedom, took a leap down some rocks. Thence, as far as I fol- lowed it, its descent was very rapid, through a con- 202 BIRCH BROWSINGS. tinuous succession of brief falls like so many steps down the mountain. Its appearance promised more trout than I found, though I returned to camp with a very respectable string. Toward sunset I went round to explore the inlet, and found that as usual the stream wound leisurely through marshy ground. The water being much colder than in the outlet, the trout were more plenti- ful. As I was picking my way over the miry ground and through the rank growths, a ruffed grouse hopped up on a fallen branch a few paces before me, and, jerking his tail, threatened to take flight. But as I was at that moment gunless and remained stationary, he presently jumped down and walked away. A seeker of birds, and ever on the alert for some new acquaintance, my attention was arrested, on first entering the swamp, by a bright, lively song, or war- ble, that issued from the branches overhead, and that was entirely new to me, though there was something in the tone of it that told me the bird was related to the wood-wagtail and to the water- wagtail or thrush. The strain was emphatic and quite loud, like the canary's, but very brief. The bird kept itself well secreted in the upper branches of the trees and for a long time eluded my eye. I passed to and fro sev- eral times, and it seemed to break out afresh as I ap- proached a certain little bend in the creek, and to cease after I had got beyond it ; no doubt its nest was somewhere in the vicinity. After some delay the bird was sighted and brought down. It proved BIRCH BROWSINGS. 203 to be the small, or Northern, water-thrush (called also the New York water-thrush) a new bird to me. In size it was noticeably smaller than the large, or Louisiana, water-thrush, as described by Audubon, but in other respects its general appearance was the same. It was a great treat to me, and again I felt myself in luck. This bird was unknown to the older ornithologists, and is but poorly described by the new. It builds a mossy nest on the ground, or under the edge of a de- cayed log. A correspondent writes me that he has found it breeding on the mountains in Pennsylvania. The large-billed water-thrush is much the superior songster, but the present species has a very bright and cheerful strain. The specimen I saw, contrary to the habits of the family, kept in the tree-tops like a warbler, and seemed to be engaged in catching in- sects. The birds were unusually plentiful and noisy about the head of this lake ; robins, blue jays, and wood- peckers greeted me with their familiar notes. The blue jays found an owl or some wild animal a short distance above me, and, as is their custom on such occasions, proclaimed it at the top of their voices, and kept on till the darkness began to gather in the woods. I also heard here, as I had at two or three other points in the course of the day, the peculiar, resonant hammering of some species of woodpecker upon the hard, dry limbs. It was unlike any sound of the kind 204 BIRCH BROWSINGS. I had ever before heard, and, repeated at intervals through the silent woods, was a very marked and characteristic feature. Its peculiarity was the ordered succession of the raps, which gave it the character of a premeditated performance. There were first three strokes following each other rapidly, then two much louder ones with longer intervals between them. I heard the drumming here, and the next day at sunset at Furlow Lake, the source of Dry Brook, and in no instance was the order varied. There was melody in it, such as a woodpecker knows how to evoke from a smooth, dry branch. It suggested something quite as pleasing as the liveliest bird-song, and was if any- thing more woodsy and wild. As the yellow-bellied woodpecker was the most abundant species in these woods I attributed it to him. It is the one sound that still links itself with those scenes in my mind. At sunset the grouse began to drum in all parts of the woods about the lake. I could hear five at one time, thump, thump, thump, thump, t/ir-r-r-r-r-r-rr. It was a homely, welcome sound. As I returned to camp at twilight, along the shore of the lake, the frogs also were in full chorus. The older ones ripped out their responses to each other with terrific force and volume. I know of no other animal capable of giving forth so much sound, in proportion to its size, as a frog. Some of these seemed to bellow as loud as a two-year-old bull. They were of immense size, and very abundant. No frog-eater had ever been there. Near the shore we felled a tree which reached BIRCH BROWSINGS. 205 far out in the lake. Upon the tnmk and branches the frogs had soon collected in large numbers, and gamboled and splashed about the half-submerged top, like a parcel of school-boys, making nearly as much noise. After dark, as I was frying the fish, a panful of the largest trout was accidentally capsized in the fire. With rueful countenances we contemplated the irrep- arable loss our commissariat had sustained by this mishap ; but remembering there was virtue in ashes, we poked the half-consumed fish from the bed of coals and ate them, and they were good. We lodged that night on a brush-heap and slept soundly. The green, yielding beech-twigs, covered with a buffalo robe, were equal to a hair mattress. The heat and smoke from a large fire kindled in the afternoon had banished every " no-see-em " from the locality, and in the morning the sun was above the mountain before we awoke. I immediately started again for the inlet, and went far up the stream toward its source. A fair string of trout for breakfast was my reward. The cattle with the bell were at the head of the valley, where they had passed the night. Most of them were two-year- old steers. They came up to me and begged for salt, and scared the