Part Ii. P. 6.

VULTUR JOTA, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 247.

BLACK VULTURE or CARRION CROW, VULTUR ATRATUS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ix. p. 104. Pl. 75. fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 46.

Adult Male. Plate CVI. Fig. 1.

Bill elongated, rather stout, straight at the base, slightly compressed; the upper mandible covered to the middle by the cere, broad, curved, and acute at the end, the edge doubly undulated. Nostrils medial, approximate, linear, pervious. Head elongated, neck longish, body robust. Feet strong; tarsus roundish, covered with small rhomboidal scales; toes scutellate above, the middle one much longer, the lateral nearly equal, second and third united at the base by a web. Claws arched, strong, rather obtuse.

Plumage rather compact, with ordinary lustre. The head and upper part of the neck are destitute of feathers, having a black, rugose, carunculated skin, sparsely covered with short hairs, and downy behind. Wings ample, long, the first quill rather short, third and fourth longest. Tail longish, even, or very slightly emarginated at the end, of twelve broad, straight, feathers.

Bill greyish-yellow at the end, dusky at the base, as is the corrugated skin of the head and neck. Iris reddish-brown. Feet yellowish-grey; claws black. The general colour of the plumage is dull-black, slightly glossed with blue; the primary quills light brownish on the inside.

Length 26 inches; extent of wings 54; bill 2½; tarsus 3½; middle toe 4.

Adult Female. Plate CVI. Fig. 2.

The female resembles the male in external appearance, and is rather less.

THE CANADA JAY.

CORVUS CANADENSIS, LINN.

PLATE CVII. MALE AND FEMALE.

I have found this species of Jay breeding in the State of Maine, where many individuals belonging to it reside the whole year, and where in fact so many as fifteen or twenty may be seen in the course of a day by a diligent person anxious to procure them. In the winter, their numbers are constantly augmented by those which repair to that country from places farther north. They advance to the southward as far as the upper parts of the State of New York, where the person who first gave intimation to Mr Wilson that the species was to be found in the Union, shot seven or eight one morning, from which number he presented one to the esteemed author of the "American Ornithology," who afterwards procured some in the same neighbourhood. This species is best known in Maine by the name of the "Carrion Bird," which is usually applied to it on account of its carnivorous propensities. When their appetite is satisfied, they become shy, and are in the habit of hiding themselves amongst close woods or thickets; but when hungry, they shew no alarm at the approach of man, nay, become familiar, troublesome, and sometimes so very bold as to enter the camps of the "lumberers," or attend to rob them of the bait affixed to their traps. My generous friend, EDWARD HARRIS, Esq. of New York, told me that while fishing in a birch canoe on the lakes in the interior of the State of Maine, in the latter part of the summer of 1833, the Jays were so fearless as to alight in one end of his bark, while he sat in the other, and help themselves to his bait, taking very little notice of him.

The lumberers or wood-cutters of this State frequently amuse themselves in their camp during their eating hours, with what they call "transporting the carrion bird." This is done by cutting a pole eight or ten feet in length, and balancing it on the sill of their hut, the end outside the entrance being baited with a piece of flesh of any kind. Immediately on seeing the tempting morsel, the Jays alight on it, and while they are busily engaged in devouring it, a wood-cutter gives a smart blow to the end of the pole within the hut, which seldom fails to drive the birds high in the air, and not unfrequently kills them. They even enter the camps, and would fain eat from the hands of the men while at their meals. They are easily caught in any kind of trap. My friend, the Rev. JOHN BACHMAN, informed me that when residing in the State of New York, he found one caught in a snare which had been set with many others for the common Partridge or "Quail," one of which the Jay had commenced eating before he was himself caught.

In the winter they are troublesome to the hunters, especially when the ground is thickly covered with snow, and food consequently scarce, for, at such a time, they never meet with a Deer or a Moose hung on a tree, without mutilating it as much as in their power. In the Bay of Fundy I observed, several mornings in succession, a Canada Jay watching the departure of a Crow from her nest, after she had deposited an egg. When the Crow flew off, the cunning Jay immediately repaired to the nest, and carried away the egg. I have heard it said that the Canada Jay sometimes destroys the young of other birds of its species, for the purpose of feeding its own with them; but not having witnessed such an act, I cannot vouch for the truth of the report, which indeed appears to me too monstrous to be credited.

I have often been delighted by the sight of their graceful movements on alighting after removing from one tree to another, or while flying across a road or a piece of water. They have an odd way of nodding their head, and jerking their body and tail, while they emit their curiously diversified notes, which at times resemble a low sort of mewing, at others the sound given out by an anvil lightly struck with a hammer. They frequently alight about the middle of a tree, and hop with airy grace from one branch to another until they reach the very top, when they remove to another tree, and thus proceed through the woods. Their flight resembles that of the Blue Jay, although I do not consider it quite so firm or protracted.

The Canada Jay breeds in Maine, in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and Labrador. It begins so early as February or March to form its nest, which is placed in the thickest part of a fir tree, near the trunk, and at a height of from five to ten feet. The exterior is composed of dry twigs, with moss and grass, and the interior, which is flat, is formed of fibrous roots. The eggs, which are from four to six, are of a light grey colour, faintly marked with brown. Only one brood is raised in the season. I found the young following their parents on the 27th June 1833, at Labrador, where I shot both old and young, while the former was in the act of feeding the latter.

The young, which was fully fledged, had no white about the head; the whole plumage was of a very deep slate colour approaching to black, excepting the ends of the tail feathers, which were of a sullied white, the lower mandible almost white. The bill was (of course) shorter than that of the old bird, more dilated at the base, the bristles there proportionally shorter. The legs were of a deep purplish black. In short, it bore a perfect resemblance to the bird called the "Short-billed Jay, or Whiskey Jack, Garrulus brachyrinchus," of my excellent friend Mr SWAINSON, as described and figured by himself and Dr RICHARDSON in their beautiful and valuable Fauna Boreali-Americana, (Vol. II. p. 296. Pl. 551.) So unlike the parent birds did the young of this species appear, that before I saw them fed by the old ones, I urged my young companions to shoot every one of the brood, thinking they might be of a new species. The contents of the stomach of both young and old birds were insects, leaves of fir trees, and eggs of ants. The intestines measured one foot eleven inches. The flesh of both was of a dark bluish colour, and smelt strongly of their food.

I have represented a pair of these birds on an oak branch, with its rich autumnal tints, and have attached to it the nest of a hornet, having observed the bird in the State of Maine pursuing that insect.

CORVUS CANADENSIS, Linn. Syst. Nat. p. 158.—Lath. Synops. vol. i. p. 389.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 58.

CANADA JAY, CORVUS CANADENSIS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 33. Pl. 21. Fig. 1.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 232.

GARRULUS CANADENSIS, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americana, part ii. p. 295.

Adult Male. Plate CVII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, strong, straight, compressed, acute; upper mandible with the dorsal outline slightly arched, the sides sloping, the edges sharp and overlapping, the tip slightly declinate; lower mandible with the back narrow, the sides sloping. Nostrils basal, open, covered by the reversed bristly-feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body rather slight. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus about the same length as the middle toe, anteriorly scutellate, compressed, acute behind; toes free, scutellate, the inner shorter than the outer; claws arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, blended, slightly glossed. A tuft of reflected, adpressed, bristly feathers over the nostril on each side. Wings short; first quill very short, fourth and fifth longest. Tail longish, much rounded, of twelve rounded feathers. During winter, there is an accumulation of soft, downy feathers on the rump.

Bill and feet black. Iris brown. Forehead and feathers covering the nostrils brownish-white; throat, a collar passing round the lower part of the neck, and the lower parts generally of a white colour, slightly tinged with yellowish. The general tint of the upper parts is a dull leaden grey; the back of the neck black; the margins of the quills and coverts dull-white, as are those of the tail feathers, which are broadly tipped with the same.

Length 11 inches, extent of wings 15; beak 1; tarsus 1½.

Adult Female. Plate CVII. Fig. 2.

The Female scarcely differs in any perceptible degree from the Male; the light coloured tints being only more tinged with brown, and the grey of the upper parts somewhat duller.

THE WHITE OAK.

QUERCUS ALBA, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iv. p. 429.—Michaux, Arbr. Forest. de l'Amerique Sept. vol. ii. p. 13. pl. 1. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 633.—MONŒCIA POLYANDRIA, Linn. AMENTACEÆ, Juss.

Leaves oblong, pinnatifido-sinuate, downy beneath, the lobes linear-lanceolate, obtuse, attenuated at the base, entire on the margin; the fruit pedunculate, the cupule tubercular, flat at the base, cupshaped, the acorn ovate. Although this species of oak is not abundant in Maine, where the Canada Jay chiefly occurs, I have employed it in my drawing, on account of the rich colouring of its fine leaves during the autumnal months. It is in Louisiana, where it is plentiful, that one must see it, to judge of the grandeur which it attains under favourable circumstances. I have often seen these oaks spreading their young branches amid the tops of Magnolias fully one hundred feet above the ground, with stems from four to six feet in diameter, to the height of fifty or more feet, straight as a line, and without a branch to that height. When left in fields, their tops, naturally inclined to spread, render their aspect majestic; and one is tempted to try to calculate the many years these noble trees have stood against the blast of the tempest. The wood, which is of excellent quality, being hard and durable, is applied to numerous uses. Its distribution is very extensive in the United States, it being found in the forests from Louisiana to Massachusetts, and in the western countries beyond the Mississippi.

THE FOX-COLOURED SPARROW.

FRINGILLA ILIACA, MERREM.

PLATE CVIII. MALE AND FEMALE.

Although the Fox-coloured Sparrow visits us regularly at the approach of winter, it merely remains during the few months of the year which are too severe in the more northern parts of our continent, where it resides at all other periods. It wanders, however, as far southward as the lower parts of Louisiana, is also met with in Kentucky, and in the countries bordering on the Ohio, Missouri, and Mississippi, and visits the Floridas, Georgia, the Carolinas, and in short every State south of Massachusetts. In the latter State, and in that of Maine, few individuals are seen after its passage through these districts, late in October.

In the northern parts of America, where it breeds, it replaces the Towhe Bunting, so abundant in our middle States, where it delights us with its song. To that species the Fox-coloured Sparrow comes next in size, while it greatly surpasses it in its musical powers.

While in the United States, it lives retired, and separates itself from most other species. Little flocks, consisting of a family or two, take possession of some low well-covered thicket, by the side of some clear streamlet, where they spend the winter unmolested, searching for food among the fallen and withered leaves, or among the roots and dead branches of trees. Should a warm morning dawn on their retreat, the male birds directly ascend to the middle branches of the brambles, and in a soft under tone cheer the females with their melodies. At all other times they remain comparatively silent, merely emitting a note to call each other, or to assure their little family that all is safe around them. Towards spring a kind of bustle takes place in their camp: the males, already warmed with affection and love, renew their attentions to their mates; new connections are formed by the young; their song becomes much improved; and the passer by may here and there see a pair moving slowly and cautiously towards the land whence they had emigrated some months before.

Follow these birds wherever you will, you invariably find them not in deep woods, but along the fences, and amid patches of briars and tangled underwood, which at all times seem so pleasing to them. They traverse the whole of the Union by day, resting here and there awhile, to watch the gradual improvement of the season.

They enter the British Provinces full of joy, and lavish of song. Many are well pleased to remain there, but the greater number pursue their course to revisit the Magdeleine Islands, Newfoundland, and the country of Labrador. There you find them in every pleasant dell, where no sooner have they arrived than each searches for a safe retreat in which to place its nest. This is in due time replenished with eggs; and, while the female sits on them with care and anxiety, her devoted lover chants the blessings they both enjoy.

The flight of this bird is low, rapid, and undulating. While passing over the Gulf of St Lawrence, it flies swiftly, at a moderate height, without uttering any note. They appear to be able to travel to a considerable distance, without the necessity of alighting, and I have thought that they may accomplish the passage of the Gulf without resting on any of its islands. As soon as they alight, they betake themselves to the deepest thickets.

During the breeding season, their plumage has a richness which it does not exhibit in the winter months, while with us. Indeed some of the males at that time are so highly coloured as to be of a bright red rather than of a brown tint; and their appearance, as they pass from one bush to another, or skip from stone to stone, is extremely pleasing. I have attempted to represent this colouring in the Plate.

Would that I could describe the sweet song of this finch; that I could convey to your mind the effect it produced on my feelings, when wandering on the desolate shores of Labrador!—that I could intelligibly tell you of the clear, full notes of its unaffected warble, as it sat perched on the branch of some stunted fir. There for hours together was continued the delightful serenade, which kept me lingering about the spot. The brilliancy and clearness of each note, as it flowed through the air, were so enchanting, the expression and emphasis of the song so powerful, that I never tired of listening. But, reader, I can furnish no description of the melody.

While in South Carolina, in January 1834, after I had returned from the country where this species breeds, I happened, one fair day, to meet with a group of these birds. They were singing in concert. Never shall I forget the impression which their notes made on me: I suddenly stopped and looked around; for a moment I imagined that I had been by magic transported to the wilds of Labrador; but how short was the duration of these feelings!—a hawk sailed over the spot of their concealment, and in an instant all was silent as the tomb.

The nest of the Fox-coloured Sparrow, which is large for the size of the bird, is usually placed on the ground, among moss or tall grass, near the stem of a creeping fir, the branches of which completely conceal it from view. Its exterior is loosely formed of dry grass and moss, with a carefully disposed inner layer of finer grasses, circularly arranged; and the lining consists of very delicate fibrous roots, together with some feathers from different species of water-fowl. In one instance I found it composed of the down of the Eider-duck. The period at which the eggs are laid, is from the middle of June to the 5th of July. They are proportionally large, four or five in number, rather sharp at the smaller end, of a dull greenish tint, sprinkled with irregular small blotches of brown. I think that the description given in the splendid work of my friends SWAINSON and RICHARDSON, of the eggs of this species, must have been taken from those of the White-crowned Bunting, as it agrees precisely with eggs which I have found in many nests of that bird.

When one approaches the nest, the female affects lameness, and employs all the usual arts to decoy him from it. They raise only one brood in the season. The young, before they depart for the United States, already resemble their parents, which have by this time lost much of the brilliancy of their colouring. They leave Labrador about the 1st of September, in small groups, formed each of a single family. When in that country, and in Newfoundland, I frequently observed them searching along the shores for minute shell-fish, on which they feed abundantly.

Many of these birds are frequently offered for sale in the markets of Charleston, they being easily caught in "figure-of-four traps!" Their price is usually ten or twelve cents each. I saw many in the aviaries of my friends Dr SAMUEL WILSON and the Reverend JOHN BACHMAN, of that city. To the former I am indebted for the following particulars relative to this species, part of which I was myself witness to.

Dr WILSON, who was almost in the daily habit of visiting my friend BACHMAN, with whom it was my good fortune to reside while at Charleston, was fond of talking about birds, many of which he knew more accurately than ordinary ornithologists are wont to do. "My Dear Mr AUDUBON," he said, "I have several beautiful Fox-coloured Sparrows in my aviary, but of late some of them have been killed, and I wish you would tell me by what other birds the murders can have been committed." I laid the charge first on the Blue Jays; but he replied that even they appeared as if greatly molested by some other species. A day elapsed, the Doctor returned, and astonished me not a little by informing me that the culprit was a Mocking-bird. I went to his house on the 8th December; and, while standing on the piazza, we both saw the Mocking-bird alight on one of the Fox-coloured Sparrows, in the manner of a small hawk, and peck at the poor bird with such force as to convince us that its death must soon ensue. The muscular powers of the finch, however, appeared almost too much for the master songster of our woods; it desisted for a moment, out of breath, and we could observe its pantings; but it did not fail to resume its hitherto unknown character of tyrant. A servant was dispatched to the rescue, and peace was restored; but the finch was almost reduced to its last gasp, and shortly after expired. This very Mocking-bird we strongly suspected of being the individual that had killed a Blue Jay of exceedingly meek disposition, a few weeks before. It was ultimately removed into a lonely cage, where it is yet passing its days, perhaps in unavailing penitence.

FRINGILLA ILIACA, Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 112.

FOX-COLOURED SPARROW, FRINGILLA RUFA, Wilson's Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 53. pl. 22. fig. 4.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 514.

FRINGILLA (ZONOTRICHIA?) ILIACA, Swains. North Zool. vol. ii. p. 257.

Adult Male in Summer. Plate CVIII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, robust, conical, acute; upper mandible broader than the lower, almost straight in its dorsal outline, as is the lower, both being rounded on the sides, and the lower with inflected acute edges; the gap line nearly straight, a little deflected at the base, and not extending to beneath the eye. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, partially concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck shortish; body robust. Legs of moderate length, rather strong; tarsus shorter than the middle toe; covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe rather large.

Plumage compact above, soft and blended beneath; wings short, curved, rounded, the second, third and fourth quills longest, and nearly equal; the first and fifth equal; tail longish, even, or slightly rounded.

Bill dark brown above, the base of the lower mandible yellow, its tip bluish; iris deep brown; feet flesh-coloured; upper part of the head and neck smoke-grey; back dusky brown; rump, tail, wing-coverts, and outer part of the quills bright ferruginous; tips of the coverts whitish, forming a narrow bar, space from the upper mandible to the eye pale reddish; ear-coverts chestnut. The ground colour of the lower parts is white anteriorly, pale greyish behind; the sides of the neck, the throat, and flanks, marked with triangular spots of chestnut, which are darker on the hind parts.

Length 7½ inches; extent of wings 10½; bill 5/12 along the ridge, 7/12 along the gap; tarsus 8/12, middle toe 1.

Adult Female. Plate CVIII. Fig. 2.

