March-April, 1916

CONTENTS

First Efforts at Bird Photography

By H. IRA HARTSHORN, Newark, N. J.

With photographs by the author

I visited it again on April 26, and expected to see two eggs in the little home; but, when I arrived there, I found that the nest had been broken off at the very bottom of the eight inches already dug. This was caused by the Chickadees’ digging too close to the rotten bark, when the first gust of wind probably broke it. Much to my delight, the birds were not daunted by this misfortune, but kept on building. On April 24, the hole was started the second time. A friend saw the Chickadees begin the hole. On April 26, the hole was six inches deep! The birds had dug through fourteen inches of wood to make their home!

On May 2 the nest was finished, and on May 9 there were eight eggs in the little bit of a hole that could hardly hold the mother bird.

May 23, I took my camera with me to the nest. I expected that the young birds would be out by that time, and that the old birds would be flying in and out with food, giving me many opportunities for photography. I looked in the nest and saw that every egg was hatched, so I proceeded to set my camera about two feet away, when who should appear on the ground-glass but one of the parents, with a mouth full of struggling little green caterpillars. She, if it were the female, looked at the camera a second or two, then, without another thought of the outside world, hopped down into the nest and fed her young.

The camera arranged, I was just about to seek concealment behind a bush, when both of the parent birds flew near the nest with food. I stood very still. One of the birds, the male, I think, stopped too, but the other one flew right into the nest. She soon came out, and stood on the very point I had the camera focused. Very slowly I put my hand up to the shutter-release, expecting the bird to fly any minute; but at last I reached it and, click, I had my first ‘close up’ bird picture. And it was the best one, too; for although I took six or seven others, they did not turn out so well as the first one.

May 31, I went to take the pictures of the little Chickadees, but found that they were still too small to handle. I was not able to go again, but my friend reports that the whole family of eight young left the nest, and were very healthy-looking little birds. This nest was situated on the edge of a woods at Verona, N. J.

During the two weeks’ vacation at Fredon, Sussex Co., N. Y., I found twelve nests, a list of which follows. All but three were found on a farm.

One Robin’s nest, containing one egg. Deserted for unknown cause.

Two Field Sparrows’ nests. Each contained young, almost full-grown birds. One nest had an unfertile egg in it.

One Barn Swallow’s nest, containing four eggs.

Two Red-winged Blackbirds’ nests, each with four eggs. Both nests were broken up. One was entirely empty and the other contained the shells of the eggs. I could not find out the cause of this double tragedy.

Two House Wrens’ nests. Both of these were in fence-posts. I caught one bird with the camera just as it was entering the nest.

Two Chipping Sparrows’ nests. One was in an unusual place, on the limb of a Norway spruce that projected over the porch roof. I got some very good photographs of this family, which consisted of the parents and three young. The young were hatched on June 6, and they left the nest on June 15.

One Kingbird’s nest, containing three eggs, was on a limb of a willow tree that extended over a pond about ten feet. The nest itself was three feet above the water.

One Flicker’s nest. I could not determine the number of young in this nest, but I knew they were there by their hissing at a shadow over the entrance to the nest.

This year the Bobolink appeared in the neighborhood of Fredon for the first time in at least four years, if not more.

Of all the songs of birds I have heard, I like the Bobolink’s the best.

The Interesting Barn Owl

By JOSEPH W. LIPPINCOTT, Bethayres, Pa.

With a photograph by the author

he Barn Owl commands my respect. He is the greatest mouse-eating machine I have yet encountered, and as such surely deserves every consideration in these days of crop destruction by rodents. Like most Owls, he does not allow his presence long to remain unsuspected. A loud, harsh scream after nightfall, repeated at the right intervals to keep one awake and echoed by the young Owls when they appear, is his greeting. And well may the little mice shiver in their poor retreats!

I heard the good old Barn Owls again and again during early spring nights, and later found that two, or perhaps more, young ones were generally in or about a hemlock grove not far from the creek and the swampy meadows that make such ideal feeding-grounds and are, in fact, the nucleus of the rodent hosts that spread over the neighboring farms each summer. It was by mere accident, however, that I found a nest.

A neighbor was planning a greenhouse on the site then occupied by his young chickens and, to give security to the glass, cut down a great storm-battered and fire-scarred buttonball tree that stood at one end of his farm buildings. Down it came with terrific force, but without killing three young Barn Owls, which were able to give one of the workmen a big scare when he climbed over the top. And this happened in the middle of August, when one brood was already in the woods!

They were in a deep, dark, ill-smelling hollow, and a weird-looking trio indeed with the white down still clinging over the yellow-brown feathers. What startled the workman was a splendid series of hisses; for they understood how to make the sound about as wickedly as the most poisonous serpent.

A little Owl is generally all grit, and these were the grittiest, bramble-footed propositions I ever expect to handle. Their big eyes kept an unwinking glare fixed on each one who came near, and they leaped like lightning, often all three together, at a hand thrust within reach. It would have been very comical except for the bitter earnestness which the poor little fellows put into their defense, making one feel sorry for them when double gloves prevailed, and they were deposited in a chicken-coop nearby, to prevent interference with the chopping. Then, for hours after the moving, it seemed as if steam were strangely and violently escaping from an ordinary chicken-coop, much to the astonishment of visitors.

Around the tree were many of the small masses of fur and bones which Owls disgorge a few hours after meals. These show very well what animals have been taken and, in this case, were most interesting, since the dozens I examined contained the remains of field mice, deer mice, shrews, and moles only. No rabbits, no squirrels, no insects, no little birds! Indeed, there was not a feather of any kind, although the little chickens had been running about and roosting all spring and summer within a few feet—alluring, easy and constantly announcing their presence by seductive peeping.

The old hollow must have suffered long use. It opened toward the south through a large limb hole about thirty feet from the ground, and also upward through the broken top of the tree; though that exit was not used, and probably only served to let in a veritable deluge of water during the thunderstorms. No doubt, too, the young Owls amused themselves watching the clouds and the stars pass slowly over their heads day by day, with the added excitement of a Hawk, Buzzard, or smaller bird now and then. They rested on layers of debris which, when examined, showed that honey bees had once been tenants, and later bats and generations of Owls, perhaps many other birds, for hollows have a strange, interesting history.

The birds themselves seemed about the size of old ones without the full feathering, strong muscle and weight. They were so queer and wore such humorous expressions whenever approached that, from the first, they would have been objects of continual interested observation, were it not for the rather discouraging fact that this almost always brought on a quarrel. The bright light and excited feelings seemed to confuse one so much that he would mistake the others for enemies and pounce on them. This caused equally fierce retaliation every time, and resulted in all three being scratched about the thighs. Darkening the coop remedied this.

It impressed me then as strange that, with all the birds’ show of aggressiveness, there was no snapping of beaks nor marked disposition to bite; but I later found that they did not have the same strength in their beaks as most varieties of Owls, particularly the Great Horned Owls, which crush the skull of a rabbit with such ease. This, I suppose, has something to do with the species’ love of very small mammals, which can be torn to pieces and swallowed without trouble by those queer cavernous mouths. Their hooked claws, which gripped me on several occasions, were all right, though and as sharp as needles.

The youngsters were left severely alone until evening, when, with the lessening light, came a quick change. They seemed to lose some of their fear, and to be expectantly listening for something. Every now and then one would utter a rasping cry, which blended harmoniously with the insect chorus and yet could be heard a long distance.

Just as the sun set and the glow still spread over the west, the cries became very insistent, and a shadow seemed to pass for an instant over the coop as one of the parents flew quietly into a locust tree nearby, and stood there close to the trunk, a mouse dangling from the left foot. It soon flew out and circled noiselessly, only to disappear very soon, much to the disgust of the coop occupants. Several minutes elapsed, the evening silence broken only by the rasping call and the drum of the katy-dids; then an old Owl circled by bearing a mouse in its beak. It may have been the same bird and the same mouse, the deepening shadows making it impossible to see accurately.

The night being dark, I left my hiding-place and the birds until morning, when it was surprising to find only the smallest of the three in the coop, and that dead. The other two had escaped; but how they squeezed beneath slats which allowed only the tiniest chicks to go through will ever be a mystery to me. I could not even pull out the remaining one. It was much less developed than the other two, both in size of limb and feather, and had evidently succumbed to the effects of the frightful fall, though its body showed no bruise.

I hunted around the debris of the felled trees, and finally spied the others, which had done some expert climbing and hidden in the darkest corners, one beneath a tree trunk, the other in a leafy top where it had evidently stayed all night, as evidenced by a kind of bed stamped down and lined with surplus food carried there by the parents. Such a supper! three particularly fine meadow mice and a fat star-nosed mole, all freshly killed and whole.

The youngsters, which at first crouched silently, were in a very bitter frame of mind, so I carried them out by the wing tips—the only satisfactory way I found of handling such a brambly article—and later made them stand in the light for a photograph—a difficult matter, because they ran with all speed for the wood-pile as soon as released. Just as I thought I had them, after many attempts, one mistook the other for a foe, and, without preliminaries, went for him. However, the other one met the rush feet first and seized the attacking claws before they hit, practically holding down his brother by each foot while he glared into his face in comical fashion, and hissed for all he was worth. This holding hands continued with much comical shaking of heads, until both birds suddenly struck at each other somewhat as roosters do; then they held hands again until separated and put into a deep open-top box for safe-keeping. If left free, dogs, cats, or opossums would most likely have found them through the strong odor so noticeable about young birds of prey. The mice were, however, first cut into pieces and thrust down the apparently hungry birds’ throats, while each was held by his feet and neck.

Every night after that the youngsters were visited and fed by the devoted old ones, and always it was with mice of some kind or moles—principally meadow mice, house mice, white-footed mice, shrews and ground moles—as many as eight sometimes, as shown by the disgorged pellets or uneaten bodies.

The parents also scrupulously cleaned the old box each night. They lived in the hemlock wood across the narrow valley, but in what tree I could not discover. One would appear soon after sunset with some kind of mouse, and by eleven o’clock had apparently satisfied the youngsters’ hunger, for the rasping cries would usually cease and an occasional louder and clearer cry of the old birds pierce the darkness.

