Part 57

“The Robin only troubles berries in June, July, and August, and grapes in September, while all the rest of the year he does valiant work as a gleaner of insects that cannot easily be destroyed by man,—many beetles that destroy foliage and their white grubs that eat the roots of hay, grass, and strawberry plants, grasshoppers, crickets, ants, moths, army-worms, and the larvæ of the owlet moths, better known as army-worms.

“So you can see that if the Robin helps the farmers in this way, the fruit grower should be willing to protect his crops in other ways than by shooting his friend and his children’s friend, the Robin.

“One other reason there is, also, why we of the North should protect the Robin at home; in many southern states he is a legal mark for all who wish to kill him. Not only is the Robin to be found in the markets, but shooting him merely for competition, to see who can bag the most, is a common form of—sport, I was going to say, but game of chance is better.

“Let the Kind Hearts of the North be kind to dear blundering brother Robin, that by the very force of example the hearts of others may be warmed to show mercy and their heads be given the intelligence to see that, in shooting the migrant Robins by the hundreds, the loss is to their country and themselves.”

“Look! Oh, look, Gray Lady!” cried little Clary, climbing to the window-seat; “here are some bright, fresh Robins lighting on the spruces. Let’s play they are some that roosted there last summer; or maybe were hatched right in the orchard, and that they are real glad to get home again.”

ROBIN’S MATE

Everybody praises Robin, Singing early, singing late; But who ever thinks of saying A good word for Robin’s mate?

Yet she’s everything to Robin, Silent partner though she be; Source and theme and inspiration Of each madrigal and glee.

For as she, with mute devotion, Shapes and curves the plastic nest, Fashioning a tiny cradle With the pressure of her breast,

So the love in that soft bosom Moulds his being as ’twere clay, Prints upon his breast the music Of his most impassioned lay.

And when next you praise the Robin, Flinging wide with tuneful gate To his eager brood of love-notes, Don’t forget the Robin’s mate.

—Eliza Gilbert Ives.

-----

See Climatic Variations in Colour and Size of Song Sparrow, F. M. Chapman.

XXIII MARCH

Red-wings and Pussy-willows

MARCH

March! March! March! They are coming In troops to the tune of the wind; Red-headed Woodpeckers drumming, Gold-crested Thrushes behind. Sparrows in brown jackets hopping Past every gateway and door. Finches with crimson caps stopping Just where they stopped years before.

—Lucy Larcom.

“How do the birds know when spring has come? How can they tell the difference between a warm day in December and a warm day in March when the ground is still snow covered? We ourselves might be puzzled to tell the difference if we had not kept record of the days and weeks by the almanac.

“But the birds know. The Red-wings, Grackles, and Cowbirds will not return for the warmest December sun, but let the sun of early March but blink, and they are up and away, oftentimes stealing a march on shy Pussy-willow herself.

“Unless the season is very stormy, as we have seen for ourselves this year, a few Robins, Bluebirds, and Blackbirds are added to the winter residents in February. These, however, belong to a sort of roving advance-guard; the real procession comes in March, the exact time depending upon the weather, for the insect-eating birds cannot stay if their larder of field and air is ice locked.

“So we may look for larger flocks of the birds that drifted along in February, and in addition to these the Woodcock, the Great Fox Sparrow as big as the Hermit Thrush, Phœbe, Kingfisher, Mourning Dove, and Field Sparrow of the flesh-pink bill, rusty head and back, and buff breast, who sings his little strain, ‘cherwee-cher-wee-cherwee-iddle-iddle-iddle ee,’ as the sun goes down.

“The three birds that are the most noticeable in the latter part of March, that has made up its mind to go out like a lamb and let Pussy-willow wave in peace in moist pasture and the delicate blue-and-white hepaticas star the edges of dry woods, are the Red-winged Blackbirds, the Kingfishers, and the cheerful little Phœbe. All love the vicinity of water, but the Red-wing locates often in merely marshy ground, while the bird who is a fisherman by trade locates near a pond or stream of considerable size and the Phœbe comes to house or woodshed.

“‘Among all the birds that return to us in late March or April, which is the most striking and most compels attention?’ asked a bird-lover of a group of kindred spirits.

“‘The Fox Sparrow,’ said one, who lived on the edge of a village where sheltered wild fields stretched uphill to the woodlands. ‘Every morning when I open my window I can hear them almost without listening.’

Order—Passeres Family—Icteridæ Genus—Agelaius Species—Phœniceus

“‘The Phœbe,’ said another, who was the owner of a pretty home, where many rambling sheds broke the way from cow-barn to pasture.