The Female differs little from the Male, the tints being merely somewhat fainter. Length 7½ inches.

THE SAVANNAH FINCH.

FRINGILLA SAVANNA, WILS.

PLATE CIX. MALE AND FEMALE.

This species is one of the most abundant of our Finches. It is also one of the hardiest, standing the winter of our Middle Districts, ranging as far north as Labrador, and crowding our old fields and open woods of the south, from October to April. It is nearly allied to the Yellow-Winged Sparrow and Henslow's Bunting, but differs from both in many important particulars.

It confines itself principally to the ground, where it runs with extreme agility, lowering its body as if to evade your view, and when in danger hiding as closely as a mouse, nay, seldom taking to wing, unless much alarmed or suddenly surprised. It is fondest of dry, rather elevated situations, not very distant from the sea shore, and although it travels much, I have never found one in deep woods. During winter it associates with the Field Sparrow and Bay-winged Sparrow, and with these it is often seen in open plains of great extent, scantily covered with tall grasses or low clumps of trees and briars. Regardless of man, it approaches the house, frequents the garden, and alights on low buildings with as little concern as if in the most retired places.

It migrates by day, when it suffers from the attacks of the Marsh, the Pigeon and the Sharp-shinned Hawks, and rests on the ground by night, when it is liable to be preyed upon by the insidious Minx. Its flight, although rather irregular, is considerably protracted, for it crosses I believe without resting the broad expanse of the Gulf of St Lawrence. In June 1833, I found it gradually moving northward as I advanced towards the country of Labrador; and although a great number tarry and breed in all intermediate places from Maryland to that dreary region, I saw them there in abundance.

The nest of the Savannah Finch is placed on the ground at the foot of a tuft of rank grass, or of a low bush. It is formed of dry grasses, and is imbedded in the soil, or among the grass, the inner part being finished with straw and blades of a finer texture. The eggs, from four to six in number, are of a pale bluish colour, softly mottled with purplish-brown. Some eggs have a broadish circle of these spots near the large end, while the extremity itself is without any markings. It generally breeds twice every season in the Middle States, but never more than once to the eastward of Massachusetts. While searching for the nests of this and many other species, I observed that the artifices used by the female to draw intruders away, are seldom if ever practised until after incubation has commenced.

Although this little Finch cannot be said to have a song, it is yet continually pouring out its notes. You see it perched on a fence rail, the top of a stone, or a tall grass or bush, mimicking as it were the sounds of the Common Cricket. Indeed, when out of sight of the performer, one might readily imagine it was that insect he heard. During winter, it now and then repeats a cheep, which, although more sonorous, is not more musical. In spring, when disturbed and forced from its perch, it flies quite low over the ground in a whirring manner, and re-alights as soon as an opportunity offers.

Like all the other land-birds that resort to Labrador in summer, it returns from that country early in September.

FRINGILLA SAVANNA, Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 109.

SAVANNAH FINCH, FRINGILLA SAVANNA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 72. Pl. 34. fig. 4, Male; and vol. iii. p. 55. Pl. 22. fig. 3, Female.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 489.

Adult Male. Plate CIX. Fig. 1.

Bill short, conical, acute; upper mandible straight in its dorsal outline, rounded on the sides, as is the lower, which has the edges sharp and inflected; the gap line straight, not extending to beneath the eye. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, concealed by the feathers. Head rather large. Neck short. Legs of moderate length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, compressed, acute, slightly arched; that of the hind toe a little larger.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings shortish, curved, rounded, the third and fourth quills longest. Tail short, emarginate.

Bill pale-brown beneath, dusky above. Iris brown. Feet light flesh-colour. Cheeks and space over the eye light citron-yellow. The general colour of the plumage above is pale reddish-brown, spotted with brownish-black, the edges of the feathers being of the former colour. The lower parts are white, the breast marked with small deep brown spots, the sides with long streaks of the same.

Length 5½ inches; extent of wings 8½; bill along the ridge 5/12, along the gap 6/12; tarsus 10/12.

Adult Female. Plate CIX. Fig. 2.

The Female resembles the Male, the tints of the plumage being merely a little lighter.

Length 5½ inches; extent of wings 8½.

THE INDIAN PINK-ROOT OR WORM-GRASS.

SPIGELIA MARILANDICA, Pursh, Fl. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 139. —PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA, Linn. APOCYNEÆ, Juss. Fig. 1. of the Plate.

Stem tetragonal, all the leaves opposite, ovate, acuminate. Perennial. This plant grows in damp meadows, along rivulets, and even in the depth of the woods. It is abundant in Kentucky, as well as on the eastern ranges of the Alleghany Mountains, even to the vicinity of the Atlantic. Its rich carmine flowers have no scent.

PHLOX ARISTATA, Mich. Fl. Amer. vol. i. p. 144.—Pursh, Fl. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 150.—PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA, Linn. POLEMONIA, Juss. Fig. 2. of the Plate.

See vol. i. p. 361.

THE HOODED WARBLER.

SYLVIA MITRATA, LATH.

PLATE CX. MALE AND FEMALE.

In many parts of our woods, the traveller, as he proceeds, cannot help stopping to admire the peaceful repose that spreads its pleasing charm on all around. The tall trees are garlanded with climbing plants, which have entwined their slender stems around them, creeping up the crevices of the deeply furrowed bark, and vying with each other in throwing forth the most graceful festoons, to break the straight lines of the trunks which support them; while here and there from the taller branches, numberless grape-vines hang in waving clusters, or stretch across from tree to tree. The underwood shoots out its branches, as if jealous of the noble growth of the larger stems, and each flowering shrub or plant displays its blossoms, to tempt the stranger to rest a while, and enjoy the beauty of their tints, or refresh his nerves with their rich odours. Reader, add to this scene the pure waters of a rivulet, and you may have an idea of the places in which you will find the Hooded Warbler.

The Southern and Western States are those to which this beautiful bird gives a preference. It abounds in Louisiana, along the Mississippi, and by the Ohio nearly to Cincinnati. It is equally plentiful in the northern parts of the Floridas, Georgia, and the two Carolinas, after which it becomes rare. None, I believe, are ever seen east of the State of New York. It enters the lower parts of Louisiana about the middle of March, and by the beginning of May has laid its eggs, or sometimes even hatched them. It arrives in South Carolina in April, immediately constructs its nest, and has young quite as soon as in Louisiana.

The Hooded Flycatcher is one of the liveliest of its tribe, and is almost continually in motion. Fond of secluded places, it is equally to be met with in the thick cane brakes of the high or low lands, or amid the rank weeds and tangled bushes of the lowest and most impenetrable swamps. You recognise it instantly on seeing it, for the peculiar graceful opening and closing of its broad tail distinguishes it at once, as it goes on gambolling from bush to bush, now in sight, now hid from your eye, but constantly within hearing.

Its common call-note so resembles that of the Painted Finch or Nonpareil, that it requires a practised ear to distinguish them. Its song, however, is very different. It is rather loud, lively yet mellow, and consists of three notes, resembling the syllables weet, weet, weeteē, a marked emphasis being laid on the last. Although extremely loquacious during the early part of spring, it becomes almost silent the moment it has a brood; after which its notes are heard only while the female is sitting on her eggs; for they raise two, sometimes three, broods in a season.

Full of activity and spirit, it flies swiftly after its insect prey, securing the greater part of it on wing. Its flight is low, gliding, and now and then protracted to a considerable distance, as it seldom abandons the pursuit of an insect until it has obtained it.

The nest of this gay bird is always placed low, and is generally attached to the forks of small twigs. It is neatly and compactly formed of mosses, dried grasses, and fibrous roots, and is carefully lined with hair, and not unfrequently a few large feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a dull white, spotted with reddish-brown towards the larger end. The male and female sit by turns, and show extreme anxiety for the safety of their eggs or young.

My worthy friend JOHN BACHMAN, gave me the following account of the courageous disposition and strength of attachment of the Hooded Flycatcher. "I found a nest of these birds in a low piece of ground, so entangled with smilax and briars that it was difficult for me to pass through it. The nest was not placed more than two feet from the ground. This was in the month of May, and the parents were engaged in feeding the young it contained. Not far from that spot, whilst on a stand, waiting for a deer to pass, I saw another pair of the Hooded Flycatcher collecting materials to build a nest. The female was the most active, and yet the male was constantly near to her. A Sharp-shinned Hawk suddenly pounced upon them, seized the female, and flew off with her. The male, to my surprise, followed close after the Hawk, flying within a few inches of him, and darting at him in all directions, as if fully determined to make him drop his prey. The pursuit continued thus until the birds were quite out of my sight!"

This species, like many of its delicate tribe, appears to suffer so much from occasional cold, that, although at all other times a shy and wary bird, when chilly weather surprises it, it becomes at once careless of its safety. On such occasions I have approached them near enough to touch them with my gun. By the middle of September they all retire farther south.

The plant on which I have represented a pair of these birds, is common in the localities which they usually prefer. Although richly coloured, it has no scent.

HOODED FLYCATCHER, MUSCICAPA CUCULLATA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 101. Pl. 26. Fig. 3. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 373.

SYLVIA MITRATA, Lath. Index Ornith. vol. ii. p. 528. —Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 79.

Adult Male. Plate CX. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, straight, subulato-conical, acute, nearly as deep as broad at the base, the edges acute, the gap line a little deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, elliptical, lateral, half-closed by a membrane. Head rather small. Neck short. Body rather slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly by a few scutella, the uppermost long; toes scutellate above, the inner free, the hind toe of moderate size; claws slender, compressed, acute, arched.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings short, a little rounded, the second and third quills longest. Tail longish, slightly emarginate. Rather strong bristles at the base of the bill.

Bill blackish above, paler below. Iris brown. Feet flesh-coloured. Forehead, sides of the head, and the chin deep yellow, as are the breast and belly. Hind-head, throat, and lower part of the neck black. The general colour of the upper parts is yellowish-olive; wings dusky; three lateral tail-feathers white on the terminal half of their inner webs.

Length 5½, extent of wings 8; bill along the ridge nearly 5/12.

Adult Female. Plate CX. Fig. 2.

The Female has the forehead, the sides of the head, and all the lower parts yellow, the hind part of the head dusky; in other respects she resembles the male.

Dimensions nearly the same as in the male.

This species more resembles a Flycatcher than a Sylvia in its habits, as well as in the bristles at the base of the bill, and, in fact, is very nearly allied to the Muscicapa Selbii, vol. i. p. 46.

THE LOST ONE.

A "Live-oaker" employed on the St John's River, in East Florida, left his cabin, situated on the banks of that stream, and, with his axe on his shoulder, proceeded towards the swamp in which he had several times before plied his trade of felling and squaring the giant trees that afford the most valuable timber for naval architecture and other purposes.

At the season which is the best for this kind of labour, heavy fogs not unfrequently cover the country, so as to render it difficult for one to see farther than thirty or forty yards in any direction. The woods, too, present so little variety, that every tree seems the mere counterpart of every other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt, is so tall that a man of ordinary stature cannot see over it, whence it is necessary for him to proceed with great caution, lest he should unwittingly deviate from the ill-defined trail which he follows. To increase the difficulty, several trails often meet, in which case, unless the explorer be perfectly acquainted with the neighbourhood, it would be well for him to lie down, and wait until the fog should disperse. Under such circumstances, the best woodsmen are not unfrequently bewildered for a while; and I well remember that such an occurrence happened to myself, at a time when I had imprudently ventured to pursue a wounded quadruped, which led me some distance from the track.

The live-oaker had been jogging onwards for several hours, and became aware that he must have travelled considerably more than the distance between his cabin and the "hummock" which he desired to reach. To his alarm, at the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the sun at its meridian height, and could not recognise a single object around him.

Young, healthy, and active, he imagined that he had walked with more than usual speed, and had passed the place to which he was bound. He accordingly turned his back upon the sun, and pursued a different route, guided by a small trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his course: he saw it gradually descend in the west, but all around him continued as if enveloped with mystery. The huge grey trees spread their giant boughs over him, the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living being crossed his path, all was silent and still, and the scene was like a dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion. He wandered like a forgotten ghost that had passed into the land of spirits, without yet meeting one of his kind with whom to hold converse.

The condition of a man lost in the woods is one of the most perplexing that could be imagined by a person who has not himself been in a like predicament. Every object he sees, he at first thinks he recognises, and while his whole mind is bent on searching for more that may gradually lead to his extrication, he goes on committing greater errors the farther he proceeds. This was the case with the live-oaker. The sun was now setting with a fiery aspect, and by degrees it sunk in its full circular form, as if giving warning of a sultry morrow. Myriads of insects, delighted at its departure, now filled the air on buzzing wings. Each piping frog arose from the muddy pool in which it had concealed itself; the squirrel retired to its hole, the crow to its roost, and, far above, the harsh croaking voice of the heron announced that, full of anxiety, it was wending its way to the miry interior of some distant swamp. Now the woods began to resound to the shrill cries of the owl; and the breeze, as it swept among the columnar stems of the forest-trees, came laden with heavy and chilling dews. Alas, no moon with her silvery light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost One, wearied and vexed, laid himself down on the damp ground. Prayer is always consolatory to man in every difficulty or danger, and the woodsman fervently prayed to his Maker, wished his family a happier night than it was his lot to experience, and with a feverish anxiety waited the return of day.

You may imagine the length of that cold, dull, moonless night. With the dawn of day came the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man started on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart, pursued a course which he thought might lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the trace of a track to guide him, and yet, as the sun rose, he calculated the many hours of day-light he had before him, and the farther he went continued to walk the faster. But vain were all his hopes: that day was spent in fruitless endeavours to regain the path that led to his home, and when night again approached, the terror that had been gradually spreading over his mind, together with the nervous debility induced by fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, rendered him almost frantic. He told me that at this moment he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not been for the piety with which his parents had in early life imbued his mind, and which had become habitual, would have cursed his existence. Famished as he now was, he laid himself on the ground, and fed on the weeds and grass that grew around him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and terror. "I knew my situation," he said to me. "I was fully aware that unless Almighty God came to my assistance, I must perish in those uninhabited woods. I knew that I had walked more than fifty miles, although I had not met with a brook, from which I could quench my thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips and blood-shot eyes. I knew that if I should not meet with some stream I must die, for my axe was my only weapon, and although deer and bears now and then started within a few yards or even feet of me, not one of them could I kill; and although I was in the midst of abundance, not a mouthful did I expect to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty stomach. Sir, may God preserve you from ever feeling as I did the whole of that day!"

For several days after, no one can imagine the condition in which he was, for when he related to me this painful adventure, he assured me that he had lost all recollection of what had happened. "God," he continued, "must have taken pity on me one day, for, as I ran wildly through those dreadful pine barrens, I met with a tortoise. I gazed upon it with amazement and delight, and, although I knew that were I to follow it undisturbed, it would lead me to some water, my hunger and thirst would not allow me to refrain from satisfying both, by eating its flesh, and drinking its blood. With one stroke of my axe the beast was cut in two, and in a few moments I dispatched all but the shell. Oh, Sir, how much I thanked God, whose kindness had put the tortoise in my way! I felt greatly renewed. I sat down at the foot of a pine, gazed on the heavens, thought of my poor wife and children, and again, and again thanked my God for my life, for now I felt less distracted in mind, and more assured that before long I must recover my way, and get back to my home."

The Lost One remained and passed the night, at the foot of the same tree under which his repast had been made. Refreshed by a sound sleep, he started at dawn to resume his weary march. The sun rose bright, and he followed the direction of the shadows. Still the dreariness of the woods was the same, and he was on the point of giving up in despair, when he observed a racoon lying squatted in the grass. Raising his axe, he drove it with such violence through the helpless animal, that it expired without a struggle. What he had done with the turtle, he now did with the racoon, the greater part of which he actually devoured at one meal. With more comfortable feelings, he then resumed his wanderings—his journey I cannot say,—for although in the possession of all his faculties, and in broad daylight, he was worse off than a lame man groping his way in the dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew not where the door stood.

Days, one after another, passed,—nay, weeks in succession. He fed now on cabbage-trees, then on frogs and snakes. All that fell in his way was welcome and savoury. Yet he became daily more emaciated, until at length he could scarcely crawl. Forty days had elapsed, by his own reckoning, when he at last reached the banks of the river. His clothes in tatters, his once bright axe dimmed with rust, his face begrimmed with beard, his hair matted, and his feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered with parchment, there he laid himself down to die. Amid the perturbed dreams of his fevered fancy, he thought he heard the noise of oars far away on the silent river. He listened, but the sounds died away on his ear. It was indeed a dream, the last glimmer of expiring hope, and now the light of life was about to be quenched for ever. But again, the sound of oars awoke him from his lethargy. He listened so eagerly, that the hum of a fly could not have escaped his ear. They were indeed the measured beats of oars, and now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of human voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke the tumultuous pulses of returning hope. On his knees did the eye of God see that poor man by the broad still stream that glittered in the sunbeams, and human eyes soon saw him too, for round that headland covered with tangled brushwood boldly advances the little boat, propelled by its lusty rowers. The Lost One raises his feeble voice on high;—it was a loud shrill scream of joy and fear. The rowers pause, and look around. Another, but feebler scream, and they observe him. It comes,—his heart flutters, his sight is dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for breath. It comes,—it has run upon the beach, and the Lost One is found.

This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an actual occurrence, which might be embellished, no doubt, but which is better in the plain garb of truth. The notes by which I recorded it were written, in the cabin of the once lost live-oaker, about four years after the painful incident occurred. His amiable wife, and loving children, were present at the recital, and never shall I forget the tears that flowed from them as they listened to it, albeit it had long been more familiar to them than a tale thrice told. Sincerely do I wish, good reader, that neither you nor I may ever elicit such sympathy, by having undergone such sufferings, although no doubt such sympathy would be a rich recompense for them.