One fine morning found the youngsters gone. Day after day they had tried to jump out of the box, each time coming a little closer to the edge. After this they could be heard calling in the evenings, and sometimes until dawn. Always in the wood, they perched high up side by side or on nearby limbs, and lazily relied on their parents to keep up the good work of providing mice. On dark nights they called much longer than on moonlight nights, which convinced me that the hunting was more difficult then.

Occasionally a parent could be seen standing always very erect on the barn gable overlooking a truck-garden, but usually it would watch from a tree in the marshy meadows, now and then dropping to the ground and staying there a considerable time as if hunting on foot among the grass clumps, a method which, from the great agility of the young when pursued on the ground and in the brush piles, I can well imagine no cat could improve on.

I tried without success to draw them by imitating their strange cry, and also a mouse’s squeak made by sucking loudly on the back of the hand. A Screech Owl and many wild animals would take instant notice of the latter, but not the Barn Owls. Even a rat caught in a trap failed to entice these birds, though several Screech Owls responded at once.

But who has stirred a Barn Owl? Over the dew-laden meadows he stands guard, or perhaps at the edge of the moonlit corn-fields, waiting for the only prey that seems to interest him. He knows the country like a book, the runways of the meadow mouse, the house mouse’s path from corn shock to corn shock, the mole’s early morning starting point.

Under the old buttonball tree the broods of young chickens ran from early morning to night. The owner felt that the large Owls were a menace to his flock and watched for them with a gun. But, with the fall of the old tree and a study of their food, a new light has spread to every farm in that vicinity.

I heard the young Owl’s last ‘rasp’ on October 16; it was full of the weird power which thrills one in the dark hours. A few minutes later, a big bird flew low toward the orchard—the young Owls had taken to hunting at last.

The Migration of North American Birds

Compiled by Prof. W. W. Cooke, Chiefly from Data in the Biological Survey

With a drawing by Louis Agassiz Fuertes

(See Frontispiece)

THE BUSH-TIT

All of the forms of Bush-Tits in the United States are non-migratory. The present species, which is better known by the name of the Least Bush-Tit, is confined to the Pacific Coast, where it ranges from northern Lower California to southern British Columbia. This is the range of the typical form (Psaltriparus minimus minimus), while a subspecies called the California Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus minimus californicus) occurs over much of eastern California east of the Sacramento Valley, from the southern end of the Sierras nearly to the Oregon line. A third form, or subspecies, the Grinda Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus minimus grindÆ), is confined to the southern end of Lower California.

THE LEAD-COLORED BUSH-TIT

The southern boundary of the range of the Lead-colored Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus plumbeus) is found in western Texas, northern Mexico, southeastern to northwestern Arizona, and the Providence Mountains, California. Thence it occurs north to central and northwestern Colorado, northern Utah and northwestern Nevada. A few individuals have been noted in southwestern Wyoming and southeastern Oregon.

LLOYD’S BUSH-TIT

Scarcely coming across the boundary from its real home in northern Mexico, the Lloyd Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus melanotis lloydi) occurs in the southern part of the mountains of western Texas and barely crosses the line in southwestern New Mexico.

THE VERDIN

Confined to the borderland of the southwestern United States, the Verdin in its typical form (Auriparus flaviceps flaviceps) is one of the most interesting birds of the desert and semi-arid districts, and is non-migratory. It ranges north to southeastern California, southern Nevada, northwestern Arizona (and extreme southwestern Utah), southwestern and southeastern New Mexico, western and southern Texas, and south into northern Mexico and the northern half of Lower California. The southern half of Lower California is occupied by a subspecies called the Cape Verdin (Auriparus flaviceps lamprocephalus).

THE WREN-TIT

The known ranges of the various forms, or subspecies of the Wren-Tit are given in the following paper. All the forms are non-migratory.

Notes on the Plumage of North American Birds

THIRTY-SEVENTH PAPER

By FRANK M. CHAPMAN

(See Frontispiece)

Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus minimus and races. Fig. 1). The Bush-Tits of this group may be known by their brownish crown. The male and female are alike in color; the young bird closely resembles them but has the crown somewhat darker, and the winter plumage differs from that worn in summer only in being slightly deeper in tone. Three races of this species are known: The Bush-Tit (P. m. minimus) of the Pacific coast from northern Lower California to Washington, in which the crown is sooty brown; the California Bush-Tit (P. m. californicus), which occupies the interior of California and Oregon, and has the crown much brighter than in the coast form; and Grinda’s Bush-Tit (P. m. grindÆ), a form of the Cape Region of Lower California with a grayer back.

Lead-colored Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus plumbeus. Fig. 2). The gray crown, of the same color as the back distinguishes this species from the Bush-Tits living west of the Sierras. The male and the female are alike in color; the young is essentially like them, but has less brownish on the sides of the head, and there are no seasonal changes in color.

Lloyd’s Bush-Tit (Psaltriparus melanotis lloydi. Figs. 3, 4). Lloyd’s Bush-Tit is a northern form of the Black-eared Bush-Tit of the Mexican tableland. Occurring over our border only in western Texas, southern New Mexico, and southern Arizona, it is rarely observed by the field ornithologist. The adult male may always be known by its black cheeks; and when the female has any black on the sides of the head (as in Fig. 4), no difficulty is experienced in identifying her. But immature males and often some apparently adult females are without black, and they then so closely resemble the Lead-colored Bush-Tit that it is impossible to distinguish them by color alone.

Verdin (Auriparus flaviceps. Fig. 5). When it leaves the nest, the young Verdin is a gray bird with no yellow on its head or chestnut on its wing-coverts, but at the postjuvenal molt both yellow head and chestnut patch are acquired, and the bird, now in its first winter plumage, cannot be distinguished from its parents. These closely resemble each other, but the female sometimes has less yellow on the head. After the colors of maturity are acquired, they are retained, and thereafter there is essentially no change in the Verdin’s appearance throughout the year.

There are but two races of the Verdin. One (A. f. flaviceps) occupies our Mexican border from coast to coast. The other, the Cape Verdin (A. f. lamprocephalus), a smaller bird with a brighter yellow head, is found only in the Cape Region of Lower California.

Wren-Tit (ChamÆa fasciata. Fig. 6). The Wren-Tit enjoys the distinction of being the only species in the only family of birds peculiar to North America. It is restricted to the Pacific coast region from northern Lower California north to Oregon. While it presents practically no variation in color with age, sex, or season, it varies considerably with locality, four races of it being recognized. Since they are non-migratory, the purposes of field identification will best be served by outlining their distribution as it is given in Dr. Grinnell’s recent, authoritative ‘Distributional List of the Birds of California’ as follows:

Pallid Wren-Tit (ChamÆa fasciata henshawi). Common resident of the Upper Sonoran Zone west of the deserts and Great Basin drainage from the Mexican line through the San Diegan district, northward coastwise to San Luis Obispo and San Benito counties, and interiorly along the western foothills of the Sierra Nevada to the lower McCloud River, in Shasta County; also along the inner northern coast ranges from Helena, Trinity County, and Scott River, Siskiyou County, south to Covelo, Mendocino County, and Vacaville, Solano County. The easternmost stations for this form are: vicinity of Walker Pass, Kern County, and Campo, San Diego County.

Intermediate Wren-Tit (ChamÆa fasciata fasciata). Common resident of the coast region south of San Francisco Bay, from the Golden Gate to southern Monterey County; east to include the Berkeley hills and at least the west slopes of the Mount Hamilton range.

Ruddy Wren-Tit (ChamÆa fasciata rufula). Common resident of the humid coast belt immediately north of San Francisco Bay, in Marin, Sonoma, and Mendocino counties. Northernmost station for this form: Mendocino City.

Coast Wren-Tit (ChamÆa fasciata phÆa). Fairly common resident locally in the extreme northern humid coast belt. Humboldt and Del Norte Counties.

A Correction

Through a typographical error the Tree Sparrow was included in the Census of Mrs. Herbert R. Mills of Tampa, Florida, published in the January-February, 1916, issue of Bird-Lore. The record should have read Tree Swallow.—Editor.

Hints for Bird Clubs

The greatest problem with most of our bird clubs seems to be: What can we do to make our meetings interesting, so that all the members, especially the younger ones, will be anxious to come?

In planning for parties, picnics, or other entertainments of that sort, we usually expect to have everyone present take a part in whatever games or sports there are, and, no matter how often we have them, there is never any question but that all who can do so will be there. I believe that bird-club meetings can be made equally attractive if we go about them in the same way, rather than to plan some sort of entertainment where only a few are to have a part, as is usually the case.

There is almost no limit to the number of interesting and instructive things we can do, and it will be possible for even the more advanced bird students to learn something new at nearly every meeting.

Every member should have a notebook for keeping a record of the birds seen and identified, with any new or interesting things observed, for comparison with others at each meeting; and each member should have a standing in the club according to the number of birds identified and the amount of work done for the birds. This will be an inducement for each member to do something or learn something new before the next meeting, and to be present at all the meetings, to learn what others have done. It will also be found helpful in learning about birds and in remembering what is seen; for, unless we have some special reason for noting carefully all that may be seen on our walks, even the most interested observers will miss many things, and will forget much of what they did see.

When about to start on a walk of about three miles, one bright pleasant morning last June, I decided to keep a list of all the birds seen and heard from the time I started until I returned. The walk was finished between twelve and one o’clock, when most of the birds were quiet and few were seen; yet I saw 105 birds on the trip, and had a good idea of the number and variety of birds one might see at this time of the year. If I had kept no record of the number, I could not have told how many I was likely to see, or which species would be seen oftenest. All such things will prove interesting at the meetings, and will add largely to our knowledge of birds in the course of a year.

In winter, we should note the feeding habits of the different birds and the number and kinds of winter visitors seen; it is also a good time to make a study of nests, where they are placed, and the material used in each.

In summer, there will be something for every day if we have our eyes open; nesting habits, bird-baths, and occasionally some rare migrant to tell about. It would be impossible to give a complete list of the interesting things to be seen at this time.

