Part 4

Either because the Tanager breeds generally at some distance from man, or because he considers that his brilliant coloring will make up for other deficiencies, the bird has never, as far as I know, done much to win the affection of bird lovers. They have enthusiastic praise for his coat, but little to say of his manners. A story which Wilson tells of a male Tanager is, however, a worthy exception to this statement. Wilson found a young bird which had fallen out of the nest and, having brought it home, put it into a cage with some Orioles. They altogether neglected the orphan, and as it refused to be fed by Wilson, the latter was about to return it to the woods, when a male appeared and tried to enter the cage. Finding this impossible, he went off, but returned with food and fed the young one for three or four days. At last, he showed so unmistakably his desire for the release of the young one that the owner set it free, and the two flew off rejoicing. If this Tanager was a type of his kind, the species need not fear the application of the proverb, "Handsome is that handsome does."

Tanagers arrive early in May, and may then be easily observed, as the trees are not yet in full leaf. Occasionally, in cold storms, all birds seem to keep near the ground, and on such occasions Tanagers are sometimes seen feeding on the ground itself, their splendid colors showing to wonderful advantage. The female is a very plain personage. Olive green above and greenish yellow below, with dull brownish wings, is a combination of color that serves very well to keep her concealed among the leaves. The nest is sometimes placed in orchard trees or even in low bushes, but frequently in tall oaks. It is loosely built of straw and twigs, and contains, by the end of May, from three to four eggs of a light greenish blue, marked with brown and lilac. The young are fed on insects gathered from the leaves. By the end of the summer, the male moults his bright red feathers and comes out in a suit resembling that of the female, but he keeps his black wings and tail. The whole family, clothed in these inconspicuous colors, migrate southward and remain in the tropics till the following spring.

THE ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK

To see a Grosbeak for the first time gives a student of birds almost the same feeling of exaltation as the first sight of a Scarlet Tanager. If one should hear, in the shade trees about the house, a Robin singing much faster and with a richer voice than ever before, and, after patient search, find the twig where the bird was singing, one's first thought would probably be, "Some escaped cage bird from the tropics." The head of the male Grosbeak is black, the tail and wings black and white, but in the center of the white breast is a triangle of pure rose, carried in some individuals far down the breast. When the bird flies, the white patches in the wings have a peculiar effect, like a circle of white. The large, almost monstrous bill, not only accounts for the bird's name, but explains why he is put into the same family with the sparrows. His nature, too, is eminently practical, as a sparrow's should be; a favorite food is the potato bug.

His mate lacks the black and rose, but her beak betrays her. She is not a particularly interesting bird, and does not even have the credit of excellence in household matters, at any rate as far as building her nest is concerned. It is made of a few coarse twigs loosely laid together,—a little platform through which the eggs sometimes show from below, and from which one would think they must certainly fall off. The nest is placed in a bush or low tree, and contains three or four greenish blue eggs, thickly marked with red. The young are out in July, and though a few Grosbeaks are occasionally seen in September, most of them have already left for the tropics by the end of the summer. The same joyous week of May which brings the Thrushes, Bobolinks, and Orioles brings them back again.

Just as a knowledge of the hoarse note of the Tanager will often betray the presence of that splendid bird, so an acquaintance with the sharp click, like that of a pair of shears, which the Grosbeaks make, will often attract the student and reward him with a sight of the beautiful rosy breast. Grosbeaks sing for a long time on one perch,—not on the uppermost spray of the tree, as that other tropical sparrow, the Indigo bird, loves to do, but, like the Tanager, on some branch well inside the canopy of leaves. In the first weeks of May, when birds of many species are mating, two and sometimes three male Grosbeaks may occasionally be seen pursuing each other, their white wing bars and spots making a showy contrast to the black. The victor in the struggle then returns to the tree near the female, and pours out a song of unusual vigor and sweetness. In May, the Grosbeak visits the blossoming fruit trees, snipping off the petals and the undeveloped fruit. Suspicion has therefore fallen on him, but it is now believed by the best authorities that this "budding" is not severe enough to injure the tree or the crop of fruit. Nor must we forget to throw into the other balance the result of his labors in the potato field.

When the adult male Grosbeak moults in summer, the rose on the breast becomes duller, and the black on the head and back is almost entirely replaced by brown. Like the Tanager, however, he retains his black wings and tail, and may thus be distinguished from the brown-winged young males.