It only remains for me to say, that the distance between the cabin and the live-oak hummock to which the woodsman was bound, scarcely exceeded 8 miles, while the part of the river at which he was found, was 38 miles from his house. Calculating his daily wanderings at 10 miles, we may believe that they amounted in all to 400. He must, therefore, have rambled in a circuitous direction, which people generally do in such circumstances. Nothing but the great strength of his constitution, and the merciful aid of his Maker, could have supported him for so long a time.

THE PILEATED WOODPECKER.

PICUS PILEATUS, Linn.

PLATE CXI. MALE, FEMALE AND YOUNG MALES.

It would be difficult for me to say in what part of our extensive country I have not met with this hardy inhabitant of the forest. Even now, when several species of our birds are becoming rare, destroyed as they are, either to gratify the palate of the epicure, or to adorn the cabinet of the naturalist, the Pileated Woodpecker is every where to be found in the wild woods, although scarce and shy in the peopled districts.

Wherever it occurs it is a permanent resident, and, like its relative the Ivory-billed Woodpecker, it remains pretty constantly in the place which it has chosen after leaving its parents. It is at all times a shy bird, so that one can seldom approach it, unless under cover of a tree, or when he happens accidentally to surprise it while engaged in its daily avocations. When seen in a large field newly brought into tillage, and yet covered with girdled trees, it removes from one to another, cackling out its laughter-like notes, as if it found delight in leading you a wild-goose chase in pursuit of it. When followed it always alights on the tallest branches or trunks of trees, removes to the side farthest off, from which it every moment peeps, as it watches your progress in silence; and so well does it seem to know the distance at which a shot can reach it, that it seldom permits so near an approach. Often when you think the next step will take you near enough to fire with certainty, the wary bird flies off before you can reach it. Even in the wildest parts of Eastern Florida, where I have at times followed it, to assure myself that the birds I saw were of the same species as that found in our distant Atlantic States, its vigilance was not in the least abated. For miles have I chased it from one cabbage-tree to another, without ever getting within shooting distance, until at last I was forced to resort to stratagem, and seeming to abandon the chase, took a circuitous route, concealed myself in its course, and waited until it came up, when, it being now on the side of the tree next to me, I had no difficulty in bringing it down. I shall never forget, that, while in the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, I spent several days in the woods endeavouring to procure one, for the same purpose of proving its identity with others elsewhere seen.

Their natural wildness never leaves them, even although they may have been reared from the nest. I will give you an instance of this, as related to me by my generous friend the Reverend JOHN BACHMAN of Charleston, who also speaks of the cruelty of the species. "A pair of Pileated Woodpeckers had a nest in an old elm tree, in a swamp which they occupied that year; the next spring early, two Blue Birds took possession of it, and there had young. Before these were half grown, the Woodpeckers returned to the place, and, despite of the cries and reiterated attacks of the Blue Birds, the others took the young, not very gently, as you may imagine, and carried them away to some distance. Next the nest itself was disposed of, the hole cleaned and enlarged, and there they raised a brood. The nest, it is true, was originally their own. The tree was large, but so situated, that, from the branches of another I could reach the nest. The hole was about 18 inches deep, and I could touch the bottom with my hand. The eggs, which were laid on fragments of chips, expressly left by the birds, were six, large, white and translucent. Before the Woodpeckers began to sit, I robbed them of their eggs, to see if they would lay a second time. They waited a few days as if undecided, when on a sudden I heard the female at work again in the tree; she once more deepened the hole, made it broader at bottom, and recommenced laying. This time she laid five eggs. I suffered her to bring out her young, both sexes alternately incubating, each visiting the other at intervals, peeping into the hole to see that all was right and well there, and flying off afterwards in search of food.

When the young were sufficiently grown to be taken out with safety, which I ascertained by seeing them occasionally peeping out of the hole, I carried them home, to judge of their habits in confinement, and attempted to raise them. I found it exceedingly difficult to entice them to open their bill in order to feed them. They were sullen and cross, nay, three died in a few days; but the others, having been fed on grasshoppers forcibly introduced into their mouths, were raised. In a short time they began picking up the grasshoppers thrown into their cage, and were fully fed with corn-meal, which they preferred eating dry. Their whole employment consisted in attempting to escape from their prison, regularly demolishing one every two days, although made of pine boards of tolerable thickness. I at last had one constructed with oak boards at the back and sides, and rails of the same in front. This was too much for them, and their only comfort was in passing and holding their bills through the hard bars. In the morning after receiving water, which they drank freely, they invariably upset the cup or saucer, and although this was large and flattish, they regularly turned it quite over. After this they attacked the trough which contained their food, and soon broke it to pieces, and when perchance I happened to approach them with my hand, they made passes at it with their powerful bills with great force. I kept them in this manner until winter. They were at all times uncleanly and unsociable birds. On opening the door of my study one morning, one of them dashed off by me, alighted on an apple-tree near the house, climbed some distance, and kept watching me from one side and then the other, as if to ask what my intentions were. I walked into my study:—the other was hammering at my books. They had broken one of the bars of the cage, and must have been at liberty for some hours, judging by the mischief they had done. Fatigued of my pets, I opened the door, and this last one hearing the voice of his brother, flew towards him and alighted on the same tree. They remained about half an hour, as if consulting each other, after which, taking to their wings together, they flew off in a southern direction, and with much more ease than could have been expected from birds so long kept in captivity. The ground was covered with snow, and I never more saw them. No birds of this species ever bred since in the hole spoken of in this instance, and I consider it as much wilder than the Ivory-billed Woodpecker."

While in the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, of which I have repeatedly spoken, I was surprised to see how differently this bird worked on the bark of different trees, when searching for its food. On the hemlock and spruce, for example, of which the bark is difficult to be detached, it used the bill sideways, hitting the bark in an oblique direction, and proceeding in close parallel lines, so that when, after a while, a piece of the bark was loosened and broken off by a side stroke, the surface of the trunk appeared as if closely grooved by a carpenter using a gouge. In this manner the Pileated Woodpecker often, in that country, strips the entire trunks of the largest trees. On the contrary, when it attacked any other sort of timber, it pelted at the bark in a straightforward manner, detaching a large piece by a few strokes, and leaving the trunks smooth, no injury having been inflicted upon it by the bill.

This bird, when surprised, is subject to very singular and astonishing fits of terror. While in Louisiana, I have several times crept up to one occupied in searching for food, on the rotten parts of a low stump only a few inches from the ground, when, having got so near the tree as almost to touch it, I have taken my cap and suddenly struck the stump, as if with the intention of securing the bird; on which the latter instantly seemed to lose all power or presence of mind, and fell to the ground as if dead. On such occasions, if not immediately secured, it soon recovers, and flies off with more than its usual speed. When surprised when feeding on a tree, they now and then attempt to save themselves by turning round the trunk or branches, and do not fly away unless two persons be present, well knowing, it would seem, that flying is not always a sure means of escape. If wounded without falling, it mounts at once to the highest fork of the tree, where it squats and remains in silence. It is then very difficult to kill it, and sometimes, when shot dead, it clings so firmly to the bark that it may remain hanging for hours. When winged and brought to the ground, it cries loudly on the approach of its enemy, and essays to escape by every means in its power, often inflicting a severe wound if incautiously seized.

The Pileated Woodpecker is fond of Indian corn, chestnuts, acorns, fruits of every kind, particularly wild grapes, and insects of all descriptions. The maize it attacks while yet in its milky state, laying it bare, like the Redheads or Squirrels. For this reason, it often draws upon itself the vengeance of the farmer, who, however, is always disposed, without provocation, to kill the "Woodcock," or "Logcock" as it is commonly named by our country people.

The flight of this well known bird is powerful, and, on occasion, greatly protracted, resembling in all respects that of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker. Its notes are loud and clear, and the rolling sound produced by its hammerings, may be heard at the distance of a quarter of a mile. Its flesh is tough, of a bluish tint, and smells so strongly of the worms and insects on which it generally feeds, as to be extremely unpalatable. It almost always breeds in the interior of the forests, and frequently on trees placed in deep swamps over the water, appearing to give a preference to the southern side of the tree, on which I have generally found its hole, to which it retreats during winter or in rainy weather, and which is sometimes bored perpendicularly, although frequently not, as I have seen some excavated much in the form of that of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker. Its usual depth is from twelve to eighteen inches, its breadth from two and a half to three, and at the bottom sometimes five or six. It rears, I believe, only one brood in a season. The young follow their parents for a long time after coming abroad, receive food from them, and remain with them until the return of spring. The old birds, as well as the young, are fond of retiring at night to their holes, to which they return more especially in winter. My young friend, THOMAS LINCOLN, Esq. of the State of Maine, knew of one that seldom removed far from its retreat during the whole of the inclement season.

The observation of many years has convinced me, that Woodpeckers of all sorts have the bill longer when just fledged than at any future period of their life, and that through use it becomes not only shorter, but also much harder, stronger, and sharper. When the Woodpecker first leaves the nest, its bill may easily be bent; six months after, it resists the force of the fingers; and when the bird is twelve months old, the organ has acquired its permanent bony hardness. On measuring the bill of a young bird of this species not long able to fly, and that of an adult bird, I found the former seven-eighths of an inch longer than the latter. This difference I have represented in the plate. It is also curious to observe, that the young birds of this family, which have the bill tender, either search for larvæ in the most decayed or rotten stumps and trunks of trees, or hunt the deserted old fields, in search of blackberries and other fruits, as if sensible of their inaptitude for attacking the bark of sound trees or the wood itself.

PICUS PILEATUS, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 173.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 225.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 44.

PILEATED WOODPECKER, PICUS PILEATUS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 27. Pl. 29. Fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p.567.

Adult Male. Plate CXI. Fig. 1.

Bill long, straight, strong, polyhedral, tapering, compressed and slightly truncated by being worn at the tip; mandibles of equal length, both nearly straight in their dorsal outline; their sides convex. Tongue worm-shaped, capable of reaching four inches beyond the bill, horny near the tip for about one-eighth of an inch, and barbed. Nostrils basal, oval, partly covered by recumbent bristly feathers. Head large. Neck rather long, slender. Body robust. Feet rather short, robust; tarsus strong scutellate before, scaly on the sides; two toes before and two behind, the inner hind toe shortest; claws strong, arched, very acute.

Plumage compact, glossy. Feathers of the head elongated, loose, and erectile. Wings large, the third and fourth quills longest. Tail long, cuneate, of twelve tapering stiff feathers, worn to a point by being rubbed against the bark of trees.

Bill and feet deep blue. Iris yellow. The general colour of the plumage is deep black, glossed with purplish-blue. The whole upper part of the head of a shining deep carmine; a broad band of black runs backwards from the eye, and is continued, narrow to the forehead; between this band and the bright red of the upper part of the head is a narrow line of white; at the base of the bill commences, at first yellowish, a band of white, which crosses the cheek, expands on the side of the neck, where it is joined by the white of the throat, and terminates under the wing; there is also a broad band of red from the base of the lower mandible. Under wing-coverts white, as are the proximal portions of the quills.

Length 18 inches; extent of wings 28; bill along the back 1¾, along the edges 3.

Adult Female. Plate CXI. Fig. 2.

The female differs little in external appearance from the male. The fore part and sides of the head over the eye are dusky, and the bright red of the upper part of the head is confined to the vertex and occiput, while the red band, from the base of the lower mandible, is substituted by one of a brownish colour. In other respects it resembles the male.

Young Males. Plate CXI. Fig. 3, 4.

The young males fully fledged, differ little from the old males in the tints and distribution of their colours; but they are represented in the plate for the purpose of shewing the original pointed form and greater length of the bill.

THE RACOON GRAPE.

VITIS ÆSTIVALIS, Mich. Flor. Amer. vol. ii. p. 230.—Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 169.—PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA, Linn. VITES, Juss.

The Racoon Grape is characterized by its broadly-cordate leaves, which have three or five lobes, its oblong clusters, and the small size of the bluish-black fruit. It is one of the finest of our vines, in regard to the luxuriance of its growth, its tortuous stem ascending the tallest trees to their summit, while its branches spread out so as to entwine the whole top. I have seen stems that measured eighteen inches in diameter, and the branches often extended from one tree to another, so as to render it difficult to pull down a plant after its stem has been cut. Its flowers perfume the woods. The grapes are small, hard, and very acrid, until severely bitten by frost. In autumn and winter, racoons, bears, opossums, and many species of birds, feed upon them.

THE DOWNY WOODPECKER.

PICUS PUBESCENS, LINN.

PLATE CXII. MALE AND FEMALE.

The Downy Woodpecker, which is best known in all parts of the United States by the name of Sap-sucker, is perhaps not surpassed by any of its tribe in hardiness, industry, or vivacity. If you watch its motions while in the woods, the orchard, or the garden, you will find it ever at work. It perforates the bark of trees with uncommon regularity and care; and, in my opinion, greatly assists their growth and health, and renders them also more productive. Few of the farmers, however, agree with me in this respect; but those who have had experience in the growing of fruit-trees, and have attended to the effects produced by the boring of this Woodpecker, will testify to the accuracy of my statement.

This species is met with, during summer, in the depth of the forest, as well as in the orchard or the garden. In winter it frequently visits the wood-pile of the farmer, close to his house, or resorts to his corn-crib, where, however, it does little damage. I have found it pretty generally distributed from the lower parts of Louisiana to Labrador, and as far to the westward as I have travelled. It seems, in fact, to accommodate itself to circumstances, and to live contented anywhere.

About the middle of April it begins to form its nest, shewing little care as to the kind of tree it selects for the purpose, although it generally chooses a sound one, sometimes, however, taking one that is partially decayed. The pair work together for several days before the hole is completed, sometimes perhaps a whole week, as they dig it to the depth of a foot or sixteen inches. The direction is sometimes perpendicularly downwards from the commencement, sometimes transverse to the tree for four or five inches, and then longitudinal. The hole is rendered smooth and conveniently large throughout, the entrance being perfectly round, and just large enough to admit one bird at a time. The eggs, commonly six in number, pure white, and translucent, are deposited on the bare wood. In the Southern and Middle States, two broods are raised in the season; farther north seldom more than one. The young follow their parents through the woods, in company with Nuthatches and Creepers, and seem at all times lively and happy. Their shrill rolling notes are heard at a considerable distance, as well as those which they use when calling to each other. Their food, during summer, consists of insects and their larvæ; but, at the approach of autumn, they feed on fruits of various kinds, especially small grapes, and the berries of the poke-weed. The extensile portion of the tongue of this species, as well as of Picus varius, P. villosus, and P. querulus, is cylindrical or vermiform, while the extremity, or tongue itself, is linear, flat above, convex beneath, with projecting edges which are serrated backwards, the tip pointed.

The flight of the Downy Woodpecker, like that of the other species, is performed by glidings and undulations, between each of which it utters a single click note; and, although usually short, is capable, on occasion, of being protracted. The bird is by no means shy or suspicious, and scarcely pays any attention to man, even when standing close to the tree on which it is at work. Towards winter many individuals migrate southward, and spend their time in the immediate neighbourhood of the planter's dwelling.

I have observed that during their stay in the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas, their breast and belly are so soiled by the carbonaceous matter adhering to the trees, in consequence of the burning of the grass at that season, that one might be apt to take a specimen in that state, as belonging to a different species.

PICUS PUBESCENS, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 175.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 46. —Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 576.

DOWNY WOODPECKER, PICUS PUBESCENS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. i. p. 153. pl. 9. fig. 4.

Adult Male. Plate CXII. Fig. 1.

Bill longish, straight, strong, tapering, compressed, slightly truncated and cuneate at the tip; mandibles of equal length, both nearly straight in their dorsal outline, their sides convex; nostrils basal, oval, covered by recumbent bristly feathers. Head of moderate size, neck of ordinary length, body robust. Feet rather short, strong; tarsus strong, scutellate before; two toes before and two behind, the inner hind toe shortest; claws strong, arched, very acute.

Plumage soft, with rather disunited barbs, slightly glossed; wings large, the third and fourth quills longest; tail longish, cuneate, of ten tapering stiff feathers, worn to a point.

Bill bluish-black; iris dark red; feet bluish-green; claws light blue, black at the end. The top of the head is black, as are a broad band behind the eye, another below the cheek, as well as the shoulders, wings, and tail; there is a bright red narrow band on the occiput. A band over the eye, and meeting on the hind neck; another from the base of the upper mandible, passing under the eye, and down the neck; six bars on the wings, and the greater part of the middle of the back, together with the three lateral tail-feathers on each side, white, the latter marked with black spots. The lower parts in general are dull white.

Length 6¾ inches, extent of wings 12; bill along the ridge 10/12; tarsus ¾.

Adult Female. Plate CXII. Fig. 2.

In the female, the red band on the head is wanting, the place occupied by it in the male being white. The lower parts are brownish-white.

THE RAMPING TRUMPET-FLOWER.

BIGNONIA CAPREOLATA. See vol. i. p. 334.

This species is met with only in the Southern Districts. It is rather rare in Louisiana, but abounds in Georgia, Alabama, and the Floridas. The flowers are destitute of odour. Humming-birds delight to search for food in them, as well as in those of other species of the genus.

THE BLUE BIRD.

SYLVIA SIALIS, LATH.

PLATE CXIII. MALE, FEMALE, AND YOUNG.