Every club should own a few good reference books, and have them at their meetings, to settle any questions that may arise. The ‘Color Key to North American Birds,’ by Chapman, will be found useful for identification, ‘Wild Bird Guests,’ by Baynes, for matters pertaining to bird clubs and bird protection, also ‘Useful Birds and their Protection,’ by Forbush.

There are many others that would prove beneficial, but these three are almost indispensable, if we would learn the ways of our wild bird friends and what we can do to help them.

It is understood that every family of bird lovers will be subscribers to Bird-Lore, for few would be willing to miss the interesting bits of information to be found in every number of this bird magazine.

Selections from Bird-Lore, the Audubon Leaflets, books on Nature by standard authors, and occasionally articles from some of the popular magazines, might be read at each meeting. This will prove a very interesting part of the program, and there will always be material enough to fill out any schedule.

Good plates of birds like those obtained with the Audubon Leaflets and the set published with the ‘Birds of New York’ will help in identifications, and, as the cost is very small, every club should have at least one set of each.

If we can get our clubs once started along these lines, it seems possible that it might become more of a problem to find time for everything than to find something to do.

One year’s course in a bird club of this kind should give every member a fairly good knowledge of what we can do for the birds, and what they are doing for us.—W. M. Buswell, Superintendent Meriden, (N. H.) Bird Club.

Ornithological Possibilities of a Bit of Swamp-Land

For several years, I have had a bit of swamp-land under my eye, especially during the cooler months. It is not exactly a beauty-spot, being bordered by ragged backyards, city dumps, a small tannery, and a dismantled factory, formerly used by a company engaged in cleaning hair for plasterers’ use.

A part of the surface is covered by cat-tails, the rest by a mixed growth of water-loving shrubs, as sweet-gale, leather-leaf, andromeda, and other shrubs which like to dabble their roots in ooze. A brook, connecting two large ponds, runs through the swamp, giving current and temperature enough to make certain a large amount of open water, even in the coldest weather.

A little colony of Wilson’s Snipe have made this swamp their winter home for at least fifteen years, and probably much longer. Song, and generally Swamp Sparrows can be found here all winter. This winter, we have a Green-winged Teal, finding feed enough to induce her to remain; and over beside the cat-tails, about some fallen willows, a Winter Wren seems much at home.

During recent years, a sort of beach, made by dumping gravel to cover refuse from the hair factory, has been a favored feeding place for various Sandpipers, as well as the Snipe. The last of the Sandpipers leave in November, while the Snipe remain.

Bitterns and Black-crowned Night Herons drop in during the fall and summer, and our increasing Ring-neck Pheasant, the gunner’s pet, loves to skulk around the edges.

Tree Sparrows, Goldfinches, and their kin attract an occasional Butcherbird and the smaller Hawks, Pigeon, Sparrow, and Sharp-shin in season.

Early spring brings a host of Blackbirds, Redwings, Bronzed Grackles, and Rusties; while a Cowbird hung about with some English Sparrows, until Thanksgiving time, this year.

We are always on the lookout for something new to turn up in the swamp, and are seldom disappointed. For so small a place, not over five acres, it surely is a bird haven; especially does it seem so when, but a few rods away on the nearby ponds, the ice-men are harvesting twelve-inch ice. Naturally, local bird-lovers are praying that the hand of “improvement” will be stayed a long time in wiping out this neglected little nook.—Arthur P. Stubbs, Lynn, Mass.

My Neighbor’s Sparrow Trap

My neighbor one block to the north, Professor E. R. Ristine, who gives me leave to use his name in the present connection, finally lost his patience with English Sparrows (Passer domesticus), on or about May 15, 1915. The fact that an elderly person sharing the home with his family could not sleep at reasonable hours on account of Sparrow chatter was an element in the decision to which he soon came. For into his hands fell an advertisement of a Sparrow trap, just such a two-funnel wire affair as was described and recommended as early as 1912 by the Department of Agriculture in Farmers’ Bulletin 493. On May 20, 1915, the trap arrived, and was duly installed and baited. It was at first placed on the ground in the small chicken-yard at the rear of the house, and the outer funnel was baited with a small amount of cracked grain, the finer “chick-feed” proving to be most efficacious. The location of the trap was changed at different times during the spring, summer, and fall, and the total results on the Sparrow population were satisfactory beyond expectations.

By June 11, only twenty-two days after the trap was set out, 78 Sparrows had passed the fatal inner funnel of that simple contrivance, and at this, fortunately for the accurate details of the present account, my neighbor’s interest was aroused to know precisely what the powers of his most recent purchase might really be. With a pencil he marked thereafter on the siding of his hen-house the mortuary record: 6/13—84, 6/17—100, 7/9—202, and so forth. That is to say, a total of 202 birds had been gathered in by July 9, fifty days after the trap was put into action, or an average of a little more than four per day. This rate of destruction was much increased during the following month, the 300 mark being passed on July 27, and the 400 mark on August 11. The rate of capture then declined, and it was not until September 18 that the figure 508 was registered. The trap remained set until December 5, at which time the deadly record stood at 597. A few dozens more had entered the trap but escaped through the insufficient latching of the “clean-out” door. After December 5 heavy snows fell, followed by sleet storms, and my neighbor temporarily placed his trap out of service on a back porch.

A few facts in connection with the above record will prove of interest. The heaviest catches were made when the currants became very ripe and the trap was placed under the laden bushes. Fewest Sparrows were caught when the sweet corn in the garden was in the milk stage, the birds preferring the contents of the juicy kernels to the dry grain with which the trap was baited. The largest catch on any one day was 20 birds, this number being reached on two different dates, June 27 and August 4. The Sparrows seemed to arrive in flocks of greater or less size, and the record would mount rapidly until these were gathered in. Then, for several days possibly, no birds at all would be trapped. And the fine feature of the entire season’s experience was that this trap caught English Sparrows and no other bird whatsoever. The only exception to English Sparrows was a single hoary old house rat that had evidently followed a Sparrow in; at any rate, the latter was found partially devoured.

Relief from the Sparrow nuisance began to come to our neighborhood about the middle of August, after full 400 of the noisy chatterers had fallen victim to the innocent-looking wire cage. And by the time the Indian summer days of October came, the English Sparrow tribe in our part of town had dropped from the status of “abundant” to only “fairly common.” Indeed, I have not seen more than six individuals together in our end of the little city at any time in the last three months.

Is it possible that my neighbor’s experience was out of the ordinary? I do not see why it should be, but I have found a similar record only in the above-mentioned Farmers’ Bulletin, where the capture of 300 Sparrows in six weeks in the Missouri Botanical Gardens, St. Louis, is noted. If it is at all typical of what may be accomplished, then one or two things seem clear. An easy method is at hand for holding in check the Sparrow nuisance and more attention should be given to Farmers’ Bulletin 493 than seems thus far to have been accorded this worthy publication.—Charles R. Keyes, Mt. Vernon, Iowa.

A Tropical Migration Tragedy

[We are indebted to Prof. M. H. Saville for a copy of ‘El Comercio’ for October 18, 1915, a newspaper published at San Pedro Sula, Honduras, which contains the following account of a migration tragedy.—Editor.]

“At midnight, on October 10, 1915, there commenced to appear groups of birds flying in a southerly direction. At the time darkness set in, we began to hear the call of a great number of birds that were circling constantly over the city. This avian invasion increased considerably during the night. The main part of the army of invasion crossing the Gulf of Honduras arrived in the evening off the coast of Puerto Cortes. These birds do not travel by day, but follow the eastern shore, guided by certain groups that, toward night, exhausted, ceasing their flight, turn inland. The bright rays from the electric lights projected high in among the clouds, serving to indicate the position of San Pedro Sula and, attracted by its splendor, the bird emigrants, greatly fatigued by their vigorous exercise in the long flight against contrary winds in their travel across the Gulf of Mexico (approximately 700 miles), their short stay in Yucatan, and their flight across the Gulf of Honduras, the greater part of them fell one upon another in their revolutions about the lights, some dropping half-crazed against the roofs and fences, breaking wings and legs, some dying outright.

“At two o’clock in the morning, the greater part of the expedition directed toward this zone had arrived in the neighborhood of the city. It was at that time that the sound of their striking against the posts and the electric wires was a continual tattoo. It seemed almost as though the stones in the streets had been awakened, and were being hurled against the inhabitants. Numbers of birds striking against the zinc roofs gave off a sound like hurrying footsteps, the drumming on the zinc extending over the entire city. At one spot within a radius of two yards there fell dying six wounded birds. In the morning the streets were strewn with bodies; the greater part of them dead, others wounded.”

A Shower of Birds

In the fall of 1915, a violent wind-storm passed through the southern states, just grazing the edge of Spartanburg, in upper South Carolina. Here the minister of the First Presbyterian Church was about to take shelter in his home, from the fury of the wind, when he saw what appeared to be a small, black cloud swoop down upon his roof and disappear. He hastened in, and found, to his and his family’s dismay, that little black birds were fairly pouring down one of the chimneys.

The birds seemed to have been stunned by the force of the gale to which they had been exposed, and the floor was soon covered, several inches deep, with their inanimate bodies. They were picked up by the bucketful, and thrown out, but soon revived and flew away, none the worse, apparently, for their unusual experience. Two little fellows who were overlooked took refuge on a curtain pole, where they were discovered by a little girl, several hours later.

This is probably the only time on record when it literally rained birds. The birds were common Chimney Swifts.—R. L. Fripp, Spartanburg, S. C.

A Heron’s Involuntary Bath

Some of the little comedies of bird life are amusing to the onlooker, although, like those happening to human beings, not always so pleasant to the individuals participating. A neighbor of mine where I live on the shores of an island in the Great South Bay, took up his dock for the winter season and left a stake in the water. It is beneath the surface except at low tide when it projects an inch or two above. At dusk on the evening of October 23, 1915, two Black-crowned Night Herons came winging along. The one in the lead, happening to spy the top of the nearly submerged stake, immediately dropped down and appropriated it for a temporary fishing-station. Its mate, probably trusting it had landed in very shallow water, dropped down also beside it. But it kept on going down until only its head and shoulders protruded. It was a surprised bird, and stood there a few minutes in its awkward predicament, looking around as if vainly trying to grasp the situation. Then, finally giving it up, it managed to spring out and fly off.—John R. Tooker, Babylon, Long Island.