THE REDSTART

Almost a fourth of the birds usually seen by a good observer in a morning's walk in May or June, belong to a family known as Warblers. If they were really as musical as their name suggests, people might know them better; but even as it is, their colors are often so bright that the birds well repay one who takes the trouble to make their acquaintance. Perhaps the best known of the family is the Yellow Warbler, not to be confused with the Goldfinch, from which the absence of the latter's black cap, wings, and tail will distinguish it. The Oven-bird, whose loud teach-er, teach-er, teach-er is so common a sound in dry woods in summer, is another member of the Warbler family. The gayest of them all, however, in most parts of our country, is the Redstart. His coal black head, with bright orange patches at the shoulders, and yellowish bands across the wings and tail, suggest a miniature Oriole.

The Redstart is a splendid bit of color; in Cuba he is known, according to Mr. Chapman, as "Candelita," the little torch. Black and orange is a not uncommon combination of color among birds, and never fails to be effective. The Redstart, moreover, makes the most of his color by keeping both wings and tail spread, so that the yellow and orange is constantly displayed. He flits from one twig to another, spreading his little black-and-yellow fan, flying out, turning his black head and glowing shoulders toward one, and continually uttering a little song, not much in itself, and only full of meaning and association to the bird's friends, to whom it suggests leafy shade near brooks in the summer heat.

The name of the family to which the Redstart belongs needs, perhaps, a word of explanation. It simply means that our Warblers are related to a family of European birds which have well earned their name, since the family includes the Nightingale and one or two other birds almost as musical. The name Redstart, too, is English,—start coming from the Anglo-Saxon word for tail. It was applied in England to a bird with a red tail, and since our bird has bright color in the tail, the name was transferred to it by the English settlers.

Many of the Warblers frequent the thick woods and are little noticed; the Redstart, however, often builds in the trees or shrubbery about the house, particularly if a brook or pool afford an abundance of insects. In the crotch of a sapling or on a limb, the female places a pretty nest built of bark and soft materials. The female resembles the male in the pattern of color, but the black is replaced by gray, and the orange by a faint yellowish shade. Males only one year old resemble the female so closely that the sharp little song often seems to proceed from the bill of a female; in reality it is a young male that is singing, one not yet arrived at the full splendor of his future gay plumage.

The Redstart is often victimized by the Cowbird, and one feels the imposition more keenly in its case than in that of almost any other bird, for we know that the big clumsy Cowbird is being reared at the expense of a whole family of these pretty warblers.

The Redstart comes early in May and stays through the summer. Some are seen even as late as October, but these are, very likely, birds which have bred far North, where the late summer did not permit them to rear their young so early as our own birds.

THE RUBY-THROATED HUMMING-BIRD

The restless activity and general appearance of the Humming-bird make one almost hesitate to believe that it is really a bird and not a brilliant tropical insect. It possesses no song; few people see it except on the wing, and its nest is so rarely found that to most people the bird is merely a sudden apparition, seen hovering over a flower, its ruby throat sparkling in the sun. When the Humming-bird's nest is discovered, it turns out to be a structure as delicate and rare as its little architect. It is often fixed on a lichen-covered twig, frequently in orchards, but as often on tall forest trees. To the outside of the nest, bits of gray lichen are fastened, so that at a distance the nest is mistaken for a knob of the twig itself. The eggs are always two, ridiculously small, like pea beans.

The Humming-bird is not a good father. He neglects all the domestic duties, being rarely seen near the nest after it is completed. The female brings up the two young birds unaided, feeding them by thrusting her long bill into their gaping mouths and pumping food into their throats. The process has been described as "a frightful-looking act." The food thus administered to the young consists, probably, of soft-bodied insects, for when Humming-birds visit flowers, it is not only to gather honey, but also to capture the smaller honey-gatherers.

Many charming stories have been told of the fearlessness of the Humming-bird. It had often been observed that birds fed from flowers held in the hand, but it remained for Mrs. Soule to make artificial trumpet-vine flowers, and by filling them with sugar water, to provide a daily feast for her Humming-bird neighbors. Though the birds are very irritable and pugnacious when wild, frequently attacking each other with the shrill squeaks which are their only notes, yet, in captivity, they prove very gentle and almost affectionate. The Humming-bird has discovered another method of obtaining the sweet liquor which it loves. The Sapsucker, or Yellow-bellied Woodpecker, is in the habit of drilling rows of small holes into the maples of the northern forests, and sucking out the sap which fills these little wells. Many insects are attracted to the sweet fluid, and the Humming-birds also come as uninvited guests to the feast; so that while the Woodpecker is drinking on one side of the tree, butterflies, bees, wasps, and Humming-birds are fluttering about the other.