This lovely bird is found in all parts of the United States, where it is generally a permanent resident. It adds to the delight imparted by spring, and enlivens the dull days of winter. Full of innocent vivacity, warbling its ever pleasing notes, and familiar as any bird can be in its natural freedom, it is one of the most agreeable of our feathered favourites. The pure azure of its mantle, and the beautiful glow of its breast, render it conspicuous, as it flits through the orchards and gardens, crosses the fields or meadows, or hops along by the road-side. Recollecting the little-box made for it, as it sits on the roof of the house, the barn, or the fence-stake, it returns to it even during the winter, and its visits are always welcomed by those who know it best.

When March returns, the male commences his courtship, manifesting as much tenderness and affection towards his chosen one, as the dove itself. Martins and House-wrens! be prepared to encounter his anger, or keep at a respectful distance. Even the wily cat he will torment with querulous chirpings, whenever he sees her in the path from which he wishes to pick up an insect for his mate.

The Blue Bird breeds in the Floridas as early as January, and pairs at Charleston in that month, in Pennsylvania about the middle of April, and in the State of Maine in June. It forms its nest in the box made expressly for the purpose, or in any convenient hole or cavity it can find, often taking possession of those abandoned by the Woodpecker. The eggs are from four to six, of a pale blue colour. Two and often three broods are raised in the year. While the female sits on the second set of eggs, the male takes charge of the first brood, and so on to the end.

The food of this species consists of coleoptera, caterpillars, spiders, and insects of various kinds, in procuring which it frequently alights against the bark of trees. They are also fond of ripe fruits, such as figs, persimons, and grapes, and during the autumnal months they pounce on grasshoppers from the tops of the great mullein, so frequent in the old fields. They are extremely fond of newly ploughed land, on which, especially during winter and early spring, they are often seen in search of the insects turned out of their burrows by the plough.

The song of the Blue Bird is a soft agreeable warble, often repeated during the love-season, when it seldom sings without a gentle quivering of the wings. When the period of migration arrives, its voice consists merely of a tender and plaintive note, perhaps denoting the reluctance with which it contemplates the approach of winter. In November most of the individuals that have resided during the summer in the Northern and Middle Districts, are seen high in the air moving southward along with their families, or alighting to seek for food and enjoy repose. But many are seen in winter, whenever a few days of fine weather occur, so fond are they of their old haunts, and so easily can birds possessing powers of flight like theirs, move from one place to another. Their return takes place early in February or March, when they appear in parties of eight or ten of both sexes. When they alight at this season, the joyous carols of the males are heard from the tops of the early-blooming sassafras and maple.

During winter, they are extremely abundant in all the Southern States, and more especially in the Floridas, where I found hundreds of them on all the plantations that I visited. The species becomes rare in Maine, still more so in Nova Scotia, and in Newfoundland and Labrador none were seen by our exploring party.

My excellent and learned friend Dr RICHARD HARLAN of Philadelphia, told me that one day, while in the neighbourhood of that city, sitting in the piazza of a friend's house, he observed that a pair of Blue Birds had taken possession of a hole cut out expressly for them in the end of the cornice above him. They had young, and were very solicitous for their safety, insomuch that it was no uncommon thing to see the male especially fly at a person who happened to pass by. A hen with her brood in the yard came within a few yards of the piazza. The wrath of the Blue Bird rose to such a pitch that, notwithstanding its great disparity of strength, it flew at the hen with violence, and continued to assail her, until she was at length actually forced to retreat and seek refuge under a distant shrub, when the little fellow returned exultingly to his nest, and there carolled his victory with great animation. At times, however, matters take a very different course, and you may recollect the combats of a Purple Martin and a Blue Bird, of which I gave you an account in my first volume.

This species has often reminded me of the Robin Redbreast of Europe, to which it bears a considerable resemblance in form and habits. Like the Blue Bird the Redbreast has large eyes, in which the power of its passions are at times seen to be expressed. Like it also, he alights on the lower branches of a tree, where, standing in the same position, he peeps sidewise at the objects beneath and around, until spying a grub or an insect, he launches lightly towards it, picks it up, and gazes around intent on discovering more, then takes a few hops with a downward inclination of the body, stops, erects himself, and should not another insect be near, returns to the branch, and tunes his throat anew. Perhaps it may have been on account of having observed something of this similarity of habits, that the first settlers in Massachusetts named our bird the Blue Robin, a name which it still retains in that state.

Were I now engaged in forming an arrangement of the birds of our country, I might conceive it proper to assign the Blue Bird a place among the Thrushes.

MOTACILLA SIALIS, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 336.

SYLVIA SIALIS, Lath. Index Ornith. vol. ii. p. 523.

SAXICOLA SIALIS, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 89.

ERYTHACA (SIALIA) WILSONII, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.- Amer. part ii. p. 210.

BLUE BIRD, SYLVIA SIALIS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. i. p. 56. pl. iii. fig. 5. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 444.

Adult Male. Plate CXIII. Fig. 1.

Bill of ordinary length, nearly straight, broader than deep at the base, compressed towards the end; upper mandible with the dorsal line convex, the tip declinate, the edges sharp. Nostrils basal, oval. Head rather large, neck short, body rather full. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus compressed, covered anteriorly with a few long scutella, acute behind, scarcely longer than the middle toe; toes scutellate above, the two lateral ones nearly equal; claws arched, slender, compressed, that of the hind toe much larger.

Plumage soft and blended, slightly glossed. Wings of ordinary length, broad, the first quill longest, the second scarcely shorter, the secondary quills truncato-emarginate. Tail rather long, broad, nearly even, of twelve broad, rounded feathers. Short bristle-pointed feathers at the base of the mandible.

Bill and feet black, the soles yellow, iris yellowish-brown. The general colour of the upper parts is bright azure-blue, that of the lower yellowish-brown, the belly white. Shafts of the quills and tail feathers dusky.

Length 7 inches, extent of wing 10; bill along the ridge ½, along the edge ¾; tarsus 8/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXIII. Fig. 2.

The female has the upper part of a tint approaching to leaden, the foreneck and sides yellowish-brown, but duller than in the male, the belly white.

Length 6½ inches.

Young Bird. Plate CXIII. Fig. 3.

When fully fledged, the young have the upper part of the head, the back of the neck, and a portion of the back broccoli-brown; the rest of the upper part much as in the Female. The lower parts are light grey, the feathers of the breast and sides margined with brown.

THE GREAT MULLEIN.

VERBASCUM THAPSUS, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. i. p. 1001. Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. i. p. 142. Smith, Engl. Flor. vol. i. p. 512. —PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA, Linn. SOLANEÆ, Juss.

This plant, which is well known in Europe, is equally so in America; but whether it has been accidentally or otherwise introduced into the latter country, I cannot say. At present there is hardly an old field or abandoned piece of ground on the borders of the roads that is not overgrown with it. In the Middle and Southern Districts, it frequently attains a height of five or six feet. The flowers are used in infusion for catarrhs, and a decoction of the leaves is employed in chronic rheumatism.

THE WHITE-CROWNED SPARROW.

FRINGILLA LEUCOPHRYS, BONAP.

PLATE CXIV. MALE AND FEMALE.

It is to the wild regions of Labrador that you must go, kind reader, if you wish to form a personal acquaintance with the White-crowned Sparrow. There in every secluded glen opening upon the boisterous Gulf of St Lawrence, while amazed you glance over the wilderness that extends around you, so dreary and desolate that the blood almost congeals in your veins, you meet with this interesting bird. Your body is sinking under the fatigue occasioned by your wading through beds of moss, as extraordinary for their depth, as for the brilliancy of their tints, and by the difficulties which you have encountered in forcing your way through the tangled creeping pines, so dwarfish and so stubborn, that you often find it easier to trample down their branches than to separate them so as to allow you a passage. In such a place, when you are far away from all that is dear to you, how cheering is it to hear the mellow notes of a bird, that seems as if it had been sent expressly for the purpose of relieving your mind from the heavy melancholy that bears it down! The sounds are so sweet, so refreshing, so soothing, so hope inspiring, that as they come upon the soul in all their gentleness and joy, the tears begin to flow from your eyes, the burden on your mind becomes lighter, your heart expands, and you experience a pure delight, produced by the invitation thus made to offer your humblest and most sincere thanks to that all-wondrous Being, who has caused you to be there no doubt for the purpose of becoming better acquainted with the operations of his mighty power.

Thus it was with me, when, some time after I had been landed on the dreary coast of Labrador, I for the first time heard the song of the White-crowned Sparrow. I could not refrain from indulging in the thought that, notwithstanding the many difficulties attending my attempts—my mission I must call it—to study God's works in this wild region, I was highly favoured. At every step, new objects presented themselves, and whenever I rested, I enjoyed a delight never before experienced. Humbly and fervently did I pray for a continuation of those blessings, through which I now hoped to see my undertaking completed, and again to join my ever-dear family.

I first became acquainted with the White-crowned Sparrow at Henderson, in the autumn of 1817. I then thought it the handsomest bird of its kind, and my opinion still is that none other known to me as a visitor or inhabitant of the United States, exceeds it in beauty. I procured five individuals, three of which were in full plumage and proved to be males. The sex of the other two could not be ascertained; but I have since become convinced that these birds lose the white stripes on the head in the winter season, when they might be supposed to be of a different species. During spring and summer the male and the female are of equal beauty, the former being only a little larger than the latter. The young which I procured in Labrador, shewed the white stripes on the head as they were fully fledged, and I think they retain those marks in autumn longer than the old birds, of which the feathers have become much worn at that season. In the winter of 1833, I procured at Charleston in South Carolina, one in its brown livery.

One day, while near American Harbour, in Labrador, I observed a pair of these birds frequently resorting to a small hummock of firs, where I concluded they must have had a nest. After searching in vain, I intimated my suspicion to my young friends, when we all crept through the tangled branches, and examined the place, but without success. Determined, however, to obtain our object, we returned with hatchets, cut down every tree to its roots, removed each from the spot, pulled up all the mosses between them, and completely cleared the place; yet no nest did we find. Our disappointment was the greater that we saw the male bird frequently flying about with food in its bill, no doubt intended for its mate. In a short while, the pair came near us, and both were shot. In the female we found an egg, which was pure white, but with the shell yet soft and thin. On the 6th July, while my son was creeping among some low bushes, to get a shot at some Red-throated Divers, he accidentally started a female from her nest. It made much complaint. The nest was placed in the moss, near the foot of a low fir, and was formed externally of beautiful dry green moss, matted in bunches like the coarse hair of some quadruped, internally of very fine dry grass, arranged with great neatness, to the thickness of nearly half an inch, with a full lining of delicate fibrous roots of a rich transparent yellow. It was 5 inches in diameter externally, 2 in depth, 2¼ in diameter within, although rather oblong, and 1¾ deep. In one nest we found a single feather of the Willow Grous. The eggs, five in number, average ⅞ of an inch in length, are proportionally broad, of a light sea-green colour, mottled toward the larger end with brownish spots and blotches, a few spots of a lighter tint being dispersed over the whole. This description differs greatly from that of the nest and eggs of this species given by others, who, I apprehend, have mistaken for them those of the Fox-tailed Sparrow, or the Anthus Spinoletta. We found many nests, which were all placed on the ground, or among the moss, and were all constructed alike. They deposit their eggs from the beginning to the end of June. In the beginning of August, I saw many young that were able to fly, and by the 12th of that month the birds had already commenced their southward migration. The young follow their parents until nearly full grown.

The food of this species, while in Labrador, consists of small coleopterous insects, grass seeds, and a variety of berries, as well as some minute shell-fish, for which they frequently search the margins of ponds or the sea-shore. At the approach of autumn, they pursue insects on the wing, to a short distance, and doubtless secure some in that manner.

The song of the White-crowned Finch consists of six or seven notes, the first of which is loud, clear, and musical, although of a plaintive nature; the next broader, less firm, and seeming merely a second to the first; the rest form a cadence diminishing in power to the last note, which sounds as if the final effort of the musician. These notes are repeated at short intervals during the whole day, even on those dismal days produced by the thick fogs of the country where it breeds, and where this species is of all the most abundant. The White-throated Finch was also very plentiful, and we found it breeding in the same localities.

The flight of this interesting bird is usually low, swift, and greatly protracted. It is performed without any jerk of the tail. They migrate mostly by day—I say mostly, because while crossing a great arm of the sea, like the Gulf of St Lawrence, they perhaps may not always be able to accomplish their transit in one day.

I have met with this bird in almost every portion of the United States during early spring and autumn, but always either single or in very small groups. I have shot some near New Orleans in April, at Cincinnati, and near New York in May. They reach the Magdeleine Islands, Newfoundland, and the coast of Labrador, about the first of June. Those which I have seen on their passage through the United States were perfectly silent, and usually frequented low bushes and grape vines, the fruit of which they eagerly eat, but never entering the woods. In every instance I found them as gentle and unsuspicious as whilst at Labrador.

In the plate are to be seen two of these birds, drawn many years ago, one of them a male in full summer plumage, the other a female in the winter dress. I have no doubt that this species retires far south in Mexico, to spend the winter. It is nearly allied to the White-throated and Fox-tailed Sparrows, and in its winter plumage it may perhaps prove to be the Fringilla ambigua of my friend NUTTALL.

FRINGILLA LEUCOPHRYS, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 107.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 479.

EMBERIZA LEUCOPHRYS, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 874.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 413.

WHITE-CROWNED BUNTING, EMBERIZA LEUCOPHRYS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 49. pl. 31. fig. 4. Male.

Adult male. Plate CXIV. Fig. 1.

Bill very short, robust, conical, acute; upper mandible scarcely broader than the lower, both almost straight in their outline, rounded on the sides, with the edges inflected and sharp; the gap line very slightly deflected at the base, and not extending to beneath the eye. Nostrils basal, roundish, partially concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body full. Legs of moderate length, rather strong; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe rather large.

Plumage soft and rather blended above, loose beneath. Wings short and curved, rounded, the third quill longest, the second and fourth almost as long. Tail rather long, nearly even, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill reddish-orange, tipped with brown. Iris reddish-brown. Feet pale brown. The head is marked with three stripes of white, and four of deep black. Back and wing-coverts dark reddish-brown, with pale grey margins, the posterior part of the back and upper tail-coverts lighter brown. Quills and tail dark brown, margined with pale; the tip of the smaller coverts white, as are those of some of the primary coverts, which, with the secondary quills, have chestnut-brown edges. Throat and belly white; sides of the neck and the breast dull purplish-grey; the flanks and under tail-coverts pale brownish-grey.

Length 7½ inches; extent of wings 10½; bill along the ridge 4½/12, along the edge 7/12; tarsus 10/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXIV. Fig. 2.

In its summer dress, the female resembles the male at that season; but in winter the white lines on the head are less pure, the dark lines are reddish-brown, but the tints of the other parts are nearly similar, these circumstances being the same in the male.

Length 7¼ inches.

THE SUMMER GRAPE.

VITIS ÆSTIVALIS, var. SINUATA, Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 169.

This variety has large cordate leaves, which are less deeply lobed, and with large marginal teeth. It occurs in all the barren lands of the Western Country, particularly in those of Kentucky, Tennessee, and Illinois. Although it seldom attains much strength of stem, it spreads broadly on the bushes, and forms beautiful festoons. The grapes are juicy and agreeable to the taste. They are fully ripe by the middle of August, and remain hanging until destroyed by the frost. When wild pigeons happen to be abundant where it grows, they speedily devour the fruit.

THE WOOD PEWEE.

MUSCICAPA VIRENS, LINN.

PLATE CXV. MALE.

The great similarity as to form, size, tone of voice, and general colouring, that exists between the Wood Pewee, Traill's Flycatcher, the Muscicapa acadica of GMELIN, and a smaller species, which I found abundant in Labrador, and which has been beautifully figured and described in the Fauna Boreali-Americana of my friends SWAINSON and RICHARDSON, under the name of Tyrannula Richardsonii, renders it difficult to indicate their distinctive characters. The student finds it difficult to recognise them; and indeed, unless familiar with their habits, it is not easy for any one to distinguish them at first sight, nor can the observer be sure of the species, without paying very close attention to their notes, and the various peculiarities of their manners. Even my learned friend NUTTALL has supposed that my Muscicapa Traillii, and GMELIN'S M. acadica, are the same, and has expressed his doubts as to the differences between the latter and the smaller species mentioned above, of which I intend, at a future period, to give you some account; although, almost at the same time, he says that he heard a Dark-coloured Flycatcher, apparently larger than that represented in the plate, in the pine forest of South Carolina, which was unknown to him, but which I have established to be the M. Traillii. If doubts on the subject exist in the mind of such an observer as NUTTALL, who has examined the species both in the living and dead state, in the very places which these birds frequent, how difficult must it be for a "closet naturalist" to ascertain the true distinctions of these birds, when, having no better samples of the species than some dried skins, perhaps mangled, and certainly distorted, with shrivelled bills and withered feet.

It is in the darkest and most gloomy retreats of the forest that the Wood Pewee is generally to be found, during the season which it spends with us. You may find it, however, lurking for a while in the shade of an overgrown orchard; or, as autumn advances, you may see it gleaning the benumbed insects over the slimy pools, or gliding on the outskirts of the woods, when, for the last time, the piping notes of the Bullfrog are heard mingling with its own plaintive notes. In all these places, it exhibits the simplicity and freedom of its natural habits, dashing after the insects on which it principally feeds, with a remarkable degree of inattention to surrounding objects. Its sallies have also the appearance of being careless, although at times protracted, when it seems to seize several insects in succession, the more so perhaps that it has no rival to contend with in such situations. Sometimes towards autumn, it sweeps so closely over the pools that it is enabled to seize the insects as they float on the water; while, at other times, and as if in surprise, it rises to the tops of the forest trees, and snaps the insect which is just launching forth on some extensive journey, with all the freedom of flight that the bird itself possesses.