Winter Notes from Carlisle, Ind.

We are having a very mild winter, with heavy rains. During last week it has been warm, and numerous Robins have been here. There is a twenty-acre alfalfa field adjoining town, and some eight acres of it was mown only once and the other crop left on the ground. This makes a regular haven for the Meadow Larks, and during the past week they have been having a regular carnival. You can hear dozens of them singing at a time. There must be hundreds of them in this field. Song Sparrows have also been singing.—J. H. Gilliland, Carlisle, Ind.

Notes from Nebraska

What is the most abundant bird in a given locality? This a question often conjectured upon by both ornithologists and casual observers. The terms “abundant,” “common,” “scarce,” or “very scarce,” form poor records of actual abundance, as suggested in recent issues of Bird-Lore. So, to get data on actual abundance, I took weekly bird censuses during the months of May, June, July, and a part of August, 1915, making counts of both number of species and number of individuals.

Of eight such censuses, taken during June, July, and August, in northeastern Kansas and southeastern Nebraska, Dickcissels proved to be the most abundant in six, if the exception is made of English Sparrows, which led in numbers in two censuses. This, I should say, would be the case over a large part of the middle West, of which the above-mentioned vicinities are typical.

Here are my figures on the Dickcissel:

*June 5. Sabetha, Kan., 99 individuals noted in 4¾ hours afield.

*June 12. Du Bois, Nebr., 64 individuals noted in 5 hours afield.

*June 19. Pawnee, Nebr., 35 individuals noted in 5 hours afield.

*June 27. Lewiston, Nebr., 109 individuals noted in 6½ hours afield.

*July 5. Beatrice, Nebr., 25 individuals noted in 4½ hours afield.

July 11. Beatrice, Nebr., 46 individuals noted in 6 hours afield.

July 25. Hebron, Nebr., 36 individuals noted in 3¾ hours afield.

*Aug. 1. Ruskin, Nebr., 39 individuals noted in 5 hours afield.

Dates preceded by an asterisk are those upon which the counts showed the Dickcissel to be the most abundant species, English Sparrows excepted. These figures indicate an average of 11¼ Dickcissels seen or heard per hour.

And, in spite of this prominent place the Dickcissel holds in our bird life, I have talked numbers of times with intelligent people who not only disclaim any knowledge of the bird, but say they have never heard the name ‘Dickcissel’ before.

On July 11, 1915, in and around Beatrice, Nebr., I counted 5,483 Blackbirds, which I am reasonably sure were Bronzed Grackles. Of this number, 5,260 were counted from one location on the bank of the Big Blue River, the flock passing continuously for about one hour. This is mentioned as being further indicative of actual abundance, and it might be suggested that, in actual numbers, the Bronzed Grackles might outweigh the Dickcissels, their immense numbers in flocks more than making up for the more uniform local distribution of the non-flocking Dickcissels.

In the May-June, 1915, number of Bird-Lore, I note that Mr. Ridgway classes the Upland Plover as a “species verging toward extermination,” speaking of it as now very scarce in southern Illinois. This bird of the prairies is still to be found in southeastern Nebraska, and I believe it could not be called very scarce in that locality. On June 27, 1915, in Pawnee County, Nebraska, I saw a flock of nine of these birds; on July 11, in Gage County, I noted one; on July 12, in Gage County, I noted eight; on July 23, in Thayer County, I noted one; and on August 1, in Nuckolls County, I saw a flock of ten.

Mr. Ridgway’s description of the song of the Upland Plover is a fitting one. Its peculiar, mournful whistle is “one of the most thrilling of bird songs.”—Howard Paret, Kansas City, Mo.

A Gannet Over the Hudson River

On October 16, 1915, I was crossing the Dyckman Street New York Ferry and observed a Gannet, which passed quite close to the ferry-boat, winging its way steadily southward toward New York Bay. It is so unusual and remarkable to find this bird away from the coast as to be worthy of record.—J. T. Nichols, Englewood, N. J.

Petrels on the Hudson

The preceding note from Mr. Nichols prompts me to add that one afternoon during the first week in August, 1915 (I failed to record the exact date), I saw from the Fort Lee (130th Street) Ferry at least a score of Petrels coursing low over the water and flying down the river. They were on the east side of the river, from which I had embarked, and as the boat carried me out of vision, Petrels were still passing. Doubtless they were Wilson’s Petrels which, in their search for food, had gone far above their usual limits in the lower harbor.—Frank M. Chapman, Englewood, N. J.

Starling in Ohio

On January 8, Walter and Robert Kirk, farmer boys living near here, captured a Starling which has taken refuge in their barn. I was unable to identify the bird from their description of it over the telephone, but when it was brought to me I readily identified it, as I had been watching its progress west. Needless to say, I was somewhat surprised to see it here. Bird-Lore Christmas census for 1914 reports it for West Chester and White Marsh Valley, Pa.

So far as I know, this is the first record of the Starling for Ohio, and it may be the first west of the Alleghany Mountains. This seems a long ‘jump’ westward for any bird in so short a time, especially considering the mountains it would have to cross.

I have no doubt as to the identity of the bird, but have taken photographs in case of any question.—Sheridan F. Wood, West La Fayette, Ohio.

Evening Grosbeaks and Cardinals in Southern Wisconsin

About noon on January 22, 1916, as I was returning from a walk in South Park, a flutter of wings, accompanied by soft whistles and twitters, caught my attention and, to my surprise and joy, I counted a flock of nineteen Evening Grosbeaks in the small maple and elm trees bordering the sidewalk.

The bright sunshine falling on their plumage gave them an extremely beautiful and gay-colored appearance. The birds seemed to be nearly all males. They were quite tame, and I was able to approach close under the trees before they took to their wings, finally disappearing in a northeasterly direction. Two years ago, on one of the coldest days of the winter, a flock of about fifty visited Reedsburg and were observed by a number of our bird-lovers.

I cannot resist giving a brief account of the pair of beautiful Cardinals that have been staying in Reedsburg for the past two weeks. Although I did not have the good fortune to observe these rare visitors, yet their identity was made certain by the authoritative testimony of a number of bird-lovers who had ample opportunity to watch them closely from a curtained window, which looked out on the apple-tree and feeding-station only a few feet from the house; so there was no chance of an error in their identification. They were first seen on January 5, in the midst of a driving blizzard, with the mercury dropping to 25° below zero. The pair remained in the vicinity of the grain-strewn feeding-station for about half an hour, and have been seen a great many times since, by a large number of people.—Ethel A. Nott, Reedsburg, Wisconsin.

Evening Grosbeaks at Port Henry, N. Y.

On December 17, 1915, I saw a pair of Evening Grosbeaks.

On January 28, 1916, out over an open spot of water in Lake Champlain, I saw three Canada Geese and the men working near there told me they had been around there all the morning.

On January 7, 1916, I saw a large flock of Evening Grosbeaks.

The last two weeks I have seen many Crows as many as four in one flock.—Dora B. Harris, Port Henry, N. Y.

The Evening Grosbeak at Glens Falls, N. Y.

The Bird Club of Glens Falls reports that on January 25, 1916, Miss Shields saw on one of our streets, seven Evening Grosbeaks, four males and three females.—C. Eveleen Hathaway, Secretary, Glens Falls, N. Y.

Evening Grosbeaks at Saratoga Springs, N. Y.

It gives me much pleasure to report to you that on Sunday morning, January 30, 1916, there was a flock of Evening Grosbeaks feeding in the open woodland across the street. When first seen, about twenty of the birds were sitting quietly on the upper branches of a leafless maple, the balance feeding on exposed ground between snowdrifts under the trees. There were thirty-seven birds in the flock, of which one-fourth to one-third were males in the brilliant yellow, white, and brownish black plumage. They were talking to each other softly, and the low beaded call was frequent; but I did not hear the males whistle as they used to in Wisconsin.

I called the attention of Miss Adelaide Denton (the local authority on bird-life) to the flock, and we watched them for quite some time, before they rose, took wing, and wheeling, flew to the north, and disappeared. Miss Denton had never seen Evening Grosbeaks in this territory before, although she tells me Pine Grosbeaks are fairly common winter visitors.

I have re-opened this letter to add that part of the flock have returned to this locality. Twenty-five of the Grosbeaks now being in the maples across the way.

Perhaps I should add that I am quite familiar with the Evening Grosbeaks, having observed them every winter from 1900 to 1908-9 inclusive, feeding in the box elder trees in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.—Jacolyn Manning, M. D., Saratoga Springs, N. Y.

The Evening Grosbeak at Boston

Any record of the Evening Grosbeak on the Atlantic coast is so very rare that it may interest the readers of Bird-Lore to hear of a visit made to us by one on December 16, 1915.

Our bird was found in the Boston Parkway, close to the city blocks, flying about, at times rather wildly, at others, feeding tamely on the ground among the English Sparrows.

By its plumage, of which we give herewith a brief sketch, we judge it to have been a female or young bird. Head, rather dark gray; nape, yellowish green; back, pale brownish green; wings, black, interspersed with large areas of white; tail, black, with broad, white tip; chin and throat, gray; rest of under-parts pale yellowish or greenish brown; legs, pink; bill, whitish, or pale horn-color.

When at rest, the bird gave the effect of a huge winter Goldfinch; in flight, its largely white wings strongly suggested a Snow Bunting.

We heard it utter two distinctly different notes; the first a rather loud and insistent monosyllable—perhaps nearer peep than any other—and the second, a peculiar little trilling call, not unlike certain notes of the Semipalmated Sandpiper.