fish by their importunities. We finished our bread that morning, and ate every fish we could catch, and about ten o'clock prepared to leave the lake. The weather had been admirable, and the lake was a gem, and I would gladly have 206 BIRCH BROWSINGS. spent a week in the neighborhood ; but the question of supplies was a serious one, and would brook no delay. When we reached, on our return, the point where we had crossed the line of marked trees the day be- fore, the question arose whether we should still trust ourselves to this line, or follow our own trail back to the spring and the battlement of rocks on the top of the mountain, and thence to the rock where the guide had left us. We decided in favor of the former course. After a march of three quarters of an hour the blazed trees ceased, and we concluded we were near the point at which we had parted with the guide. So we built a fire, laid down our loads, and cast about on all sides for some clew as to our exact locality. Nearly an hour was consumed in this manner and without any result. I came upon a brood of young grouse, which diverted me for a moment. The old one blustered about at a furious rate, trying to draw all attention to herself, while the young ones, which were unable to fly, hid themselves. She whined like a dog in great distress, and dragged herself along ap- parently with the greatest difficulty. As I pursued her, she ran very nimbly, and presently flew a few yards. Then, as I went on, she flew farther and farther each time, till at last she got up, and went humming through the woods as if she had no interest in them. I went back and caught one of the young, which had simply squatted close to the leaves. I took it up and set it on the palm of my hand, which BIRCH BROWSINGS. 207 it hugged as closely as if still upon the ground. I then put it in my coatsleeve, when it ran and nestled in my armpit. When we met at the sign of the smoke, opinions differed as to the most feasible course. There was no doubt but that we could get out of the woods ; but we wished to get out speedily and as near as pos- sible to the point where we had entered. Half ashamed of our timidity and indecision, we finally tramped away back to where we had crossed the line of blazed trees, followed our old trail to the spring on the top of the range, and, after much searching and scouring to the right and left found ourselves at the very place we had left two hours before. Another deliberation and a divided council. But something must be done. It was then mid-after- noon, and the prospect of spending another night on the mountains, without food or drink, was not pleas- ant. So we moved down the ridge. Here another line of marked trees was found, the course of which formed an obtuse angle with the one we had followed. It kept on the top of the ridge for perhaps a mile, when it entirely disappeared, and we were as much adrift as ever. Then one of the party swore on oath, and said he was going out of those woods, hit or miss, and wheeling to the right, instantly plunged over the brink of the mountain. The rest followed, but would fain have paused and ciphered away at their own uncertainties, to see if a certainty could not be arrived at as to where we would come out. But our 208 BIRCH BROWSINGS. bold leader was solving the problem in the right way. Down and down and still down we went, as if we were to bring up in the bowels of the earth. It was by far the steepest descent we had made, and we felt a grim satisfaction in knowing that we could not re- trace our steps this time, be the issue what it might. As we paused on the brink of a ledge of rocks, we chanced to see through the trees distant cleared land. A house or barn also was dimly descried. This was encouraging ; but we could not make out whether it was on Beaver Kill or Mill Brook or Dry Brook, and did not long stop to consider where it was. We at last brought up at the bottom of a deep gorge, through which flowed a rapid creek that literally swarmed with trout. But we were in no mood to catch them, and pushed on along the channel of the stream, sometimes leaping from rock to rock, and sometimes splashing heedlessly through the water, and speculating the while as to where we would probably come out. On the Beaver Kill, my com- panions thought; but, from the position of the sun, I said, on the Mill Brook, about six miles below our team ; for I remembered having seen, in coming up this stream, a deep, wild valley that led up into the mountains, like this one. Soon the banks of the stream became lower, and we moved into the woods. Here we entered upon an obscure wood-road, which presently conducted us into the midst of a vast hem- lock forest. The land had a gentle slope, and we wondered why the lumbermen and barkmen who BIRCH BROWSINGS. 209 prowl through these woods had left this fine tract untouched. Beyond this the forest was mostly birch and maple. We were now close to the settlement, and began to hear human sounds. One rod more, and we were out of the woods. It took us a moment to compre- hend the scene. Things looked very strange at first ; but quickly they began to change and to put on fa- miliar features. Some magic scene-shifting seemed to take place before my eyes, till, instead of the un- known settlement which I at first seemed to look upon there stood the farm-house at which we had stopped two days before, and at the same moment we heard the stumping of our team in the barn. We sat down and laughed heartily over our good luck. Our desperate venture had resulted better than we had dared to hope, and had shamed our wisest plans. At the house our arrival had been anticipated about this time, and dinner-was being put upon the table. It was then five o'clock, so that we had been in the woods just forty-eight hours ; but if time is only phenomenal, as the philosophers say, and life only in feeling, as the poets aver, we were some months, if not years, older at that moment than we had been two days before. Yet younger too, though this be a paradox, for the birches had infused into us some of their own suppleness and strength. 