The weary traveller, who at this season wanders from his path in search of water to quench his thirst, or to repose for a while in the shade, is sure to be saluted with the melancholy song of this little creature, which, perched erect on a withered twig, its wings quivering as if it had been seized with a momentary chill, pours forth its rather low, mellow notes with such sweetness as is sure to engage the attention. Few other birds are near; and, should the more musical song of a Wood-thrush come on his ear, he may conceive himself in a retreat where no danger is likely to assail him during his repose.

This species, which is considerably more abundant than the M. fusca, is rather late in entering the Middle States, seldom reaching Pennsylvania until the 10th of May; yet it pushes its migrations quite beyond the limits of the United States. On the one hand, many of them spend the winter months in the most Southern States, such as Louisiana and the pine barrens of Florida, feeding on different berries, as well as insects; while, on the other, I have met with them in September, in the British province of New Brunswick, and observed their retrograde movements through Maine and Massachusetts. I have also seen some near Halifax, but neither in Labrador nor Newfoundland did I find an individual.

In autumn, when its notes are almost the only ones heard, it may often be seen approaching the roads and pathways, or even flitting among the tall and beautiful elms in the vicinity, or in the midst of our eastern cities. There you may observe the old birds teaching the young how to procure their food. The various groups, imperceptibly as it were, and in the most peaceable manner, now remove southward by day; and, at this season, their notes are heard at a very late hour, as in early spring. They may be expressed by the syllables pē-wēe, pettowēe, pēe-wēe, prolonged like the last sighs of a despondent lover, or rather like what you might imagine such sighs to be, it being, I believe, rare actually to hear them.

This species, in common with the Great Crested Flycatcher, and the Least Wood Pewee, is possessed of a peculiarity of vision, which enables it to see and pursue its prey with certainty, when it is so dark that you cannot perceive the bird, and are rendered aware of its occupation only by means of the clicking of its bill.

The nest of the Wood Pewee is as delicate in its form and structure, as the bird is in the choice of the materials which it uses in its construction. In almost every case, I have found it well fastened to the upper part of a horizontal branch, without any apparent preference being given to particular trees. Were it not that the bird generally discloses its situation, it would be difficult to discover it, for it is shallow, well saddled to the branch, and connected with it by an extension of the lichens forming its outer coat, in such a manner as to induce a person seeing it to suppose it merely a swelling of the branch. These lichens are glued together apparently by the saliva of the bird, and are neatly lined with very fine grasses, the bark of vines, and now and then a few horse-hairs. The eggs are four or five, of a light yellowish hue, dotted and blotched with reddish at the larger end. It raises two broods in a season in Virginia and Pennsylvania, but rarely more than one in the Northern States. By the middle of August the young are abroad; and it is then that the birds seem more inclined to remove from the interior of the forest.

Although less pugnacious than the larger Flycatchers, it is yet very apt to take offence when any other bird approaches its stand, or appears near its nest.

In its ordinary flight the Wood Pewee passes through the gloom of the forest, at a small elevation, in a horizontal direction, moving the wings rapidly, and sweeping suddenly to the right or left, or darting upwards, after its prey, with the most perfect ease. During the love season, it often flies, with a vibratory motion of the wings, so very slowly that one might suppose it about to poise itself in the air. On such occasions its notes are guttural, and are continued for several seconds as a low twitter.

MUSCICAPA VIRENS, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 327.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 68.

WOOD PEWEE, MUSCICAPA RAPAX, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 81. pl. 13. fig. 5.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 285.

Adult Male. Plate CXV.

Bill of ordinary length, straight, depressed at the base; upper mandible with the sides somewhat convex, the edges sharp, the tip slightly declinate, and having a small notch on each side; nostrils small, rounded, nearly concealed. The head is rather large, but the whole form is light. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus slender, compressed, anteriorly scutellate, acute behind; toes free, small, the two side ones about equal; claws slender, slightly arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, blended, tufty; the feathers of the head capable of being raised into a longish tuft or crest; basirostral bristles distinct; wings of ordinary length; the second quill longest, first shorter than third, and longer than sixth; tail rather long, distinctly emarginate, or forked, of twelve broad, obliquely pointed feathers.

Bill dusky above, pale yellowish-brown beneath. Iris brown. Feet light brown. The general colour of the upper parts is brownish-olive; the upper part of the head much darker, inclining to brownish-black; a pale greyish ring encircles the eye; two narrow bands of the same colour cross the wing, one formed by the tips of the lesser coverts, the other by those of the greater secondary coverts; the secondary quills are margined externally with paler; the throat and breast are ash-grey, tinged with green, the rest of the lower parts pale greenish yellow.

Length 6½ inches, extent of wings 11; bill along the ridge 7/12, along the edge ¾; tarsus 8/12.

THE SWAMP HONEYSUCKLE.

AZALEA VISCOSA, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. i. p. 831. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 153. PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA, Linn. RHODODENDRA, Juss.

The leaves of this species of Azalea are oblongo-obovate, acute, smooth on both sides; the flowers white, sweet-scented, with a very short calyx. It grows abundantly in almost every district of the United States, in such localities as are suited to it, namely, low damp meadows, swamps, and shady woods.

THE FORCE OF THE WATERS.

The men who are employed in cutting down the trees, and conveying the logs to the saw-mills or the places for shipping, are, in the State of Maine, called "Lumberers." Their labours may be said to be continual. Before winter has commenced, and while the ground is yet uncovered with a great depth of snow, they leave their homes to proceed to the interior of the pine forests, which in that part of the country are truly magnificent, and betake themselves to certain places already well known to them. Their provisions, axes, saws, and other necessary articles, together with provender for their cattle, are conveyed by oxen in heavy sledges. Almost at the commencement of their march, they are obliged to enter the woods, and they have frequently to cut a way for themselves, for considerable spaces, as the ground is often covered with the decaying trunks of immense trees, which have fallen either from age, or in consequence of accidental burnings. These trunks, and the undergrowth which lies entangled in their tops, render many places almost impassable even to men on foot. Over miry ponds they are sometimes forced to form causeways, this being, under all circumstances, the easiest mode of reaching the opposite side. Then, reader, is the time for witnessing the exertions of their fine large cattle. No rods do their drivers use to pain their flanks; no oaths or imprecations are ever heard to fall from the lips of these most industrious and temperate men, for in them, as indeed in most of the inhabitants of our Eastern States, education and habit have tempered the passions and reduced the moral constitution to a state of harmony. Nay, the sobriety that exists in many of the villages of Maine, I acknowledge I have often considered as carried to excess, for on asking for brandy, rum or whisky, not a drop could I obtain, and it is probable there was an equal lack of spirituous liquors of every other kind. Now and then I saw some good old wines, but they were always drunk in careful moderation. But to return to the management of the oxen. Why, reader, the lumberers speak to them as if they were rational beings. Few words seem to suffice, and their whole strength is applied to the labour, as if in gratitude to those who treat them with so much gentleness and humanity.

While present on more than one occasion at what Americans call "ploughing matches," which they have annually in many of the States, I have been highly gratified, and in particular at one, of which I still have a strong recollection, and which took place a few miles from the fair and hospitable city of Boston. There I saw fifty or more ploughs drawn by as many pairs of oxen, which performed their work with so much accuracy and regularity, without the infliction of whip or rod, but merely guided by the verbal mandates of the ploughmen, that I was perfectly astonished.

After surmounting all obstacles, the lumberers with their stock arrive at the spot which they have had in view, and immediately commence building a camp. The trees around soon fall under the blows of their axes, and before many days have elapsed, a low habitation is reared and fitted within for the accommodation of their cattle, while their provender is secured on a kind of loft covered with broad shingles or boards. Then their own cabin is put up; rough bedsteads, manufactured on the spot, are fixed in the corners; a chimney, composed of a frame of sticks plastered with mud, leads away the smoke; the skins of bears or deer, with some blankets, form their bedding, and around the walls are hung their changes of home-spun clothing, guns, and various necessaries of life. Many prefer spending the night on the sweet-scented hay and corn-blades of their cattle, which are laid on the ground. All arranged within, the lumberers set their "dead-falls," large "steel-traps," and "spring-guns," in suitable places around their camp, to procure some of the bears that ever prowl around such establishments.

Now the heavy clouds of November, driven by the northern blasts, pour down the snow in feathery flakes. The winter has fairly set in, and seldom do the sun's gladdening rays fall on the wood-cutter's hut. In warm flannels his body is enveloped, the skin of a racoon covers his head and brow, his moose-skin leggins reach the girdle that secures them around his waist, while on broad moccasins, or snow-shoes, he stands from the earliest dawn until night, hacking away at the majestic pines that for a century past have embellished the forest. The fall of these valuable trees no longer resounds on the ground; and, as they tumble here and there, nothing is heard but the rustling and crackling of their branches, their heavy trunks sinking into the deep snows. Thousands of large pines thus cut down every winter afford room for the younger trees, which spring up profusely to supply the wants of man.

Weeks and weeks have elapsed; the earth's pure white covering has become thickly and firmly crusted by the increasing intensity of the cold, the fallen trees have all been sawn into measured logs, and the long repose of the oxen has fitted them for hauling them to the nearest frozen streams. The ice gradually becomes covered with the accumulating mass of timber, and, their task completed, the lumberers wait impatiently for the breaking up of the winter.

At this period, they pass the time in hunting the moose, the deer, and the bear, for the benefit of their wives and children; and as these men are most excellent woodsmen, great havoc is made among the game. Many skins of sables, martins, and musk-rats they have procured during the intervals of their labour, or under night. The snows are now giving way, as the rains descend in torrents, and the lumberers collect their utensils, harness their cattle, and prepare for their return. This they accomplish in safety.

From being lumberers they now become millers, and with pleasure each applies the grating file to his saws. Many logs have already reached the dams on the swollen waters of the rushing streams, and the task commences, which is carried on through the summer, of cutting them up into boards.

The great heats of the dog-days have parched the ground; every creek has become a shallow, except here and there, where in a deep hole the salmon and the trout have found a retreat; the sharp slimy angles of multitudes of rocks project, as if to afford resting places to the wood-ducks and herons that breed on the borders of these streams. Thousands of "saw logs" remain in every pool, beneath and above each rapid or fall. The miller's dam has been emptied of its timber, and he must now resort to some expedient to procure a fresh supply.

It was my good fortune to witness the method employed for the purpose of collecting the logs that had not reached their destination, and I had the more pleasure that it was seen in company with my little family. I wish for your sake, reader, that I could describe in an adequate manner the scene which I viewed; but, although not so well qualified as I could wish, rely upon it, that the desire which I feel to gratify you, will induce me to use all my endeavours to give you an idea of it.

It was the month of September. At the upper extremity of Dennisville, which is itself a pretty village, are the saw-mills and ponds of the hospitable Judge Lincoln and other persons. The creek that conveys the logs to these ponds, and which bears the name of the village, is interrupted in its course by many rapids and narrow embanked gorges. One of the latter is situated about half a mile above the mill-dams, and is so rocky and rugged in its bottom and sides, as to preclude the possibility of the trees passing along it at low water, while, as I conceived, it would have given no slight labour to an army of woodsmen or millers, to move the thousands of large logs that had accumulated in it. They lay piled in confused heaps to a great height along an extent of several hundred yards, and were in some places so close as to have formed a kind of dam. Above the gorge there is a large natural reservoir, in which the head waters of the creek settle, while only a small portion of them ripples through the gorge below, during the latter weeks of summer and in early autumn, when the streams are at their lowest.

At the neck of this basin, the lumberers raised a temporary barrier with the refuse of their sawn logs. The boards were planted nearly upright and supported at their tops by a strong tree extended from side to side of the creek, which might there be about forty feet in breadth. It was prevented from giving way under the pressure of the rising waters, by having strong abutments of wood laid against its centre, while the ends of these abutments were secured by wedges, which could be knocked off when necessary.

The temporary dam was now finished. Little or no water escaped through the barrier, and that in the creek above it rose in the course of three weeks to its top, which was about ten feet high, forming a sheet that extended upwards fully a mile from the dam. My family was invited early one morning, to go and witness the extraordinary effect which would be produced by the breaking down of the barrier, and we all accompanied the lumberers to the place. Two of the men, on reaching it, threw off their jackets, tied handkerchiefs round their heads, and fastened to their bodies a long rope, the end of which was held by three or four others, who stood ready to drag their companions ashore, in case of danger or accident. The two operators, each bearing an axe, walked along the abutments, and at a given signal, knocked out the wedges. A second blow from each sent off the abutments themselves, and the men, leaping with extreme dexterity from one cross log to another, sprung to the shore with almost the quickness of thought.

Scarcely had they effected their escape from the frightful peril that threatened them, when the mass of waters burst forth with a horrible uproar. All eyes were bent towards the huge heaps of logs in the gorge below. The tumultuous burst of the waters instantly swept away every object that opposed their progress, and rushed in foaming waves among the timber that every where blocked up the passage. Presently a slow, heavy motion was perceived in the mass of logs; one might have imagined that some mighty monster lay convulsively writhing beneath them, struggling with a fearful energy to extricate himself from the crushing weight. As the waters rose, this movement increased; the mass of timber extended in all directions, appearing to become more and more entangled each moment; the logs bounced against each other, thrusting aside, demersing, or raising into the air those with which they came in contact:—it seemed as if they were waging a war of destruction, such as ancient authors describe the efforts of the Titans, the foamings of whose wrath might to the eye of the painter have been represented by the angry curlings of the waters, while the tremulous and rapid motions of the logs, which at times reared themselves almost perpendicularly, might by the poet have been taken for the shakings of the confounded and discomfited giants.

Now the rushing element filled up the gorge to its brim. The logs, once under way, rolled, reared, tossed and tumbled amid the foam, as they were carried along. Many of the smaller trees broke across, from others great splinters were sent up, and all were in some degree seamed and scarred. Then in tumultuous majesty swept along the mingled wreck, the current being now increased to such a pitch, that the logs as they were dashed against the rocky shores, resounded like the report of distant artillery, or the angry rumblings of the thunder. Onward it rolls, the emblem of wreck and ruin, destruction and chaotic strife. It seemed to me as if I witnessed the rout of a vast army, surprised, overwhelmed, and overthrown. The roar of the cannon, the groans of the dying, and the shouts of the avengers, were thundering through my brain; and amid the frightful confusion of the scene, there came over my spirit a melancholy feeling, which had not entirely vanished at the end of many days.

In a few hours, almost all the timber that had lain heaped in the rocky gorge, was floating in the great pond of the millers; and as we walked homewards, we talked of the Force of the Waters.

THE FERRUGINOUS THRUSH.

TURDUS RUFUS, LINN.

PLATE CXVI. MALE, FEMALE, AND NEST.

Reader, look attentively at the plate before you, and say if such a scene as that which I have attempted to portray, is not calculated to excite the compassion of any one who is an admirer of woodland melody, or who sympathizes with the courageous spirit which the male bird shews, as he defends his nest, and exerts all his powers to extricate his beloved mate from the coils of the vile snake which has already nearly deprived her of life. Another male of the same species, answering the call of despair from his "fellow creature," comes swiftly downwards to rescue the sufferers. With open bill he is already prepared to strike a vengeful blow at the reptile, his bright eye glancing hatred at his foe. See a third grappling with the snake, and with all its might tearing the skin from its body! Should this alliance of noble spirits prove victorious, will it not remind you that innocence, although beset with difficulties, may, with the aid of friendship, extricate herself with honour?

The birds in the case represented were greatly the sufferers: their nest was upset, their eggs lost, and the life of the female in imminent danger. But the snake was finally conquered, and a jubilee held over its carcass by a crowd of thrushes and other birds, until the woods resounded with their notes of exultation. I was happy in contributing my share to the general joy, for, on taking the almost expiring bird into my hand for a few minutes, she recovered in some degree, and I restored her to her anxious mate.

The Brown Thrush, or Thrasher, by which names the bird is generally known, may be said to be a constant resident in the United States, as immense numbers are found all the year round in Louisiana, the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas. Indeed some spend the winter in Virginia and Maryland. During spring and summer they are met with in all our Eastern States. They also enter the British provinces, and are sometimes seen in Nova Scotia; but I observed none farther north. It is the most numerous species found in the Union, excepting the Robin or Migratory Thrush. Those which breed in the Middle and Eastern Districts return to the south about the beginning of October, having been absent fully six months from that genial region, where more than half of the whole number remain at all seasons. They migrate by day, and singly, never congregating, notwithstanding their abundance. They fly low, or skip from one bush to another, their longest flight seldom exceeding the breadth of a field or river. They seem to move rather heavily, on account of the shortness of their wings, the concavity of which usually produces a rustling sound, and they travel very silently.

No sooner has the bird reached its destined abode, than whenever a fair morning occurs, it mounts the topmost twig of a detached tree, and pours forth its loud, richly varied, and highly melodious song. It scarcely possesses the faculty of imitation, but is a steady performer; and, although it sings for hours at a time, seldom, if ever, commits errors while repeating the beautiful lessons set to it by Nature, all of which it studies for months during spring and summer. Ah! reader, that I could repeat to you its several cadences, all so full of sweetness and melody, that one might imagine each last trill, as it dies on the ear, the careful lullaby of some blessed mother chanting her babe to repose;—that I could imitate its loudest notes, surpassed only by those of that unrivalled vocalist, the Mocking Bird! But, alas! it is impossible for me to convey to you the charms of the full song of the Brown Thrush; you must go to its own woods and there listen to it. In the southern districts, it now and then enlivens the calm of autumnal days by its song, but it is generally silent after the breeding season.