Both as to plumage and notes, this species is very strikingly different from any other Grosbeak, of any age and either sex, in this part of the world. Its whitish beak, the yellowish green tone of its plumage, the absence of streaks, and the presence of such large areas of white in its wings and tail—not to mention the notes described above—all serve easily to distinguish this bird even from the female and young of the Pine Grosbeak, which, of all our species, most nearly resembles it.

Such other observations of this species as are made, this winter, thus far east, we hope to see recorded in Bird-Lore.—E. G. and R. E. ROBBINS, Brookline, Mass.

Evening Grosbeaks at Poughkeepsie

On the afternoon of February 17, 1916, I observed seven Evening Grosbeaks feeding on locust seeds at our farm just outside of Poughkeepsie. They returned on the morning of the 20th, when they were also seen by Mr. Allen Frost, Prof. Saunders and Prof. Ellen Freeman, both of Vassar College, and Miss S. Dean, a student, who confirmed my identification. As I believe this is a record for Dutchess County, it seems worth reporting.—George W. Gray, Greenvale, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.

Evening Grosbeaks in Lexington, Mass.

Although Evening Grosbeaks may very probably have visited Lexington during the flights of 1880-1890 and 1910-1911, there was no satisfactory record of the bird for the town until Mr. Francis S. Dane saw a bird near his house on December 31, 1915. This bird proved to be a member of a flock of eleven Grosbeaks, all in the plumage of the female. For a week or ten days this company remained in the vicinity of where the first bird was seen, the number of individuals varying somewhat; the maximum being eleven. Two fruited box elder trees were the attraction to the locality. So regular were their visits to these trees that observers could rely almost with certainty on finding the birds in one or the other of the trees (they were some two hundred yards apart) at eleven o’clock in the morning.

At all times, the Grosbeaks showed the fearlessness of man so characteristic of Pine Grosbeaks and the Crossbills, but their tameness was especially noticeable when the flock was busily feeding. The birds then appeared to disregard the presence of a party of observers; we could approach them closely, and see very satisfactorily their method of extracting the seeds.

The seeds of the box elder grow in pairs on a single stem, each seed having a wing. In the winter, however, the seed in its covering with the attached wing, having broken away from the stem, hangs from it only by a thread. It is an easy matter, therefore, for the Grosbeak to break off a single seed. Having detached it from the stem (to do this the bird merely leans downward and pulls off the husk and its wing), the Grosbeak cuts through the husk as far as the kernel and allows the wing to drop to the ground; this it does with a fluttering motion suggestive of a small moth. The remainder, the whole kernel and perhaps two-thirds of the husk, the Grosbeak mumbles in his bill, and in an incredibly short time discards from the sides of his beak the more or less macerated remains of the husk. Some of these particles fall to the ground, some cling for a time to the beak. The bird swallows the kernel. Upon examining the wings which the birds had clipped off, it was apparent that the birds had bitten directly over the kernel itself at a point rather nearer the wing than the center of the kernel. But, although by this incision the kernel was exposed, it was never severed and allowed to fall with the wing, as would have been the case had the beak been closed and the bite completed. The cutting process was always arrested at the point after the casing had been divided, but before the meat has been severed. All this, although the process involved the nicest precision, was accomplished with great rapidity,—the wing fluttering to the ground within a second or two after the fruit was plucked from the stem.

The big birds are curiously inconspicuous when feeding in a box elder tree; their color harmonizes very closely with the dull grayish brown of the faded wings of the fruit, and, as the birds are for the most part silent, a feeding flock might easily be passed unnoticed. In spite of their quiet manner, however, the Grosbeaks are ever on the alert, as was shown when a large bird flew near them. They whirled away, panic stricken, giving their loud ‘kerp’ call.

On January 8, the flock of eleven female birds was replaced by a flock of eight Grosbeaks, two males and six females. These latter were all distinctly grayer than any of the individuals of the first flock, whose plumage was washed strongly with yellow. This second flock has remained to the present time, February 19, feeding first upon the box elder seeds until the two trees were practically stripped of fruit, then visiting a Japanese crab-apple tree loaded with minute apples, from which the birds obtained the seeds by munching off the pulp and discarding it. The flock has suffered the loss of two female birds (they were probably caught by a cat); otherwise the company has remained intact for six weeks. As in the case of the original flock, these birds fed early in the morning, again at about 11 A. M., and were rarely seen in the afternoon. On one occasion, they left the feeding-ground by mounting high in the air and taking a long, direct flight to the westward. Besides the box elder and crab-apple seeds, the birds have eaten wild-cherry pits, poison-ivy berries, and gray-birch seeds.

Evening Grosbeaks have been seen this season at several points in eastern Massachusetts. Mrs. Lidian E. Bridge kindly sent me a report of a flock which visited her place in West Medford, four birds on February 8 and 9. These birds fed upon the berries of the honeysuckle, mountain ash, and red cedar.

The large number of observers who came from a radius of ten miles to see these rare Grosbeaks demonstrated how great the interest in birds is at the present time. For nearly two months, several visitors came every day at the appointed time, and on Sundays and holidays the number often reached thirty or more. The total number of persons who saw the birds must have been hundreds. And each one, thanks to Audubon Societies and proper education in out-of-doors studies, came armed with a glass instead of a gun.—Winsor M. Tyler, M. D., Lexington, Mass.

Evening Grosbeaks in Vermont

On February 14, 1916, we were visited by a flock of nine Evening Grosbeaks, which were feeding on the buds of sugar maple in a grove of these trees near our place.

These birds were quite tame, allowing me to look at them through my field-glass at a distance of three rods, making identification positive.

I heard their call note and saw three of these birds at a distance on January 31.

On December 8, one was seen and heard too far away to note its markings.—L. H. Potter, Clarendon, Vermont.

Evening Grosbeaks in Connecticut

I wish to report a thrilling experience which I had this morning.

At ten o’clock, I glanced from my window, and saw White-breasted Nuthatches on the bird-shelf, Chickadees, Hairy Woodpeckers, a Brown Creeper, and Blue Jays, close by on two maples, a flock of English Sparrows gleaning on the ground, and two strange birds picking up their breakfast on the outskirts, but a few feet from the window.

The two rare visitors proved to be Evening Grosbeaks. They came toward me, went away from me, turned about and displayed themselves in every light, and finally flew to a spruce tree on the other side of the house, where for about five minutes they gave every opportunity to study them at close range.

The large white patches on the wings and white tips on the dark tail feathers were very prominent.

The yellow forehead with black crown, the heavy bill, and the body of a soft yellow color, black wings and tail, made identification very easy.

I presume these little strangers will be heard from in other parts of Connecticut.—Mary Hazen Arnold.

[The context shows that this observation was made in Connecticut, but the observer does not give her address.—Ed.]

Martin Problems

I should like those readers of Bird-Lore who have accurately observed the habits of the Purple Martin to tell me if my experience of the past summer is a common one and what it means. For several years I have had a Martin house of ten rooms, only one room of which has ever been occupied and that always the west attic. This year (1915) on May 22, after visiting a short time several times a day for a week, three Martins, one male and two females, finally located in the house. June 1 the birds began carrying nesting material into both west and east attic rooms. The male seemed to work in the west room only, and one day was seen taking in green cherry leaves from a nearby tree. Only one male bird was ever seen about the house, so I concluded that this was a polygamous family.

The east room was not easy of observation, so I could not be sure of all that took place there, but know that it was occupied by a female all summer and that a nest was built. The male seemed to sleep in the west room, both birds going in at dusk. When incubation began, the male occupied one of the south rooms. July 7, a young Martin was found dead under the house on the west side.

He was very tiny, and could not have been more than a day old at most. His neck was as thin as a darning needle but his stomach was as large as a hickory nut, and just as hard. Thinking the bird abnormal, I opened the stomach only to find everything right, the abdomen being big and hard because of the great number of bugs and flies it contained. July 16 I went out of the city, so did not see the young leave the house. For several days previous to this, a baby Martin was constantly at the door, and I believe there was only one young bird.

My last year’s family consisted of only two young birds, but one of which lived to fly from the house.

Neither eggs nor birds were found in the east room. Now, was this a polygamous family, or was it one pair of Martins and a non-mating female? Might it not have been my family of last year? I will appreciate answers from readers of Bird-Lore.—(Mrs.) May S. Danner, Canton, Ohio.

A Bold Winter Wren

On November 7, 1908, I had been standing for some time motionless, watching the antics of a Winter Wren which was foraging in a brush-heap piled against a fence. The Wren was very much occupied and paid no attention to me, as I stood about ten feet away. I had on a brown suit, and was certainly not a very conspicuous object. Suddenly the Wren appeared in a corner of the fence with a long morsel, the larva of some insect, in his bill. Evidently this a tid-bit which should be eaten leisurely for enjoyment. At any rate, after peering about he caught a glimpse of me standing conveniently near. And much to my surprise, with no hesitation, he flew straight at me and alighted on the side of my coat. I could feel his movements through the cloth. He clung there several seconds. But, in my attempt to get a better look at him, I doubtless moved. For without a sound or show of alarm he flew back to the fence and finished his morsel. I do not think the Wren implied that I was a stick, but he certainly believed me to be a tree!—Edward J. F. Marx, Easton, Pa.

A Distributional List of the Birds of California. By Joseph Grinnell. Pacific Coast Avifauna No. 11; Contribution from the Museum of Vertebrate ZoÖlogy of the University of California. Published by the Cooper Ornithological Club, Hollywood, California, October 21, 1915. Roy. 8vo, 217 pages, 3 plates.

Dr. Grinnell admits to this list 541 species and subspecies as unquestionably Californian and includes in a Hypothetical List 61 additional species whose standing as Californian is doubtful.

“The systematic order is that of the American Ornithologists’ Union Check-List (1910), except that within groups of species or subspecies a more natural arrangement is sometimes adopted, for example by according with geographical sequence. The A. O. U. order is thus accepted here because of the convenience thereby admittedly secured, in concording with the bulk of current ornithological literature.” (Page 7.)

The distinctive feature of this paper is its brief but clear introduction on the life-zones and faunal areas of California with its comments on the factors governing the distribution of life, and on the relation of faunas to zones. It is illustrated with plates showing both zonal and faunal divisions and four profiles across the state.

