"Recognizing a bird on sight or hearing, knowing his nest and eggs, when he arrives in the spring, and when he departs in the fall, does not by any means imply that one is acquainted with the bird himself. All these facts are easily acquired; they have been set down in the books these many years.

But whoso really desires to know the little being so beautifully enshrined; to see his home ways with his mate and little ones; to find out his personal habits; his likes and dislikes; his tastes; his disposition; in a word his personality, for him is something very different from book study. He must go into the field and observe for himself; for well as we may know our common birds by sight, glibly as we can explain their anatomy, give their scientific names, and their place in our classification, of their lives and habits we are in almost total ignorance.

This is a field of inquiry as fascinating as it is fresh and unexplored. Nothing but the greed of collecting and the passion for classifying, could so long have blinded men to the charm of studying life instead of death, the individual instead of the skin. And this is the beautiful work left for us to do, to make the world acquainted with the lives of our little brothers in feathers.

For this work are needed, patience that knows no fatigue, accuracy of observation, enthusiasm that scorns such trifles as wet feet, torn garments, insect bites and stings, burning sun or blistering wind, and above all—lacking which all else is useless—truthfulness that will report correctly, without exaggeration or coloring. To one possessing these qualities a whole world of delight is open.

Nor is this world so difficult to enter as it seems at first. Science—whose help is needed—has, to be sure, shrouded itself in technicalities, buried its facts under scientific terms, and hidden its names in a dead language. But all this, which perhaps was necessary, can be got over. With a little courage, and some perseverance, this bristling array of difficulties may be broken through, and the charming goldfinch be as lovely and bewitching under the name of Spinus tristis, as of thistle bird, or yellow bird.

How shall we go to work? This is the first question always. Let me give you a few hints: Some fine morning dress yourself in modest-hued array, dull olive of medium shade best; discard all conspicuous details of costume; take off ribbons and veils, and all fluttering things; reject the spring hat with its eccentricities of flowers, fruits, feathers, or general fluffiness, and put on a plain shade hat, as near the color of the dress as possible; leave parasol, bag or basket and book all at home. Slip into a flat pocket on the outside of your gown or coat, a small note book with sharpened pencil attached to it, and suspend by narrow ribbon around the neck, so that it will hang above the waist and be ready for instant use, an opera glass without its case. On your left arm carry a light folding camp stool—and start out.

Bid adieu to your friends, and go alone, for the temple of Nature can never be entered in crowds, nor even in pairs. Turn your steps to the best place you know of; an old orchard, a grove with underbrush near a house, a ravine, a swamp, or the edge of woods. Walk slowly and leisurely along, with little noise of footsteps, and without swinging arms.

Arrived in your chosen spot look sharply around for the flitting forms of the birds. When you see one, stop at once; quietly slip your stool off your arm and sit upon it, with as little motion as possible. If you place it against a tree trunk, to furnish a back, you can be comfortable in that one position an hour without moving.

Now slowly raise your opera glass to your eyes, adjust the focus to bring the bird clearly before you, and proceed to study him. First you want his description so that you can name him. Look very carefully at him, his size and shape, his coloring above and below, his peculiar markings, the shape of his tail at the end, and the color and shape of the beak. As you settle one point write it in your note book, which you have quietly drawn out of its pocket.

His description recorded, proceed to note his manners; whether quiet or restless, whether he jerks his tail, or his head; walks or hops. See what he is doing; picking up insects, digging them from bark or ground, seeking them among flowers or leaves, or whether he is eating seeds from the grass or weeds. Sit there as long as that bird is in sight, and note down everything he does, even his calls and his song as it sounds to you.

When you go home take your manual and look for a description that matches yours. This is where troubles begin, not only the obscure scientific terms, and the Latin names, but the knowing where in that big book to start. You will be helped by observing what the bird ate. If he hammered on the bark and picked his food from tree trunk or limb, look among the woodpeckers; if he flew out, made a turn or two and back to his perch seek him among the fly-catchers; if he was eating seeds, look among the finches; and so on.

When by a little work you have passed this Rubicon—where so many turn back discouraged—you will reap your reward, success. Having persevered, and named your bird without help, you will feel a new pleasure in his acquaintance, as if he belonged to you, and you will never forget him.

Then go out and make acquaintance with another. You will find him easier to identify, and as you will become familiar with its idiosyncrasies the manual will lose its terrors for you.

Of course all this trouble will be avoided if you begin with the study of scientific ornithology. But in that case you are in danger of becoming absorbed in the science, and getting to care more for the dry bones and the dead skin, than for the living bird, and thus adding one more to the ornithologists, and taking one from the students of life."