The actions of this species during the period of courtship are very curious, the male often strutting before the female with his tail trailing on the ground, moving gracefully round her, in the manner of some pigeons, and while perched and singing in her presence, vibrating his body with vehemence. In Louisiana, the Brown Thrush builds its nest as early as the beginning of March; in the Middle Districts rarely before the middle of May; while in Maine, it seldom has it finished before June. It is placed without much care in a briar bush, a sumach, or the thickest parts of a low tree, never in the interior of the forest, but most commonly in the bramble patches which are every where to be met with along the fences or the abandoned old fields. Sometimes it is laid flat on the ground. Although the bird is abundant in the barrens of Kentucky, in which and in similar places it seems to delight, it has seldom been known to breed there. In the Southern States the nest is frequently found close to the house of the planter, along with that of the Mocking Bird. To the eastward, where the denseness of the population renders the bird more shy, the nest is placed with more care. But wherever it is situated, you find it large, composed externally of dry twigs, briars, or other small sticks, imbedded in and mixed with dried leaves, coarse grass, and other such materials, thickly lined with fibrous roots, horse hair, and sometimes rags and feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a pale dull buff colour, thickly sprinkled with dots of brown. Two broods are usually raised in the Southern States, but rarely more than one in the Middle and Northern Districts.

They breed well in aviaries, and are quite tractable in a closer state of confinement. The young are raised in the same manner, and with the same food, as those of the Mocking Bird. In cages it sings well, and has much of the movements of the latter bird, being full of activity, petulant, and occasionally apt to peck in resentment at the hand which happens to approach it. The young begin their musical studies in autumn, repeating passages with as much zeal as ever did Paganini. By the following spring their full powers of song are developed.

My friend BACHMAN, who has raised many of these birds, has favoured me with the following particulars respecting them:—"Though good-humoured towards the person who feeds them, they are always savage towards all other kinds of birds. I placed three sparrows in the cage of a Thrush one evening, and found them killed, as well as nearly stripped of their feathers, the next morning. So perfectly gentle did this bird become, that when I opened its cage, it would follow me about the yard and the garden. The instant it saw me take a spade or a hoe, it would follow at my heels, and, as I turned up the earth, would pick up every insect or worm thus exposed to its view. I kept it for three years, and its affection for me at last cost it its life. It usually slept on the back of my chair, in my study, and one night the door being accidentally left open, it was killed by a cat. I once knew a few of these birds remain the whole of a mild winter in the State of New York, in a wild state."

The Brown or Ferruginous Thrush is the strongest of the genus in the United States, neither the Mocking Bird, nor the Robin being able to cope with it. Like the former, it will chase the cat or the dog, and greatly tease the racoon or the fox. It follows the Falco Cooperii and the Goshawk, bidding them defiance, and few snakes come off with success when they attack its nest. It is remarkable also, that, although these birds have frequent and severe conflicts among themselves, yet when the least alarm is given by an individual, a whole party of them instantly rush forth to assist in chasing off the common enemy. When two nests happen to be placed near each other, the males are seen to fight furiously, and are joined by the females. On such occasions, the males approach each other with much caution, spreading out, and often jerking up, down, or to either side, their long fan-like tail, generally betaking themselves to the ground, and uttering a note of defiance, until one of them, perceiving some advantage afforded by its position or some other circumstance, rushes to the charge. The attack once fairly made, the fight seldom ends until one has beaten the other, after which the vanquished rarely attempts to retaliate, and peace is made between the parties. They are fond of bathing and of dusting themselves in the sand of the roads. They bathe in small puddles during the heat of the sun, and then remove to the sandy paths, where they roll themselves, dry their plumage, and free it of insects. When disturbed on these occasions, they merely run off and hide themselves under the nearest bushes, to return as soon as the intruder has retired.

During the period of incubation, the male is heard from the top of a neighbouring tree, singing for hours at a time. It ascends to this pinnacle by leaping from branch to branch, and selects several trees for the purpose, none of them more than a hundred yards from the nest. Its song over, it dives towards its favourite thicket, seldom descending by the assistance of the branches. Both male and female sit on the eggs. Their mutual attachment, and their courage in defending their nest, are well known to children living in the country. They resent the intrusion even of man, assaulting him, and emitting a strong guttural note resembling tchai, tchai, accompanied by a plaintive weō, and continued until the enemy retires. Should he carry off their treasure, he is sure to be followed a great way, perhaps half a mile, both birds continually crossing his path, and bestowing on him the reproaches he so richly deserves.

The food of this Thrush, which is also known by the name of French Mocking Bird, consists of insects, worms, berries, and fruits of all sorts. It is fond of figs, and wherever ripe pears are, there also may it be found. In winter, they resort to the berries of the dogwood, the sumach, and holly, and ascend to the tops of the tallest trees in search of grapes. At this season, they are easily caught in traps, and many are exposed for sale in the southern markets, although few of the old birds live long in captivity. Some planters complain of their propensity to scratch the ground for the purpose of picking up the newly planted corn; but I am of opinion that the scratching has reference exclusively to worms or beetles, their strong legs and feet being well adapted for this purpose; and, generally speaking, they are great favourites, as they commit few depredations on the crops.

This species, as well as the Robin and some others of this genus, suffer greatly during the autumnal moults, and when in cages at this season, become almost naked of feathers. The young acquire the full beauty of their plumage during the first winter.

TURDUS RUFUS, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 293.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 338.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 75.

FERRUGINOUS THRUSH, TURDUS RUFUS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 83. pl. 14. fig. 1.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 328.

ORPHEUS RUFUS, FOX-COLOURED MOCK-BIRD, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Amer. part ii. p. 189.

Adult Male. Plate CXVI. Fig. 1. 1.

Bill rather long and slender, slightly arched, compressed, acute; upper mandible slightly arched in its dorsal line and acute edges, the tip declinate; lower mandible nearly straight along the back. Nostrils basal, oblong, half-closed by a membrane. The general form is rather slender and elegant, like that of the Mocking Bird. Feet longish, rather strong; tarsus compressed, anteriorly covered with a few long scutella, sharp behind; toes scutellate above, free; claws compressed, arched, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings of moderate length, rounded, the first primary very short, the fourth and fifth longest. Tail very long, of twelve straight rounded feathers.

Bill black, the base of the lower mandible light blue. Iris yellow. Feet dusky-brown. The general colour of the plumage above is a bright reddish-brown, the quills dusky on their inner webs, and the wings crossed with two white bars margined anteriorly with black, being on the tips of the smaller and secondary coverts. The lower parts are yellowish-white, the breast and sides marked with triangular dark-brown spots, the lower tail-coverts pale brownish-red.

Length 11½ inches, extent of wings 13; bill along the back 1, along the edge 1-3/12; tarsus 1-4/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXVI. Fig. 2. 2.

The female resembles the male, the bars on the wings being narrower, and the spots on the breast lighter. The dimensions are nearly the same.

THE BLACK JACK OAK.

QUERCUS NIGRA, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iv. p. 442. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 629.

QUERCUS FERRUGINEA, Mich. Arbr. Forest. vol. i. p. 92. pl. 18. MONŒCIA POLYANDRIA, Linn. AMENTACEÆ, Juss.

Leaves coriaceous, dilated at the end and three-lobed, when young mucronate, smooth above, covered with a rust-like powder beneath, the cupule turbinate, its scales obtuse and scarious, the acorn shortly ovate. This tree forms the principal growth of the open barrens of Kentucky, and is also met with in all our Southern Districts. It is of small height, and extremely crooked in its growth, so as to be of little service, excepting as fire-wood; but it bears abundantly, producing fine mast for hogs.

THE BLACK SNAKE.

This Snake is possessed of great activity, climbs with ease over bushes and along the trunks of trees, and glides so swiftly over the ground as easily to elude pursuit. It feeds on birds, eggs, frogs, and small quadrupeds, and evinces great antipathy towards all other species of Serpent, with most of which, although destitute of poison fangs, it fights on the least provocation. It occurs abundantly from Louisiana to Connecticut, but I have not observed it in Maine or the British provinces.

THE MISSISSIPPI KITE.

FALCO PLUMBEUS, GMEL.

PLATE CXVII. MALE AND FEMALE.

When, after many a severe conflict, the southern breezes, in alliance with the sun, have, as if through a generous effort, driven back for a season to their desolate abode the chill blasts of the north; when warmth and plenty are insured for a while to our happy lands; when clouds of anxious Swallows, returning from the far south, are guiding millions of Warblers to their summer residence; when numberless insects, cramped in their hanging shells, are impatiently waiting for the full expansion of their wings; when the vernal flowers, so welcome to all, swell out their bursting leaflets, and the rich-leaved Magnolia opens its pure blossoms to the Humming Bird;—then look up, and you will see the Mississippi Kite, as he comes sailing over the scene. He glances towards the earth with his fiery eye; sweeps along, now with the gentle breeze, now against it; seizes here and there the high-flying giddy bug, and allays his hunger without fatigue to wing or talon. Suddenly he spies some creeping thing that changes, like the chameleon, from vivid green to dull-brown, to escape his notice; It is the red-throated panting lizard that has made its way to the highest branch of a tree in quest of food. Casting upwards a sidelong look of fear, it remains motionless, so well does it know the prowess of the bird of prey: but its caution is vain; it has been perceived, its fate is sealed, and the next moment it is swept away.

The Mississippi Kite thus extends its migrations as high as the city of Memphis, on the noble stream whose name it bears, and along our eastern shores to the Carolinas, where it now and then breeds, feeding the while on lizards, small snakes, and beetles, and sometimes, as if for want of better employ, teaching the Carrion Crows and Buzzards to fly. At other times, congregating to the number of twenty or more, these birds are seen sweeping around some tree, catching the large locusts which abound in those countries at an early part of the season, and reminding one of the Chimney Swallows, which are so often seen performing similar evolutions, when endeavouring to snap off the little dried twigs of which their nests are composed.

Early in May, the thick-leaved Bay-Tree (Magnolia grandiflora), affords in its high tops a place of safety, in which the Hawk of the South may raise its young. These are out by the end of July, and are fed by the parent birds until well practised in the art of procuring subsistence. About the middle of August, they all wing their way southward.

The affection which the old birds display towards their young, and the methods which they occasionally employ to insure the safety of the latter, are so remarkable, that, before I proceed to describe their general habits, I shall relate a case in which I was concerned.

Early one morning, whilst I was admiring the beauties of nature, as the vegetable world lay embalmed in dew, I heard the cry of a bird that I mistook for that of a Pewee Flycatcher. It was prolonged, I thought, as if uttered in distress. After looking for the bird a long time in vain, an object which I had at first supposed to be something that had accidentally lodged in a branch, attracted my attention, as I thought I perceived it moving. It did move distinctly, and the cry that had ceased from the time when I reached the spot where I stood, was repeated, evidently coming from the object in view. I now took it for a young one of the Chuck-Will's-Widow, as it sat lengthwise on the branch. I shot at it, but perhaps did not hit it, as it only opened and closed its wings, as if surprised. At the report of the gun, the old bird came, holding food in her claws. She perceived me, but alighted, and fed her young with great kindness. I shot at both, and again missed, or at least did not succeed, which might have happened from my having only small shot in my gun. The mother flew in silence, sailed over head just long enough to afford me time to reload, returned, and to my great surprise gently lifted her young, and sailing with it to another tree, about thirty yards distant, deposited it there. My feelings at that moment I cannot express. I wished I had not discovered the poor bird; for who could have witnessed, without emotion, so striking an example of that affection which none but a mother can feel; so daring an act, performed in the midst of smoke, in the presence of a dreaded and dangerous enemy. I followed, however, and brought both to the ground at one shot, so keen is the desire of possession!

The young had the head of a fawn-colour, but I took little more notice of it, depositing the two birds under a log, whence I intended to remove them on my return, for the purpose of drawing and describing them. I then proceeded on my excursion to a lake a few miles distant. On coming back, what was my mortification, when I found that some quadruped had devoured both! My punishment was merited.

The Mississippi Kite arrives in Lower Louisiana about the middle of April in small parties of five or six, and confines itself to the borders of deep woods, or to those near plantations, not far from the shores of the rivers, lakes, or bayous. It never moves into the interior of the country, and in this respect resembles the Falco furcatus. Plantations lately cleared, and yet covered with tall dying girted trees, placed near a creek or bayou, seemed to suit it best.

Its flight is graceful, vigorous, protracted, and often extended to a great height, the Forked-tailed Hawk being the only species that can compete with it. At times it floats in the air, as if motionless, or sails in broad regular circles, when, suddenly closing its wings, it slides along to some distance, and renews its curves. Now it sweeps in deep and long undulations, with the swiftness of an arrow, passing almost within touching distance of a branch on which it has observed a small lizard, or an insect it longs for, but from which it again ascends disappointed. Now it is seen to move in hurried zig-zags, as if pursued by a dangerous enemy, sometimes seeming to turn over and over like a Tumbling Pigeon. Again it is observed flying round the trunk of a tree to secure large insects, sweeping with astonishing velocity. While travelling, it moves in the desultory manner followed by Swallows; but at other times it is seen soaring at a great elevation among the large flocks of Carrion Crows and Turkey Buzzards, joined by the Forked-tailed Hawk, dashing at the former, and giving them chase, as if in play, until these cowardly scavengers sweep downwards, abandoning this to them disagreeable sport to the Hawks, who now continue to gambol undisturbed. When in pursuit of a large insect or a small reptile, it turns its body sidewise, throws out its legs, expands its talons, and generally seizes its prey in an instant. It feeds while on wing, apparently with as much ease and comfort, as when alighted on the branch of a tall tree. It never alights on the earth; at least I have never seen it do so, except when wounded, and then it appears extremely awkward. It never attacks birds or quadrupeds of any kind, with the view of destroying them for food, although it will chase a fox to a considerable distance, screaming loudly all the while, and soon forces a Crow to retreat to the woods.

The nest of this species is always placed in the upper branches of the tallest trees. I thought it gave the preference to those tall and splendid magnolias and white oaks, which adorn our Southern States. The nest resembles that of the dilapidated tenement of the Common American Crow, and is formed of sticks slightly put together, along with branches of Spanish moss (Usnea), pieces of vine bark, and dried leaves. The eggs are two or three, almost globular, of a light greenish tint, blotched thickly over with deep chocolate-brown and black. Only one brood is raised in the season, and I think the female sits more than half the time necessary for incubation. The young I also think obtain nearly the full plumage of the old bird before they depart from us, as I have examined these birds early in August, when the migration was already begun, without observing much difference in their general colour, except only in the want of firmness in the tint of the young ones.

Once, early in the month of May, I found a nest of this bird placed on a fine tall white oak near a creek, and observed that the female was sitting with unceasing assiduity. The male I saw bring her food frequently. Not being able to ascend the tree, I hired a Negro, who had been a sailor for some years, to climb it and bring down the eggs or young. This he did by first mounting another tree, the branches of which crossed the lower ones of the oak. No sooner had he reached the trunk of the tree on which the nest was placed, than the male was seen hovering about and over it in evident displeasure, screaming and sweeping towards the intruder the higher he advanced. When he attained the branch on which the nest was, the female left her charge, and the pair, infuriated at his daring, flew with such velocity, and passed so close to him, that I expected every moment to see him struck by them. The black tar, however, proceeded quietly, reached the nest, and took out the eggs, apprising me that there were three. I requested him to bring them down with care, and to throw off the nest, which he did. The poor birds, seeing their tenement cast down to the ground, continued sweeping around us so low and so long, that I could not resist the temptation thus offered of shooting them.

The Mississippi Kite is by no means a shy bird, and one may generally depend on getting near it when alighted; but to follow it while on wing were useless, its flight being usually so elevated, and its sweeps over a field or wood so rapid and varied, that you might spend many hours in vain in attempting to get up with it. Even when alighted, it perches so high, that I have sometimes shot at it, without producing any other effect than that of causing it to open its wings and close them again, as if utterly ignorant of the danger to which it had been exposed, while it seemed to look down upon me quite unconcerned. When wounded, it comes to the ground with great force, and seldom attempts to escape, choosing rather to defend itself, which it does to the last, by throwing itself on its back, erecting the feathers of its head, screaming loudly in the manner of the Pigeon Hawk, disgorging the contents of its stomach, stretching out its talons, and biting or clenching with great vigour. It is extremely muscular, the flesh tough and rigid.

These birds at times search for food so far from the spot where their nest has been placed, that I have on several occasions been obliged to follow their course over the woods, as if in search of a wild bee's hive, before I could discover it. There is scarcely any perceptible difference between the sexes as to size, and in colour they are precisely similar, only the female has less of the ferruginous colour on her primaries than the male. The stomach is thin, rugous, and of a deep orange colour.

FALCO PLUMBEUS, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 283.—Lath. Index Ornith. vol. i. p. 49.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 90.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 92.

MISSISSIPPI KITE, FALCO MISSISSIPPIENSIS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 80. fig. 1. Male.

Adult Male. Plate CXVII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, as broad as deep at the base, the sides convex, the dorsal outline convex from the base; upper mandible cerate, the edges sharp, with an obtuse lobe towards the curvate, the tip trigonal, deflected, very acute; lower mandible inflected at the edges, rounded at the end. Nostrils round, lateral, basal, with a central papilla. Head rather large, the general form robust. Legs of moderate length, strong; tarsus stout, covered anteriorly with scutella, rounded behind; toes scutellate above, scaly on the sides, scabrous and tuberculate beneath; middle and outer toe connected at the base by a small membrane; claws roundish, curved, very acute.

Plumage compact, imbricated; feathers of the head narrow, pointed, and rather loose; tibial feathers elongated. Wings long and pointed, the third quill longest. Tail long, straight, retuse.

Bill black, as are the cere, lore, and a narrow band round the eye. Iris blood-red. Feet purplish, the scutella deep red; claws black. The head, the neck all round, and the under parts in general bluish-white. The back and wing-coverts are of a dark leaden colour, the ends of the secondary coverts white. The primaries black, margined externally with bright bay; the tail also deep black, as is the rump.