The terms used for the areas here defined are employed through the list of birds and with the aid of the maps, convey a maximum of information with a minimum of words.

Full records and references are given for species of rare or accidental occurrence in the state as a whole, as well as boundary records for those forms occupying a portion of the state.

It goes without saying that this list is authoritative and aside from its purely scientific value it should be of much assistance in at least the provisional identification in life of forms so closely related that the locality at which they are seen is their best field character.—F. M. C.

The Double crested Cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus) and its Relations to the Salmon Industries on the Gulf of St. Lawrence. By P. A. Taverner. Canadian Geological Survey. Mus. Bull. No. 13, Biol. Ser. No. 5; April 30, 1915. 8vo., 24 pages, 1 plate.

Complaint having been made that Cormorants were damaging the salmon fisheries of the GaspÉ coast, the Geological Survey of Canada despatched Mr. Taverner with two assistants to study the food-habits of the Cormorant in the region where the charges against it originated.

It is not without significance that the Cormorant was accused, not by those who are dependent on fishing for a living, but by anglers who having rented certain salmon streams apparently feel that they have also acquired the power to inflict the death penalty on any form of life which they believe to interfere with their own interests.

Mr. Taverner was in the field from June 21 to August 23, and during this time he not only secured data which indicated that the charges against the Cormorant are unfounded but made an interesting contribution to our knowledge of the life-history of that bird.

There is more in Mr. Taverner’s thoughtful, well-written paper than is indicated by its title. We trust that it will be read by each of the complaining anglers!—F. M. C.

The Ornithological Magazines

The Condor.—The opening number of Volume XVIII of ‘The Condor,’ for January, 1916, is an unusually interesting one. Under the title ‘Philadelphia to the Coast in Early Days,’ Dr. Witmer Stone, in a paper read at the meeting of the American Ornithologists’ Union in San Francisco, last May, outlines the development of western ornithology prior to 1850. Anyone interested in the history of early work in the West will find here a clear, compact, and convenient rÉsumÉ of the contributors to ornithology made by the voyages and expeditions of Captain Cook, La PÉrouse, Vancouver, Lewis and Clarke, Major Long, Captain Wyeth and Captain Beechey, and special reference to the birds collected by Peale, Say, Townsend, Nuttall, Bell and Heermann.

Mrs. Bailey continues her description of ‘The Characteristic Birds of the Dakota Prairies’ with a charming account of the water-birds found along the sloughs and marshes.

Jewett contributes a brief paper on ‘New and Interesting Bird Records,’ concerning thirteen species found in eastern Oregon during the spring and summer of 1915.

One of the first fruits of the recent publication of Grinnell’s ‘Distributional List of the Birds of California,’ appears in Dawson’s seven-page ‘Personal Supplement,’ which contains notes and critical comments on sixty-three species. If other observers would publish such notes as they have with equal detail, it would no doubt result in a considerable addition to the wealth of information on the distribution of California birds which Dr. Grinnell has already so successfully brought together.

The common names applied to several birds come in for criticism in Notes from Field and Study. Henderson defends the term ‘House Finch,’ and condemns the two synonyms by which the bird is often known. The term ‘Linnet’ he considers not distinctive and ‘California Linnet’ as indefensible. Dawson proposes Auburn Canyon Wren as a preferable name for the Dotted Canyon Wren and Coues’ Petrel instead of Ashy Petrel for the bird which ‘simply isn’t ashy.’—T. S. P.

The Auk.—Readers of the January issue will find therein a good deal about bird song as it is viewed from different angles by several contributors. Mr. H. Oldys discusses the ‘Rhythmical Singing of Veeries’ from a musician’s standpoint, and Mr. A. A. Saunders, in a letter at page 103, upholds the scientist’s belief in the use of a graphic method while, casually, in no less than three other articles, the writers make use of conventional human syllables in an effort to express bird-notes. After all, a person must hear a bird-song to know anything about it, and the crudest symbols, musical notes or words that he may employ to awaken his memory of the song mean more to him than any system that has yet been invented. It is his notation alone that will arouse his memory, for the science of musical sounds cannot go far in explaining what his ear has never heard. Mr. H. J. Fry offers ‘A Study of the Seasonal Decline of Bird Song,’ painstaking so far as it goes, but limited to a single season.

Mr. F. C. Lincoln records ‘The Discovery of the Nest and Eggs of Leucosticte australis,’ the Brown-capped Rosy Finch, in the Colorado mountains and shows us a half-tone of the site and one of the nest and eggs, the latter pure white. Messrs. B. S. Bowdish and P. B. Philipp record the finding of several nests of ‘The Tennessee Warbler in New Brunswick,’ and also show us half-tones of the rare nest and eggs.

A pleasing study of the courtship of several species of ducks is presented by Dr. C. W. Townsend, who uses binoculars to good advantage, and Mr. J. C. Phillips raises ‘Two Problems in the Migration of Water Fowl,’ one, regarding the occurrence of certain North American Ducks in the Marshall Islands, the other dealing with the behavior of Canada Geese when migrating.

Mr. W. A. Bryan declares that there is ‘An Undescribed Species of DrepanididÆ on Nihoa, Hawaiian Group,’ but wisely refrains from preliminarily tagging it with a name (as has sometimes been done in similar cases) because no specimens have been obtained. Messrs. J. E. Thayer and O. Bangs list ‘A Collection of Birds from Saghalin Island,’ Mr. F. H. Allen describes ‘A Nesting of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak,’ and Mr. H. Mousley contributes the first part of ‘Five Years’ Personal Notes and Observations on the Birds of Hatley, Stanstead Co., Quebec, 1911-1915.’ There is much of interest in Mr. Mousley’s well annotated list which is to be continued.—J. D.

It is a long time since Bird-Lore has published a more valuable and significant article than the one contributed by Mr. Gilbert H. Grosvenor to this issue. Its chief value does not lie in its important bearing on what may be termed avian sociology or on its surprising demonstration of the close connection existing between available nesting-sites and bird-population. Rather is it to be found in the relations which it reveals between human-life and bird-life as the result of the best type of what we have before called ‘bird gardening.’

The birds which Mr. Grosvenor has brought about him are unquestionably more his birds than if he had shot them and placed their skins in a cabinet. With their death his responsibility for their welfare would cease. But a living bird, to which we feel we owe protection, is exposed to so many dangers that our fears for its safety are correspondingly aroused. These birds of our garden are our guests. Through the erection of bird-houses and by other means we have invited them to live with us and when they accept as readily as they have with Mr. Grosvenor, they make us realize not only our responsibility but they awaken the strongest sense of hospitality.

In a former number of Bird-Lore we had something to say about what we believe to be the difference between ornithologists and bird-lovers. That is, between the bird student eager to devote his life to research work some of which may be so dry and technical that it would repel anyone but a born enthusiast; and the person whose interest in birds, while keen and genuine, does not beget that hunger for knowledge concerning them which is the birthright of the true naturalist.

The first type of interest we feel distinguishes the born ornithologists, the second is an almost universal heritage of mankind. Usually, however, it is dormant. We may be in possession of this priceless gift and still be unaware of its existence. Herein lies the value of nature-study, and particularly of the kind of educational work the National Association of Audubon Societies accomplishes through its Junior Classes. It is not to be expected that the one hundred and fifty odd thousand children included in these classes during the past year will become ornithologists. But if their inherent love of birds is quickened and they become acquainted with the more common species and are taught to realize the beauty and value of bird-life we shall have added immeasurably to their resources.

Mr. Grosvenor tells us that in April, 1913, when he moved to his country home near Washington, neither he nor any member of his family could name more than three species of birds. Opportunity so quickly added to this number that within two years, as his statistics show, he had succeeded in inducing to nest on his home acre more than twice as many birds as had been before reported from the same area and under similar conditions.

So much we learn from the figures given. But no figures can express the pleasure derived from the friendships which have been established between landlord and tenant, and between landlord’s family and tenants’ families. Mr. Grosvenor may regret that his own childhood lacked that association with the commoner birds which gives them an enduring place in our affection. But his pictures show that he does not propose to have his children denied this privilege.

SCHOOL DEPARTMENT

Edited by ALICE HALL WALTER

Address all communications relative to the work of this department to the Editor, 67 Oriole Avenue, Providence, R. I.

“Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her. The birds with their plumage and their notes are in harmony with the flowers, but what youth or maiden conspires with the wild, luxuriant beauty of nature? She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside. Talk of heaven! ye disgrace earth.

“Sometimes I rambled to pine groves, standing like temples, or like fleets at sea, full-rigged, with wavy boughs, and rippling with light, so soft and green and shady that the Druids would have forsaken their oaks to worship in them; or to the cedar wood beyond Flint’s Pond, where the trees, covered with hoary blue berries, spiring higher and higher, are fit to stand before Valhalla, and the creeping juniper covers the ground with wreaths full of fruit; or to swamps where the usnea lichen hangs in festoons from the white-spruce trees, and toadstools, round tables of the swamp gods, cover the ground, and more beautiful fungi adorn the stumps, like butterflies or shells, vegetable winkles; where the swamp-pink and dogwood grow, the red alder-berry glows like eyes of imps, the waxwork grooves and crushes the hardest woods in its folds, and the wild-holly berries make the beholder forget his home with their beauty, and he is dazzled and tempted by nameless other wild forbidden fruits, too fair for mortal taste.

“Instead of calling on some scholar, I paid many a visit to particular trees, of kinds which are rare in this neighborhood, standing far away in the middle of some pasture, or in the depths of a wood or swamp, or on a hill top: such as the black-birch of which we have some handsome specimens two feet in diameter; its cousin the yellow-birch, with its loose golden vest, perfumed like the first; the beech, which has so neat a bole and beautifully lichen-painted, perfect in all its details, of which, excepting scattered specimens, I know but one small grove of sizable trees left in the township, supposed by some to have been planted by the pigeons that were once baited with beech nuts near by; it is worth the while to see the silver grain sparkle when you split this wood; the bass; the hornbeam; the celtis occidentalis, or false elm, of which we have but one well-grown; some taller mast of a pine, a shingle tree, or a more perfect hemlock than usual, standing like a pagoda in the midst of the woods; and many others I could mention. These were the shrines I visited both summer and winter.”—Excerpt from Walden, Henry D. Thoreau.