14 THE BLUEBIRD. THE BLUEBIRD. WHEN Nature made the bluebird she wished to propitiate both the sky and the earth, so she gave him the color of the one on his back and the hue of the other on his breast, and ordained that his appear- ance in spring should denote that the strife and war between these two elements was at an end. He is the peace-harbinger ; in him the celestial and terres- trial strike hands and are fast friends. He means the furrow and he means the warmth ; he means all the soft, wooing influences of the spring on the one hand, and the retreating footsteps of winter on the other. It is sure to be a bright March morning when you first hear his note; and it is as if the milder in- fluences up above had found a voice and let a word fall upon your ear, so tender is it and so prophetic, a hope tinged with a regret. 214 THE BLUEBIRD. " Bermuda ! Bermuda ! Bermuda ! " he seems to say, as if both invoking and lamenting, and behold ! Bermuda follows close, though the little pilgrim may be only repeating the tradition of his race, himself having come only from Florida, the Carolinas, or even from Virginia, where he has found his Bermuda on some broad sunny hill-side thickly studded with cedars and persimmon trees. In New York and in New England the sap starts up in the sugar-maple the very day the bluebird arrives, and sugar-making begins forthwith. The bird is generally a mere disembodied voice ; a rumor in the air for two or three days before it takes visible shape before you. The males are. the pioneers, and come several days in advance of the females. By the time both are here and the pair have begun to prospect for a place to nest, sugar-making is over, the last vestige of snow has disappeared, and the plow is brightening its mould-board in the new fur- row. The bluebird enjoys the preeminence of being the first bit of color that cheers our northern landscape. The other birds that arrive about the same time the sparrow, the robin, the phcebe-bird are clad in neutral tints, gray, brown, or russet ; but the blue- bird brings one of the primary hues and the divinest of them all. This bird also has the distinction of answering very nearly to the robin redbreast of English memory, and was by the early settlers of New England christened the blue-robin. THE BLUEBIRD. 215 It is a size or two larger, and the ruddy hue of its breast does not verge so nearly on an orange, but the manners and habits of the two birds are very much alike. Our bird has the softest voice, but the Eng- lish redbreast is much the most skilled musician, lie has indeed a fine, animated warble, heard nearly the year through about English gardens and along the old hedge-rows, that is quite beyond the compass of our bird's instrument On the other hand, our bird is associated with the spring as the British spe- cies cannot be, being a winter resident also, while the brighter sun and sky of the New World has given him a coat that far surpasses that of his transatlantic cousin. It is worthy of remark that among British birds there is no blue-bird. The cerulean tint seems much rarer among the feathered tribes there than here. On this continent there are at least three species of the common bluebird, while in all our woods there is the blue jay and the indigo-bird, the latter so in- tensely blue as to fully justify its name. There is also the blue grossbeak, not much behind the indigo- bird in intensity of color ; and among our warblers the blue tint is very common. It is interesting to know that the blue-bird is not confined to any one section of the country ; and that when one goes west he will still have this favorite with him, though a little changed in voice and color, just enough to give variety without marring the identity. 216 THE BLUEBIRD. The western bluebird is considered a distinct spe- cies, and is perhaps a little more brilliant and showy than its Eastern brother ; and Nuttall thinks its song is more varied, sweet, and tender. Its color approaches to ultramarine, while it has a sash of chestnut-red across its shoulders, all the effects, I expect, of that wonderful air and sky of California, and of those great western plains ; or if one goes a little higher up into the mountainous regions of the West he finds the Arctic bluebird, the ruddy brown on the breast changed to greenish-blue, and the wings longer and more pointed ; in other respects not dif- fering much from our species. The bluebird usually builds its nest in a hole in a stump or stub, or in an old cavity excavated by a woodpecker, when such can be had ; but its first im- pulse seems to be to start in the world in much more style, and the happy pair make a great show of house- hunting about the farm-buildings, now half persuaded to appropriate a dove-cot, then discussing in a lively manner a last year's swallow's nest, or proclaiming with much flourish and flutter that they have taken the wren's house, or the tenement of the purple mar- tin ; till finally nature becomes too urgent, when all this pretty make-believe ceases, and most of them settle back upon the old family stumps and knot- holes in remote fields, and go to work in earnest. In such situations the female is easily captured by approaching very stealthily and covering the entrance to the nest. The bird seldom makes any effort (o THK BLCKBIRD. 217 escape, seeing how hopeless the case is, and keeps her place on the nest till she feels your hand closing around her. I have looked down into the cavity and seen the poor thing palpitating with fear and looking up with distended eyes, but never moving till I had withdrawn a few paces ; then she rushes out with a