Length 14 inches, extent of wings 36; bill along the ridge 11/12, along the edge 11/12; tarsus 1¾.

Adult Female. Plate CXVII. Fig. 2.

The female differs little from the male in colour, and is not much larger.

Length 15 inches.

THE WARBLING FLYCATCHER OR VIREO.

VIREO GILVUS, BONAP.

PLATE CXVIII. MALE AND FEMALE.

While at the little village, now the city, of Camden, in New Jersey, where I had gone for the purpose of watching the passage of certain Warblers on their way north early in the month of May, I took lodgings in a street ornamented with a long avenue of tall Lombardy poplars, one of which almost touched my window. On it too I had the pleasure shortly afterwards of finding the nest of this interesting little bird. Never before had I seen it placed so low, and never before had I an opportunity of examining it, or of observing the particular habits of the species with so much advantage. The nest, although formed nearly in the same manner as several others, which I have since obtained by cutting them down with rifle balls, from the top twigs of the tall trees to which they were attached, instead of being fastened in the fork of a twig, was fixed to the body of the tree, and that of a branch coming off at a very acute angle. The birds were engaged in constructing it during eight days, working chiefly in the morning and evening. Previous to their selecting the spot, I frequently saw them examining the tree, warbling together as if congratulating each other on their good fortune in finding so snug a place. One morning I observed both of them at work; they had already attached some slender blades of grass to the knots on the branch and the bark of the trunk, and had given them a circular disposition. They continued working downwards and outwards, until the structure exhibited the form of their delicate tenement. Before the end of the second day, bits of hornets' nests and particles of corn-husks had been attached to it by pushing them between the rows of grass, and fixing them with silky substances. On the third day, the birds were absent, nor could I hear them anywhere in the neighbourhood, and thinking that a cat might have caught them from the edge of the roof, I despaired of seeing them again. On the fourth morning, however, their notes attracted my attention before I rose, and I had the pleasure of finding them at their labours. The materials which they now used consisted chiefly of extremely slender grasses, which the birds worked in a circular form within the frame which they had previously made. The little creatures were absent nearly an hour at a time, and returned together bringing the grass, which I concluded they found at a considerable distance. Going into the street to see in what direction they went, I watched them for some time, and followed them as they flew from tree to tree towards the river. There they stopped, and looked as if carefully watching me, on which I retired to a small distance, when they resumed their journey, and led me quite out of the village, to a large meadow, where stood an old hay stack. They alighted on it, and in a few minutes each had selected a blade of grass. Returning by the same route, they moved so slowly from one tree to another, that my patience was severely tried. Two other days were consumed in travelling for the same kind of grass. On the seventh I saw only the female at work, using wool and horse hair. The eighth was almost entirely spent by both in smoothing the inside. They would enter the nest, sit in it, turn round, and press the lining, I should suppose a hundred times or more in the course of an hour. The male had ceased to warble, and both birds exhibited great concern. They went off and returned so often that I actually became quite tired of this lesson in the art of nest-building, and perhaps I should not have looked at them more that day, had not the cat belonging to the house made her appearance just over my head, on the roof, within a few feet of the nest, and at times so very near the affrighted and innocent creatures, that my interest was at once renewed. I gave chase to grimalkin, and saved the Flycatchers at least for that season.

In the course of five days, an equal number of eggs was laid. They were small, of a rather narrow oval form, white, thinly spotted with reddish-black at the larger end. The birds sat alternately, though not with regularity as to time, and on the twelfth day of incubation the young came out. I observed that the male would bring insects to the female, and that after chopping and macerating them with her beak, she placed them in the mouth of her young with a care and delicacy which were not less curious than pleasing to me. Three or four days after, the male fed them also, and I thought that I saw them grow every time I turned from my drawing to peep at them.

On the fifteenth day, about eight in the morning, the little birds all stood on the border of the nest, and were fed as usual. They continued there the remainder of the day, and about sunset re-entered the nest. The old birds I had frequently observed roosted within about a foot above them. On the sixteenth day after their exclusion from the egg, they took to wing, and ascended the branches of the tree, with surprising ease and firmness. They were fed another day after, on the same tree, and roosted close together in a row on a small twig, the parents just above them. The next morning they flew across the street, and betook themselves to a fine peach-orchard several hundred yards from my lodging. Never had HUBER watched the operations of his bees with more intentness than I had employed on this occasion, and I bade them adieu at last with great regret.

The principal food of this species consists of small black caterpillars, which that season infested all the poplars in the street. They searched for them in the manner of the Red-eyed Flycatcher and Blue-eyed Yellow Warbler, moving sidewise along the twigs, like the latter, now and then balancing themselves on the wing opposite their prey, and snapping it in the manner of the Muscicapa Ruticilla, sometimes alighting sidewise on the tree, seldom sallying forth in pursuit of insects more than a few yards, and always preferring to remain among the branches. I never saw either of the old birds disgorge pellets, as I have seen Pewees do.

I observed that they now and then stood in a stiffened attitude, balancing their body from side to side on the joint of the tarsus and toes, as on a hinge, but could not discover the import of this singular action. During the love days of the pair mentioned above, the male would spread its little wings and tail, and strut in short circles round the female, pouring out a low warble so sweet and mellow that I can compare it only to the sounds of a good musical box. The female received these attentions without coyness, and I have often thought that these birds had been attached to each other before that season.

No name could have been imposed upon this species with more propriety than that of the Warbling Flycatcher. The male sings from morning to night, so sweetly, so tenderly, with so much mellowness and softness of tone, and yet with notes so low, that one might think he sings only for his beloved, without the least desire to attract the attention of rivals. In this he differs greatly from most other birds. Even its chiding notes—tschĕ, tschĕ, were low and unobtruding. The nestlings uttered a lisping sound, not unlike that of a young mouse. The only time I saw the old birds ruffled, was on discovering a brown lizard ascending their tree. They attacked it courageously, indeed furiously, and although I did not see them strike it, compelled it to leave the place.

The flight of the Warbling Flycatcher is performed by gentle glidings, and seldom extends to a greater length than a hundred yards at a time. I never saw it on the ground.

It was never observed by me in Louisiana or Kentucky, nor does it pass along the maritime districts of Georgia or the Carolinas; but from Virginia to Maine it is not uncommon, although I saw none farther north. It arrives in the Jerseys and Pennsylvania about the first of May, some years perhaps a little earlier, and proceeds farther east as the season advances. I do not think that it raises more than one brood each season, although I have observed it as late as the 15th of October in the Middle Districts, where I believe the greater number of these birds spend the summer. Not one could I see during the winter in the Floridas, where, however, the White-eyed and Red-eyed Flycatchers were frequently heard in full song.

VIREO GILVUS, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 70.

WARBLING FLYCATCHER, MUSCICAPA MELODIA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. v. p. 85. pl. 42. fig. 2.

WARBLING VIREO, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 309.

Adult Male. Plate CXVIII.

Bill rather short, depressed at the base, subtriangular, compressed toward the tip, acute; upper mandible with the sides convex, notched towards the end, and deflected at the tip. Nostrils basal, lateral, oblong. Head rather large, neck short, body ovate. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, sharp behind; toes slender, free; claws small, slightly arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings of ordinary length, the second and third primaries longest, first and fifth about equal. Tail of ordinary length, slightly emarginate. Basirostral bristles rather short.

Bill lead-colour above, flesh-colour beneath. Iris dark hazel. Feet lead-colour. The general colour of the plumage above is pale olive-green, tinged with ash on the neck and shoulders. A white line over the eye; space beneath it and the under parts generally of the same colour, the sides tinged with pale greenish-yellow. Quills and their coverts dark-brown, margined with pale olive-green. Tail similarly edged.

Length 5¼ inches, extent of wings 8½; bill along the ridge 4/12, along the edge 6/12; tarsus 8/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXVIII. Fig. 2.

The Female, which is slightly smaller, resembles the male in colouring.

THE SWAMP MAGNOLIA.

MAGNOLIA GLAUCA, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 1256.—Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 381.—Mich. Arbr. Forest. de l'Amer. Septentr. vol. iii. p. 78. pl. 2.—POLYANDRIA POLYGYNIA, Linn. MAGNOLIÆ, Juss.

The Swamp Magnolia is abundant in all marshy places from Louisiana to Connecticut, growing in groves in and around the swamps. It seldom exceeds twenty feet in height, and is more usually eight or ten. The flowers have an agreeable odour, but are of short duration, although the tree continues blooming for several months. It is not unfrequent to find it, in the Southern States, in flower during autumn. The species is characterized by its ovate leaves, which are glaucous beneath, and its obovate petals, narrowed at the base. It bears different names in the different States, such as Swamp Laurel, Swamp Sassafras, Sweet Bay, White Bay, &c.

THE YELLOW-THROATED FLYCATCHER, OR VIREO.

VIREO FLAVIFRONS, VIEILL.

PLATE CXIX. MALE.

While the small White-eyed Vireo rambles among the low bushes and brambles of the fields of all parts of the United States, the Yellow-throated species takes possession of the forest, and gleans with equal ease among the branches of the tallest trees, to which it seems to give a marked preference during the spring and summer. It is fond of the quietest solitudes, and in its habits is nearly allied to the Red-eyed Vireo. Like it also, it is a slow, careful, and industrious bird, never imitating the petulant, infantile, and original (if I may so speak) freaks of its gay relative, the White-eyed. It is more silent than either of the species above mentioned, although its notes have a strong resemblance to those of the Red-eyed. These notes are more measured and plaintive than those of any of its tribe, sometimes consisting of sounds resembling the syllables prēe-ā, preē-ā, rising and falling in sweet modulation. One might imagine them the notes of a bird lost in the woods, and they make a strong impression on the mind of the listener. Now and then the sight of his mate seems to animate the male, when he repeats the same syllables eight or ten times in succession. When sitting pensively on a twig, as if waiting for an invitation to sing, it utters a kind of whining sound, and in autumn, as well as during its retrograde march towards the south, it becomes quite silent.

When searching for food, it ascends the branches of trees by regular short hops, examining with care every leaf and bud in its way, never leaving a branch for another until it is quite assured that nothing remains on it. When flying to some distance, its motions, although quick, are irregular, and it passes among the boughs at a moderate height.

This species is at all times extremely rare in Louisiana, where I have seen it only during early spring or late in the autumn. My friend BACHMAN, has never observed it in South Carolina. Indeed, it is only from Pennsylvania eastward that it is met with in any quantity. During summer it feeds entirely on insects, devouring with equal pleasure caterpillars, small moths, wasps, and wild bees. The summer over, it ranges among the low bushes in search of berries, accompanied by its young, and at that time enters the orchards and gardens even of our villages and cities. It arrives in Pennsylvania and New Jersey about the end of April, and in Massachusetts and Maine about a month later.

The nest of the Yellow-throated Vireo is truly a beautiful fabric. It sometimes extends to five or six inches in depth, and as it is always placed at the extremity of small twigs, it is very conspicuous. It is attached to these twigs with much care by slender threads of vines, or those of other trees at its upper edges, mixed with the silk of different caterpillars, and enclosed with lichens, so neatly attached by means of saliva, that the whole outer surface seems formed of them, while the inner bed, which is about two and a half inches in diameter, by an inch and a half in depth, is lined with delicate grasses, between which and the bottom coarser materials, are employed to fill the space, such as bits of hornets' nests, dry leaves, and wool. The eggs, which are four or five in number, are of an elongated form, white, spotted with reddish-brown or black. The young are out about the beginning of July. In Maine it raises one brood only, but farther south not unfrequently two.

VIREO FLAVIFRONS, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 70.

YELLOW-THROATED FLYCATCHER, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 117. pl. 7. fig. 3.

YELLOW-THROATED VIREO, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 302.

Adult Male. Plate CXIX.

Bill of moderate length, broad and depressed at the base, compressed towards the tip, acute; upper mandible with the sides convex, the edges sharp, the tip deflected; lower mandible straight, the back rounded, the edges sharp, the tip acute. Nostrils basal, lateral, oblong. Head rather large, neck short, body robust. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, sharp behind; toes slender, free; claws slightly arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings of ordinary length, the second and third primaries longest. Tail of ordinary length, emarginate. Basirostral bristles short.

Bill brownish-black above, the greater part of the lower mandible pale blue, the tip dusky. Iris dark brown. Feet lead-colour. The upper parts of a deep greenish-olive, the quills and coverts deep brown, the latter tipped with white, the primaries and some of the secondaries edged with the same, as are the tail-feathers. Throat, fore-neck, and anterior part of the breast, with a short line over the eye, rich lemon-yellow; posterior half of the breast, the abdomen, and the lower tail-coverts, white.

Length 5¾ inches, extent of wings 9½; bill along the ridge 5/12, along the edge 8/12; tarsus ¾.

The Female resembles the male in external appearance.

THE SWAMP SNOWBALL.

HYDRANGEA QUERCIFOLIA, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 634. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 309.—DECANDRIA DIGYNIA, Linn. SAXIFRAGÆ, Juss.

This plant is found on the broken sandy banks bordering small water-courses, and is abundant in such situations in the uplands of Louisiana. It seldom grows beyond the size of a bush. The blossoms are lasting, and although without odour, are pleasing to the eye, on account of their pure white colour when first expanded; they dry on the stalks, retaining their form, and remaining until winter. The species is characterized by its oblong, deeply sinuate leaves, which are downy beneath, and its radiated loosely thyrsiform cymes.

THE PEWEE FLYCATCHER.

MUSCICAPA FUSCA, BONAP.

PLATE CXX. MALE AND FEMALE.

Connected with the biography of this bird are so many incidents relative to my own, that could I with propriety deviate from my proposed method, the present volume would contain less of the habits of birds than of those of the youthful days of an American woodsman. While young, I had a plantation that lay on the sloping declivities of a creek, the name of which I have already given, but as it will ever be dear to my recollection, you will, I hope, allow me to repeat it—the Perkioming. I was extremely fond of rambling along its rocky banks, for it would have been difficult to do so either without meeting with a sweet flower, spreading open its beauties to the sun, or observing the watchful King's-fisher perched on some projecting stone over the clear water of the stream. Nay, now and then, the Fish Hawk itself, followed by a White-headed Eagle, would make his appearance, and by his graceful aerial motions, raise my thoughts far above them into the heavens, silently leading me to the admiration of the sublime Creator of all. These impressive, and always delightful, reveries often accompanied my steps to the entrance of a small cave scooped out of the solid rock by the hand of nature. It was, I then thought, quite large enough for my study. My paper and pencils, with now and then a volume of EDGEWORTH'S natural and fascinating Tales or LAFONTAINE'S Fables, afforded me ample pleasures. It was in that place, kind reader, that I first saw with advantage the force of parental affection in birds. There it was that I studied the habits of the Pewee; and there I was taught most forcibly that to destroy the nest of a bird, or to deprive it of its eggs or young, is an act of great cruelty.

I had observed the nest of this plain-coloured Flycatcher fastened, as it were, to the rock immediately over the arched entrance of this calm retreat. I had peeped into it: although empty, it was yet clean, as if the absent owner intended to revisit it with the return of spring. The buds were already much swelled, and some of the trees were ornamented with blossoms, yet the ground was still partially covered with snow, and the air retained the piercing chill of winter. I chanced one morning early to go to my retreat. The sun's glowing rays gave a rich colouring to every object around. As I entered the cave, a rustling sound over my head attracted my attention, and, on turning, I saw two birds fly off, and alight on a tree close by:—the Pewees had arrived! I felt delighted, and fearing that my sudden appearance might disturb the gentle pair, I walked off, not, however, without frequently looking at them. I concluded that they must have just come, for they seemed fatigued:—their plaintive note was not heard, their crests were not erected, and the vibration of the tail, so very conspicuous in this species, appeared to be wanting in power. Insects were yet few, and the return of the birds looked to me as prompted more by their affection to the place, than by any other motive. No sooner had I gone a few steps than the Pewees, with one accord glided down from their perches and entered the cave. I did not return to it any more that day, and as I saw none about it, or in the neighbourhood, I supposed that they must have spent the day within it. I concluded also that these birds must have reached this haven, either during the night, or at the very dawn of that morn. Hundreds of observations have since proved to me that this species always migrates by night.

Filled with the thoughts of the little pilgrims, I went early next morning to their retreat, yet not early enough to surprise them in it. Long before I reached the spot, my ears were agreeably saluted by their well-known note, and I saw them darting about through the air, giving chase to some insects close over the water. They were full of gaiety, frequently flew into and out of the cave, and while alighted on a favourite tree near it, seemed engaged in the most interesting converse. The light fluttering or tremulous motions of their wings, the jetting of their tail, the erection of their crest, and the neatness of their attitudes, all indicated that they were no longer fatigued, but on the contrary refreshed and happy. On my going into the cave, the male flew violently towards the entrance, snapped his bill sharply and repeatedly, accompanying this action with a tremulous rolling note, the import of which I soon guessed. Presently he flew into the cave and out of it again, with a swiftness scarcely credible: it was like the passing of a shadow.

Several days in succession I went to the spot, and saw with pleasure that as my visits increased in frequency, the birds became more familiarized to me, and, before a week had elapsed, the Pewees and myself were quite on terms of intimacy. It was now the 10th of April; the spring was forward that season, no more snow was to be seen, Redwings and Grakles were to be found here and there. The Pewees, I observed, began working at their old nest. Desirous of judging for myself, and anxious to enjoy the company of this friendly pair, I determined to spend the greater part of each day in the cave. My presence no longer alarmed either of them. They brought a few fresh materials, lined the nest anew, and rendered it warm by adding a few large soft feathers of the common goose, which they found strewn along the edge of the water in the creek. There was a remarkable and curious twittering in their note while both sat on the edge of the nest at those meetings, and which is never heard on any other occasion. It was the soft, tender expression, I thought, of the pleasure they both appeared to anticipate of the future. Their mutual caresses, simple as they might have seemed to another, and the delicate manner used by the male to please his mate, rivetted my eyes on these birds, and excited sensations which I can never forget.