“He saw with a clear and kindred eye, he understood with his heart, the life of field and wood and water about him. The open sky, the solitudes of the windy hill-top, the sweep of the storm, the spacious changes of dark and dawn, these, it seems to me, spoke to him more clearly than to others.”—C. G. D. Roberts, in Introduction to Walden.

BIRD AND ARBOR DAY

AN AWAKENING

In most of the talks we listen to on Bird and Arbor Day, in most of the poems and prose selections we recite or read to celebrate this occasion, we hear about the awakening of spring, when birds return and trees and early plants blossom, and insects and hibernating animals emerge from a winter’s sleep. All Nature is pictured as rousing from the lethargy of cold December and colder January and February, under the influence of the sun, now early with its morning greeting, and of soft breezes which begin to take the place of chilling gales. But what part has man in all of this glad festival of activity and growth! Does he awaken too, and take his part in the general re-creation of Nature?

No, man is glad when spring comes, he welcomes birds and flowers and budding trees, but he has learned to build shelters for himself against storms, to fight the uneven cold with steady fire, and to raise and store food to nourish his body throughout the season when the ground is frozen and vegetation dead. He does not come to life and activity again with the changing seasons, and, much as he may enjoy spring with its multiform beauties, he seldom rouses out of the routine of his ordinary life, except now and then, perhaps, for a fitful instant. Well-fed, well-clothed and well-housed, he still fears the elements and dreads exposure and hunger. He is not a part of nature, but the ambitious master of nature. Only now and then does a man partly awaken from his civilized life and turn to Nature as to a mother. But when he does, when his eyes are fairly open, when his hand can write or his lips speak the truth, what a revelation comes not only to him but to those who understand his message!

It is of man’s awakening that I wish to tell you this lovely Bird and Arbor Day season, an awakening which you must try to feel if you are not so choked and stifled in towns and cities by ideas of things to wear and eat and amuse yourself with that you cannot understand the truth.

In all ages, a few men have awakened to the touch of Nature. It would be worth our while to know even their names, but, better yet, to know their message. Some have lived as you and I live, others have lived only in books, through the imagination of other men. There was once a lad who was afraid, afraid of the dark, afraid of horses, afraid of many things. As he grew older, he began to feel that there was much he did not enjoy because of fear, and he resolved to conquer fear. He ran through a pasture where a bull was loose, and outwitted the charging creature, escaping to a place of safety. This was rash. He attempted to drive a horse of some spirit through crowded city streets, with no knowledge of driving or sympathy with horses. This was rash, too. He left his companions and guides asleep at night on the edge of the jungle, and wandered alone into the forest, unarmed and almost breathless with fear. It was a rash thing to do, but as he wandered or stood rooted to the ground, while deer, monkeys, frogs, owls, flying squirrels, and at last a tiger, crossed his path, he began to feel a new sense of security and serenity. He found it very wonderful and beautiful. "A warm, faintly-scented breeze just stirred the dead grass and leaves. The trees and bushes stood in pools of darkness, and beyond were pale stretches of misty moonshine and big rocks shining with an unearthly luster. Ahead was darkness, but not so dense, when he came to it, that the track was invisible ... the moon was like a great shield of light spread out above him. All the world seemed swimming in its radiance.... He wished he could walk as a spirit walks—." ... “Of course, the day jungle is the jungle asleep. This was its waking hour. Now the deer were arising from their forms, the tigers and panthers and jungle cats stalking noiselessly from their lairs in the grass. Countless creatures that had hidden from the heat and pitiless exposure of the day stood now awake and alertly intent upon their purposes, grazed or sought water, flitting delicately through the moonlight and shadows. The jungle was awakening. This was the real life of the jungle, this night life, into which man did not go. Here he was on the verge of a world that, for all the stuffed trophies of the sportsman and the specimens of the naturalist, is still almost as unknown as if it were upon another planet.”

“He became less and less timorous as beast and bird evaded him or fled at his approach, and when the moon sank suddenly, and darkness settled down, ‘a great stillness came over the world, a velvet silence that wrapped about him, as the velvet shadows wrapped about him. The corncrakes had ceased, all the sounds and stir of animal life had died away, the breeze had fallen,’ and thus, calm and full of placid joy, he waited for the dawn, for he had conquered fear.”

This is an imaginary picture, based no doubt on some actual experience. It is worth reading because it puts one into sympathy with Nature, even with one of its wildest and most uninhabitable parts. There are girls, and boys too, living in secure houses in village or town, who are afraid, afraid of the dark, afraid of the deep woods, afraid of wild, lonely places where snakes may be lurking, or some imagined beast. There are many grown-up people who are more fearful than children, to whom a storm is terrifying, who see little beauty in rough places, who take no enjoyment in fog, rain or snow. It is natural to be afraid, but it is not wholesome, and it betrays ignorance. This kind of fear deprives most people of much that makes up the very best of life. One need not be rash or daring to conquer fear. It is only needful to awaken, to get into sympathy with Nature, to see the world as it really is, and not as our shrinking bodies lead us to imagine.

A man died not long ago who for many years had lived perhaps as close to Nature as anyone in this generation. His name was John Muir. He loved the mountains with their vast silences and wide outlooks; the storms and winds, searching every hidden corner and ruling all Nature in their passing; the giant trees of his home country, majestic sentinels of tranquillity, and age-long growth; he loved the clouds and stars, birds, beasts and flowers; he loved mighty waters, whose power man’s hand might never check. This man wrote at times modestly and reverently of what he saw and felt. You can learn truth from him. Many other men have seen deeply into Nature, and written with sincerity, pages which we do well to study. There comes to mind the poet Lanier, who, struck by the fatal hand of disease, sought to prolong his life by living with Nature in the open. How delicately and clearly he translated beauty into terms of music and rhythm! How intimately he sensed the world about him! He wrote,

—From The Symphony, Sidney Lanier.

No message could be more beautiful or more welcome than this. Not poets and artists, but birds, streams, and the pure encircling air should call us into the open. We may not have the opportunity to wander in the jungle by night, or to climb lonely mountains or penetrate into the glooms of giant forests, but we can get outdoors by day into parks or country, and we can learn to sleep outdoors and feel the health-giving air with every breath we draw, and to awaken every morning with gladness that we are looking out upon the sky and rising sun, with no barriers of blinds and storm-windows between us and Nature. When we realize every day that to live, to simply be alive, is joy, then work will never mean drudgery or idleness and luxury seem things worth while.

If Bird and Arbor Day can make you understand and feel this message, it will be the happiest day of the year for you.—A. H. W.

JUNIOR AUDUBON WORK

For Teachers and Pupils

Exercise XXVI. Correlated Studies: School Gardening and Reading

In view of the fact that valuable suggestions are being received from time to time, as to practical methods of conducting and encouraging bird- and nature-study, it is perhaps a wise and timely interruption of the ordinary Junior Audubon exercise to submit the following five methods for the consideration of teachers and pupils. Each of these methods contains at least one idea which can be worked out along local lines by any teacher with the aid of willing pupils. Some of these methods are particularly applicable to Bird and Arbor Day, for we have now somewhat outgrown the necessity of simply having “exercises” to mark that day. When all days are Bird and Arbor Days, we shall have gained a strong point in bird- and nature-study, and let it be hoped no school will omit some sincere recognition of the day, this spring.

Ways of Keeping Up Interest in Bird-Study

I. A BIRD-GAME FOR THE SCHOOLROOM

During the years of 1914 and 1915, I have learned a great deal about birds. We have an Audubon Society in our room which I think is very interesting. We have about sixteen members, and we watch and study the birds very carefully. Our teacher read us a story out of Bird-Lore that one of her pupils wrote last year for the magazine. It certainly is interesting.

One day we went into Miss W——’s room, to have our society together. After we finished the program, we played a game called ‘Guessing Birds.’ Some one would go to the front of the room with a bird pinned on her back and one of the teachers would ask some one in the room a question about the bird. Then they would have to guess the name of the bird. We had lots of fun playing this game. Some of the children could not guess the bird that they had on their backs. Then the teacher would take if off and put her hand over the name of the bird and ask if they knew what it was.

There has not been much snow in Herndon, so the birds can find a good deal of food without anyone feeding them. With our fines we bought some wire and suet. One day we went to the woods not far from the schoolhouse to feed the birds. We tacked the wire on the trees and then put the suet under the wire. It will soon be time to go and put more suet under the wire for the birds.—Geraldine Sager (Aged 11), Herndon, Va.

[Very often the best way of fostering and keeping up interest in bird-study has to be considered, especially in Junior Audubon Societies or bird clubs. The idea suggested above seems to be an attractive one, for anything in the nature of a game usually appeals to young people. Several bird-games similar to “Avelude” are for sale, but these are played with cards, and are not suitable for use in the schoolroom. They make agreeable recreations for the home, however, and their use may well be encouraged.—A. H. W.]

II. A BIRD CONTEST FOR BIRD CLUBS

Place............ Time........ Date............ 1. A crowned head (answer) Kingbird 2. An unsteady light (answer) Flicker 3. An Eastern city visitor (answer) Baltimore Oriole 4. A yellow conversationalist (answer) Yellow-breasted Chat 5. The pride of the farm (answer) Quail 6. A peace mourner (answer) Mourning Dove ------------------------------------------------------------------ 21. Ruler of the fisheries (answer) Kingfisher Name of contestant........................

[Space is too limited to print this contest in full, but enough has been given to show how it was carried out. The Nature-Study Club of Indiana engaged in the contest, which was gotten up by one of its leaders, “to afford some amusement for the members while they were enjoying the beauties of nature. It was given under a large, spreading beech, and during the time the members were racking their brains to find the proper name of each feathered creature listed, the calls and notes of many of the birds could be heard all around, seemingly trying to assist the members to recall their names. The trip was a most successful one from a nature-study point of view, as the club traversed beautiful streams, lowlands and hills, and found a variety of trees and plants and many beautiful birds.”