By the end of September, the season for honey gatherers is about over in the North, and the wings which can support the little body for so many seconds in front of a flower, now take it southward to the tropics, where there are always flowers. It is not until May, not until the red blossoms of the Japan quince are open, that the Humming-birds return.

The Ruby-throated Humming-bird is the only species found on the Atlantic coast; the female, however, lacks the ruby throat, and is sometimes taken for another species. Humming-birds seen at dusk, if caught, will prove to be, not birds but clear-winged or Humming-bird moths. In South America, however, there are over four hundred different species of Humming-birds. A museum case full of these is a marvel of beauty and interest; the iridescent colors of their gorgets, or throat-pieces, the variety of shapes which their bills assume, the development of their throat and tail feathers, give one the impression of a show case full of fantastic jewels.

BOB-WHITE

Bob-white, unlike the majority of our birds, does not migrate southward in winter; the whole covey, unless they are killed, spend the whole year near the spot where they were born, feeding on the fallen grain, seeds, and various kinds of fruit. In hard winters, they become very tame, and if fed regularly, come to the barnyard almost like poultry. Most people are only too familiar with this bird, but not as he looks in life. Then he is full of energy and spirit; his pure white throat shows against the black of his head, and his rich reddish brown wings are ready to carry him off with a whirr that startles one. For one that we see alive, we see a thousand hanging, bloody and bedraggled, in the markets. Few people who become really acquainted with Bob-white, who see him sitting on a stone wall calling his name, or see his mate hurrying her little ones over the road into the blackberry vines, will care to make another meal off his little body. We must consider not only the wrong, if we acknowledge it to be one, done to the individual quail whose life has been taken, but the danger that threatens his whole race. The cheerful Bob-white is already a much rarer sound than it used to be, and the bird has many other dangers to contend against besides the pot-hunter's gun.

The greatest peril that besets quail in the North is the occasional midwinter blizzard, followed by intense cold. The quail at night huddle close together on the ground, their tails touching and their heads pointing out in a circle. After a great storm in a recent winter, the melting snow exposed a circle of quail, surprised and buried by the snow, like the people of Pompeii buried under the falling ashes.

In May, the male begins to whistle the two or three clear notes which have been translated into "Bob-white," or "More wet." This call is not only a summons to the female, but also a challenge to other males; if one hides near by and imitates the whistle accurately enough, a sudden flight will sometimes bring the angry bird directly to the spot. The surprise of the visitor is then amusing enough. Stone walls, fences, the low limbs of trees are favorite perches for the male, and his cheerful call has long been a familiar sound in farming country, from Massachusetts southward.

The nest is placed in some tangle of blackberry vines, along the edge of a field, and is a sight worth a long journey to see. The pure white eggs, often as many as fifteen, are laid close together in such a manner that the little body of the female may cover and warm them all. When the young are hatched, they are covered with down, and run at once, like chickens, and unlike the little blind naked young which we see in the nests of song birds. They follow their mother through the tangled grass or low bushes, feeding on fruit and insects, and later on the grain in the stubble fields. The whole family keep together, even when the young are able to care for themselves. When they hear any danger approaching, they keep close to the ground, relying on their brown coloring to conceal them. If the danger comes too near, they are off in half a dozen directions, over walls and bushes, coming quickly to earth again when they see some sheltering covert. Then, after an interval, one hears a note something like a guinea hen's, issuing from different parts of the field. Guided by these sounds, the whole covey reassemble.

THE GOLDFINCH

Not the most sullen sky nor the bitterest cold seems to discourage Goldfinches. They are always cheerful and affectionate, keeping together for the greater part of the year in larger or smaller flocks, which call to each other, if separated, by notes as sweet as those of a Canary. In summer, Goldfinches find an abundance of food in the seeds of many species of plants, but in winter also many remain even in the Northern States, searching cheerfully among the dry weeds and grasses, and uttering their sweet notes. Many people, however, do not notice them at this season, for when winter comes the head and body of the males of this species, as of many others, lose the bright black and yellow which marks them so distinctly in summer, and are clothed in dull brownish shades. About the first of April, one notices here and there in a flock a male that shows a few bright yellow feathers, and by another month, they have moulted their winter dress and are as gay as ever.

In the spring and early summer, the Goldfinches are extremely musical, spending hours in uttering a simple but pleasing song. Several males now engage in what seems to be a musical contest, flying out from a tree and circling about with set wings, all the time keeping up a continual strain. When flying through the air at a considerable height, they go in long curves, and utter during each undulation three or four simple notes. As they seem constantly to have business in one part or other of the country, the wave-like flight and characteristic notes become a common feature of the summer landscape.