The approximate age of those taking part in the contest was about thirteen (ten to sixteen years). A prize was offered, and a little girl aged twelve who had thirteen correct answers out of the twenty-one puzzles given, won it.

This form of diversion in connection with bird-study has considerable to commend it as an occasional method to use to stimulate interest and start competition.—A. H. W.]

III. METHOD OF STUDY

Miss Mc—— has read your interesting letter to her class. And as I am one of the twenty-eight, or twenty-nine girls in her class I have decided to write, and give you an idea of what we are doing. I think that we (that is the class) are all interested in the Audubon Society for the protection of birds. On April 7 the class had their picture taken to send to you. On Friday afternoon we always try to read at least one of the leaflets of the lives of the birds. Each girl reads a paragraph, and as we read the teacher explains it to us. This summer we are going to have some bird-houses in the playgrounds of the school.

I live out in the suburbs of the city, and generally there are a great many birds that come to our door in the morning. Hoping to hear from your Society quite often; I remain one of the interested pupils.—Isabel Acorn.

Miss Mc—— read your letter to the class the other day, and we were very much interested in it. I like the Society, and every Friday in school we read a leaflet. The birds often come into the yard in summer, and we scatter crumbs.

We are making bird-boxes, and when the leaves come on the trees we are going to have shelves put up and put crumbs on them. It is nice to paint pictures of the birds and read about them.

In the summer out in the country the Canaries used to come and build their nests in the low bushes. I used to scatter crumbs for them, but they would rather have worms. The Kingfishers came early in the morning, so that we did not see much of them.—Dorothy Davies.

[The members of the Apulia Junior Audubon Society are from eight to twelve years old. The School Department was very glad to receive pencil drawings made from the educational leaflets, together with the letters given above through the kindness of Mr. T. Gilbert Pierson. The way in which the leaflets are used by this society is excellent, and suggests a method practicable for all junior Audubon Societies.—A. H. W.]

IV. RHODE ISLAND BOYS’ AND GIRLS’ CLUB WORK.
HOME PROJECTS FOR 1915

Conducted by the Extension Service, Rhode Island State College and the United States Department of Agriculture

Boys and girls from nine to eighteen years of age inclusive may enroll. There will be achievement emblems offered for all those who do successful work. Local prizes may also be offered for good work and exhibits at local shows, such as poultry, corn and flower shows, also grange exhibits. Boys and girls may take up any one or more of the following projects.

Home Garden.—Cultivation of vegetables, flowers, shrubs, etc. General care of the garden.

Market-Garden.—Cultivation of one-twentieth acre of vegetables.

School and Allotment-Gardens.—Cultivation of vegetables and flowers, etc., in a centralized garden at or near the school or on vacant lots.

Corn Clubs.—Cultivation of one-tenth acre of corn.

Potato Clubs.—Cultivation of one-twentieth acre of potatoes.

Dairy Herd Clubs.—Keeping an accurate record of all milk produced each day.

Canning Clubs.—Canning fruit and vegetables for home use or for market.

Baking Clubs.—Baking bread and cake.

Sewing Clubs.—Making garments and repairing.

Handicraft Club.—Making useful articles for use in the home or on the farm.

Bird and Tree Clubs.—The study and recognition of birds and trees.

Official enrollment cards will be sent to boys and girls who wish to enroll in one or more of the projects mentioned above. When received, their names will be sent to Washington, and Uncle Sam will correspond with them occasionally and send them bulletins of information and helpful letters. The State Leader or assistants will visit the local clubs from time to time, to help them with their work; he will also send helpful bulletins and letters as needed. Monthly reports will be required from each member enrolled in the club work, giving an account of his or her work.

The agent of the Extension Service of the Rhode Island State College writes:

“Inclosed please find a brief explanation of the boys’ and girls’ club work in agriculture, gardening, domestic science and handicraft work. This is a splendid movement for the Improvement Society to take up and encourage as a part of their constructive work in any community.

“The greatest asset in any community or state is the boys and girls who are to be the men and women of to-morrow. We should see to it that they are encouraged to be industrious and thrifty. Work of this kind will provide a very profitable as well as an interesting occupation for many idle moments after school, and through the long vacations for our boys and girls. At this time of the year clean-up campaigns are being started, and I would like to tack on to the end of that slogan the word ‘plant-up.’ I think that boys and girls should be encouraged not only to ‘clean-up’ the rubbish about their homes, but to invest a few cents in seeds which will germinate and grow and produce a picture very much more attractive than can be produced by many cans of paint and, furthermore, if the right kind of plant is selected, the effect will be perennial.”

An illustrated lecture on this subject may be secured at any time by making application to the undersigned. Bulletins and circular letters will be sent to the boys and girls who enroll in this club work from time to time. Personal visits will also be made as often as possible if desired.—Ernest K. Thomas.

[This is a kind of work every state needs.—A. H. W.]

V. MAKING A BIRD CENSUS

There are various ways of making or taking a bird-census, but all depend for their success upon certain rules.

1. Define clearly the area in which the observations are taken.

2. Study carefully the occurrence of species in adjoining localities.

3. Note the differences of occurrence between the foregoing and the area under observation.

4. Study reliable data of other observers, in order to avoid “wild guesses” and to eliminate errors in your own observations.

5. Keep records in a usable form, so that data may be easily compared from year to year.

6. Distinguish between permanent residents, transients, and summer or winter residents or visitors, and accidental visitors.

7. When in doubt as to the identity of a species, never enter it in the record, simply to swell the list. Continued study will enable you eventually to determine the most puzzling occurrences.

8. Record carefully temperature, direction and velocity of wind, and if possible, barometric pressure.

9. Chart the area studied, designating wooded places, pastures, marshy and dry places, roadside, orchards, garden, and water spaces.

10. Study the destination and point of departure of migrating species.

11. Learn both the common names and the scientific names of species if you intend to be strictly accurate. Common names of the same species frequently differ in different localities and are therefore liable to be misleading. Scientific names are easily mastered and usually have a definite meaning, which will help you to remember some distinguishing character or habit of a species.

12. Always be open to fair criticism, and to acknowledge errors in observation. The most distinguished students of any subject are those who profess to have the most to learn. A keen eye and quick brain are indispensable to any student, and calm judgment must always precede reliable conclusions.

A very practical illustration of how a bird-census may be taken is described in Dr. C. F. Hodge’s invaluable book, Nature-Study and Life. The school-children of the city of Worcester, Massachusetts, worked together under Dr. Hodge’s direction, and made a census of the nesting-species in a city block for two seasons three years apart, showing not only the number but also the increase and decrease of nesting-species during that time.

From Marion, Virginia, comes a detailed census of the birds found in the surrounding county during the spring migration. Space is not available for printing in full this census, which includes some ninety odd species, but the method followed, as explained by the following communication, is of interest, and should prove helpful to students in other localities. “The Woman’s Club of Marion has an organized Audubon Society of sixty pupils and four teachers. The three Junior classes are taught once a week from the Audubon leaflets. The Senior Class has helped take the census of Smythe County under the guidance of its teacher. In sixteen field lessons, ninety-four species and eighteen hundred and sixty-three birds of these species have been seen.”

It should be added that these Audubon classes work together with the Woman’s Club and the Conservation Committee of Marion, thus fostering a civic interest in bird-life among young and old. If more clubs would interest themselves in organizing work of this kind, a great deal might be learned about the local occurrence and movements of birds which would be of use in following their migrations.—A. H. W.

SUGGESTIONS

FOR AND FROM ADULT AND YOUNG OBSERVERS

SPRING

MY BLUEBIRDS

Early in December, 1914, my brother and I cut down an old half-dead apple-tree, and on it we found a partly hollow log that the English Sparrows had evidently used for years. As I had my eye out for bird-houses, I confiscated it and finished hollowing it out. It made three log-nests, all of which have been used by bird tenants since then. On February 17, I put up two of the logs on the bank of the Ohio River, at a distance of 40 feet from our house, where they could easily be observed from nine different windows.

The site was ideal for a bird’s nest. Below, 127 feet, the Ohio rolled majestically by, flushed with the melted snow that the spring rains brought from the mountains, and dotted here and there with floating cakes of ice. The other bank of the river rose 329 feet above the level of the water. It was heavily wooded and an ideal place for all kinds of birds. As this is right in the path of the Mississippi Migration Route, one could hear the “honk, honk,” of Canada Geese, the talking notes of the Old Squaw, and once the maniacal laughter of a Loon, as it followed the Ohio to the mouth of the Beaver River, there probably resting and continuing its journey up the Beaver to its northern nesting-ground. Below, I give the dates of the important events in the Bluebirds’ history.

Prior to March 29, the river bank had been burned over twice for the purpose of improving the grass roots, but the Bluebirds never seemed to mind it, although the nest was enveloped in clouds of thick smoke both times. The last two days of March, and the first two of April were cold, below freezing, with a driving snowstorm followed by sleet; but the Bluebirds’ activities never ceased. At this time the male passed the night in the nest with the female, ‘twinkling’ into the log at sunset. The male was very pugnacious, and seemed not to know fear. He would dash with equal courage at a Flicker or a Song Sparrow, when they approached his tree. Once I saw him actually knock a Flicker off a branch. Perhaps he would not have succeeded had the Flicker been aware of his approach, but the Bluebird came up behind and hit him below the belt. When I would go near the nest, the male would utter ‘chuckling’ notes, as if to scold and frighten me away. On several occasions he came so close that I could almost touch him.

When the young were about four days old, I set up my camera, three feet away from the nest, to obtain some pictures. The first time the shutter snapped, the female hopped down on to the branch on which the camera was placed, put her head to one side, and seemed to say, “What is this that clicks in my face,” and then she hopped all over it, pecking it.

GOING HOME
Photographed by W. R. Boulton, Jr.