The female one day spent the greater part of the time in her nest; she frequently changed her position; her mate exhibited much uneasiness, he would alight by her sometimes, sit by her side for a moment, and suddenly flying out, would return with an insect, which she took from his bill with apparent gratification. About three o'clock in the afternoon, I saw the uneasiness of the female increase; the male showed an unusual appearance of despondence, when, of a sudden, the female rose on her feet, looked sidewise under her, and flying out, followed by her attentive consort, left the cave, rose high in the air, performing evolutions more curious to me than any I had seen before. They flew about over the water, the female leading her mate, as it were, through her own meanderings. Leaving the Pewees to their avocations, I peeped into their nest, and saw there their first egg, so white and so transparent—for I believe, reader, that eggs soon lose this peculiar transparency after being laid—that to me the sight was more pleasant than if I had met with a diamond of the same size. The knowledge that in an enclosure so frail, life already existed, and that ere many weeks would elapse, a weak, delicate, and helpless creature, but perfect in all its parts, would burst the shell, and immediately call for the most tender care and attention of its anxious parents, filled my mind with as much wonder as when, looking towards the heavens, I searched, alas! in vain, for the true import of all that I saw.

In six days, six eggs were deposited; but I observed that as they increased in number, the bird remained a shorter time in the nest. The last she deposited in a few minutes after alighting. Perhaps, thought I, this is a law of nature, intended for keeping the eggs fresh to the last. Kind reader, what are your thoughts on the subject? About an hour after laying the last egg, the female Pewee returned, settled in her nest, and, after arranging the eggs, as I thought, several times under her body, expanded her wings a little, and fairly commenced the arduous task of incubation.

Day after day passed by. I gave strict orders that no one should go near the cave, much less enter it, or indeed destroy any bird's nest on the plantation. Whenever I visited the Pewees, one or other of them was on the nest, while its mate was either searching for food, or perched in the vicinity, filling the air with its loudest notes. I not unfrequently reached out my hand near the sitting bird; and so gentle had they both become, or rather so well acquainted were we, that neither moved on such occasions, even when my hand was quite close to it. Now and then the female would shrink back into the nest, but the male frequently snapped at my fingers, and once left the nest as if in great anger, flew round the cave a few times, emitting his querulous whining notes, and alighted again to resume his labours.

At this very time, a Pewee's nest was attached to one of the rafters of my mill, and there was another under a shed in the cattle-yard. Each pair, any one would have felt assured, had laid out the limits of its own domain, and it was seldom that one trespassed on the grounds of its neighbour. The Pewee of the cave generally fed or spent its time so far above the mill on the creek, that he of the mill never came in contact with it. The Pewee of the cattle-yard confined himself to the orchard, and never disturbed the rest. Yet I sometimes could hear distinctly the notes of the three at the same moment. I had at that period an idea that the whole of these birds were descended from the same stock. If not correct in this supposition, I had ample proof afterwards that the brood of young Pewees, raised in the cave, returned the following spring, and established themselves farther up on the creek, and among the outhouses in the neighbourhood.

On some other occasion, I will give you such instances of the return of birds, accompanied by their progeny, to the place of their nativity, that perhaps you will become convinced, as I am at this moment, that to this propensity every country owes the augmentation of new species, whether of birds or of quadrupeds, attracted by the many benefits met with, as countries become more open and better cultivated: but now I will, with your leave, return to the Pewees of the cave.

On the thirteenth day, the little ones were hatched. One egg was unproductive, and the female, on the second day after the birth of her brood, very deliberately pushed it out of the nest. On examining this egg I found it containing the embryo of a bird partly dried up, with its vertebræ quite fast to the shell, which had probably occasioned its death. Never have I since so closely witnessed the attention of birds to their young. Their entrance with insects was so frequently repeated, that I thought I saw the little ones grow as I gazed upon them. The old birds no longer looked upon me as an enemy, and would often come in close by me, as if I had been a post. I now took upon me to handle the young frequently; nay, several times I took the whole family out, and blew off the exuviæ of the feathers from the nest. I attached light threads to their legs: these they invariably removed, either with their bills, or with the assistance of their parents. I renewed them, however, until I found the little fellows habituated to them; and at last, when they were about to leave the nest, I fixed a light silver thread to the leg of each, loose enough not to hurt the part, but so fastened that no exertions of theirs could remove it.

Sixteen days had passed, when the brood took to wing; and the old birds, dividing the time with caution, began to arrange the nest anew. A second set of eggs were laid, and in the beginning of August a new brood made its appearance.

The young birds took much to the woods, as if feeling themselves more secure there than in the open fields; but before they departed, they all appeared strong, and minded not making long sorties into the open air, over the whole creek, and the fields around it. On the 8th of October, not a Pewee could I find on the plantation: my little companions had all set off on their travels. For weeks afterwards, however, I saw Pewees arriving from the north, and lingering a short time, as if to rest, when they also moved southward.

At the season when the Pewee returns to Pennsylvania, I had the satisfaction to observe those of the cave in and about it. There again, in the very same nest, two broods were raised. I found several Pewees' nests at some distance up the creek, particularly under a bridge, and several others in the adjoining meadows, attached to the inner part of sheds erected for the protection of hay and grain. Having caught several of these birds on the nest, I had the pleasure of finding that two of them had the little ring on the leg.

I was now obliged to go to France, where I remained two years. On my return, which happened early in August, I had the satisfaction of finding three young Pewees in the nest of the cave; but it was not the nest which I had left in it. The old one had been torn off from the roof, and the one which I found there was placed above where it stood. I observed at once that one of the parent birds was as shy as possible, while the other allowed me to approach within a few yards. This was the male bird, and I felt confident that the old female had paid the debt of nature. Having inquired of the miller's son, I found that he had killed the old Pewee and four young ones, to make bait for the purpose of catching fish. Then the male Pewee had brought another female to the cave! As long as the plantation of Mill Grove belonged to me, there continued to be a Pewee's nest in my favourite retreat; but after I had sold it, the cave was destroyed, as were nearly all the beautiful rocks along the shores of the creek, to build a new dam across the Perkioming.

This species is so peculiarly fond of attaching its nest to rocky caves, that, were it called the Rock Flycatcher, it would be appropriately named. Indeed I seldom have passed near such a place, particularly during the breeding season, without seeing the Pewee, or hearing its notes. I recollect that, while travelling in Virginia with a friend, he desired that I would go somewhat out of our intended route, to visit the renowned Rock Bridge of that State. My companion, who had passed over this natural bridge before, proposed a wager that he could lead me across it before I should be aware of its existence. It was early in April; and, from the descriptions of this place which I had read, I felt confident that the Pewee Flycatcher must be about it. I accepted the proposal of my friend and trotted on, intent on proving to myself that, by constantly attending to one subject, a person must sooner or later become acquainted with it. I listened to the notes of the different birds, which at intervals came to my ear, and at last had the satisfaction to distinguish those of the Pewee. I stopped my horse, to judge of the distance at which the bird might be, and a moment after told my friend that the bridge was short of a hundred yards from us, although it was impossible for us to see the spot itself. The surprise of my companion was great. "How do you know this?" he asked, "for," continued he, "you are correct."—"Simply," answered I, "because I hear the notes of the Pewee, and know that a cave, or a deep rocky creek, is at hand." We moved on; the Pewees rose from under the bridge in numbers; I pointed to the spot and won the wager.

This rule of observation I have almost always found to work, as arithmeticians say, both ways. Thus the nature of the woods or place in which the observer may be, whether high or low, moist or dry, sloping north or south, with whatever kind of vegetation, tall trees of particular species, or low shrubs, will generally disclose the nature of their inhabitants.

The flight of the Pewee Flycatcher is performed by a fluttering light motion, frequently interrupted by sailings. It is slow when the bird is proceeding to some distance, rather rapid when in pursuit of prey. It often mounts perpendicularly from its perch after an insect, and returns to some dry twig, from which it can see around to a considerable distance. It then swallows the insect whole, unless it happen to be large. It will at times pursue an insect to a considerable distance, and seldom without success. It alights with great firmness, immediately erects itself in the manner of hawks, glances all around, shakes its wings with a tremulous motion, and vibrates its tail upwards as if by a spring. Its tufty crest is generally erected, and its whole appearance is neat, if not elegant. The Pewee has its particular stands, from which it seldom rambles far. The top of a fence stake near the road is often selected by it, from which it sweeps off in all directions, returning at intervals, and thus remaining the greater part of the morning and evening. The corner of the roof of the barn suits it equally well, and if the weather requires it, it may be seen perched on the highest dead twig of a tall tree. During the heat of the day it reposes in the shade of the woods. In the autumn it will choose the stalk of the mullein for its stand, and sometimes the projecting angle of a rock jutting over a stream. It now and then alights on the ground for an instant, but this happens principally during winter, or while engaged during spring in collecting the materials of which its nest is composed, in our Southern States, where many spend their time at this season.

I have found this species abundant in the Floridas in winter, in full song, and as lively as ever, also in Louisiana and the Carolinas, particularly in the cotton fields. None, however, to my knowledge, breed south of Charlestown in South Carolina, and very few in the lower parts of that State. They leave Louisiana in February, and return to it in October. Occasionally during winter they feed on berries of different kinds, and are quite expert at discovering the insects impaled on thorns by the Loggerhead Shrike, and which they devour with avidity. I met with a few of these birds on the Magdeleine Islands, on the coast of Labrador, and in Newfoundland.

The nest of this species bears some resemblance to that of the Barn Swallow, the outside consisting of mud, with which are firmly impacted grasses or mosses of various kinds deposited in regular strata. It is lined with delicate fibrous roots, or shreds of vine bark, wool, horse-hair, and sometimes a few feathers. The greatest diameter across the open mouth is from five to six inches, and the depth from four to five. Both birds work alternately, bringing pellets of mud or damp earth, mixed with moss, the latter of which is mostly disposed on the outer parts, and in some instances the whole exterior looks as if entirely formed of it. The fabric is firmly attached to a rock, or a wall, the rafter of a house, &c. In the barrens of Kentucky I have found the nests fixed to the side of those curious places called sink-holes, and as much as twenty feet below the surface of the ground. I have observed that when the Pewees return in spring, they strengthen their tenement by adding to the external parts attached to the rock, as if to prevent it from falling, which after all it sometimes does when several years old. Instances of their taking possession of the nest of the Republican Swallow (Hirundo fulva) have been observed in the State of Maine. The eggs are from four to six, rather elongated, pure white, generally with a few reddish spots near the larger end.

In Virginia, and probably as far as New York, they not unfrequently raise two broods, sometimes three, in a season. My learned friend, Professor NUTTALL, of Cambridge College, Massachusetts, thinks that the Pewee seldom raises more than one brood in the year in that State.

This species ejects the hard particles of the wings, legs, abdomen, and other parts of insects, in small pellets, in the manner of owls, goatsuckers and swallows.

MUSCICAPA FUSCA, Ch. Bonaparte's Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 68.

PEWIT FLYCATCHER, MUSCICAPA NUNCIOLA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 78. Pl. 13. Fig. 4.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 278.

Adult Male. Plate CXX. Fig. 1.

Bill rather long, broad and depressed at the base, compressed towards the tip, acute; upper mandible with the dorsal line slightly arched, the sides convex, the edges sharp, the tip declinate; lower mandible straight, the back convex, the edges sharp. The general proportions are rather slender, the eyes large. Feet short, rather slender; tarsus shorter than the middle toe, compressed anteriorly scutellate, sharp behind; toes slender, free; claws small, weak, slightly arched, acute.

Plumage blended, soft, glossy; feathers of the head elongated and erectile. Basirostral bristles long. Wings of ordinary length, the third and fourth quills longest. Tail rather long, emarginate.

Bill and feet black. Iris brown. The general colour of the plumage is dull olive green, darker on the head; the quills and tail dusky, the larger coverts and inner secondaries edged with pale brown; the outer tail feathers whitish on their outer edge towards the base. The lower parts in general are brownish white, the sides dusky.

Length 7 inches, extent of wings 9½; bill along the ridge 6/12, along the edge 10/12; tarsus ¾.

Adult Female. Plate CXX. Fig. 2.

The Female resembles the Male, being only a little lighter on the sides of the neck.

THE COTTON PLANT.

GOSSYPIUM HERBACEUM, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. ii. p. 462. —MONADELPHIA POLYANDRIA, Linn. MALVACEÆ, Juss.

See vol. i. p. 359.

THE SQUATTERS OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

Although every European traveller who has glided down the Mississippi, at the rate of ten miles an hour, has told his tale of the Squatters, yet none has given any other account of them than that they are "a sallow, sickly-looking sort of miserable beings," living in swamps, and subsisting on pig-nuts, Indian corn, and bear's flesh. It is obvious, however, that none but a person acquainted with their history, manners, and condition, can give any real information respecting them.

The individuals who become squatters, choose that sort of life of their own free will. They mostly remove from other parts of the United States, after finding that land has become too high in price, and they are persons who, having a family of strong and hardy children, are anxious to enable them to provide for themselves. They have heard from good authorities, that the country extending along the great streams of the West, is of all parts of the Union the richest in its soil, the growth of its timber, and the abundance of its game; that, besides, the Mississippi is the great road to and from all the markets in the world; and that every vessel borne by its waters, affords to settlers some chance of selling their commodities, or of exchanging them for others. To these recommendations is added another, of even greater weight with persons of the above denomination, namely, the prospect of being able to settle on land, and perhaps to hold it for a number of years, without purchase, rent or tax of any kind. How many thousands of individuals in all parts of the globe would gladly try their fortune with such prospects, I leave to you, reader, to determine.

As I am not disposed too highly to colour the picture which I am about to submit to your inspection, instead of pitching on individuals who have removed from our eastern boundaries, and of whom certainly there are a good number, I shall introduce to you the members of a family from Virginia, first giving you an idea of their condition in that country, previous to their migration to the west. The land which they and their ancestors have possessed for a hundred years, having been constantly forced to produce crops of one kind or other, is now completely worn out. It exhibits only a superficial layer of red clay, cut up by deep ravines, through which much of the soil has been conveyed to some more fortunate neighbour, residing in a yet rich and beautiful valley. Their strenuous efforts to render it productive have failed. They dispose of every thing too cumbrous or expensive for them to remove, retaining only a few horses, a servant or two, and such implements of husbandry and other articles as may be necessary on their journey, or useful when they arrive at the spot of their choice.

I think I see them at this moment harnessing their horses, and attaching them to their waggons, which are already filled with bedding, provisions, and the younger children, while on their outside are fastened spinning-wheels and looms, and a bucket filled with tar and tallow swings between the hind wheels. Several axes are secured to the bolster, and the feeding trough of the horses contains pots, kettles, and pans. The servant, now become a driver, rides the near saddled horse, the wife is mounted on another, the worthy husband shoulders his gun, and his sons, clad in plain substantial homespun, drive the cattle a-head, and lead the procession, followed by the hounds and other dogs. Their day's journey is short and not agreeable:—the cattle, stubborn or wild, frequently leave the road for the woods, giving the travellers much trouble; the harness of the horses here and there gives way, and needs immediate repair; a basket, which has accidentally dropped, must be gone after, for nothing that they have can be spared; the roads are bad, and now and then all hands are called to push on the waggon, or prevent it from upsetting. Yet by sun-set they have proceeded perhaps twenty miles. Rather fatigued, all assemble round the fire, which has been lighted, supper is prepared, and a camp being erected, there they pass the night.

Days and weeks, nay months, of unremitting toil, pass before they gain the end of their journey. They have crossed both the Carolinas, Georgia, and Alabama. They have been travelling from the beginning of May to that of September, and with heavy hearts they traverse the State of Mississippi. But now, arrived on the banks of the broad stream, they gaze in amazement on the dark deep woods around them. Boats of various kinds they see gliding downwards with the current, while others slowly ascend against it. A few inquiries are made at the nearest dwelling, and, assisted by the inhabitants with their boats and canoes, they at once cross the Mississippi, and select their place of habitation.

The exhalations arising from the swamps and morasses around them, have a powerful effect on these new settlers, but all are intent on preparing for the winter. A small patch of ground is cleared by the axe and the fire, a temporary cabin is erected, to each of the cattle is attached a jingling-bell before it is let loose into the neighbouring canebrake, and the horses remain about the house, where they find sufficient food at that season. The first trading boat that stops at their landing, enables them to provide themselves with some flour, fish-hooks, and ammunition, as well as other commodities. The looms are mounted, the spinning-wheels soon furnish some yarn, and in a few weeks the family throw off their ragged clothes, and array themselves in suits adapted to the climate. The father and sons meanwhile have sown turnips and other vegetables; and from some Kentucky flat boat, a supply of live poultry has been procured.

October tinges the leaves of the forest, the morning dews are heavy, the days hot, the nights chill, and the unacclimated family in a few days are attacked with ague. The lingering disease almost prostrates their whole faculties, and one seeing them at such a period might well call them sallow and sickly. Fortunately the unhealthy season soon passes over, and the hoarfrosts make their appearance. Gradually each individual recovers strength. The largest ash trees are felled; their trunks are cut, split, and corded in front of the building; a large fire is lighted under night on the edge of the water, and soon a steamer calls to purchase the wood, and thus add to their comforts during the winter.

This first fruit of their industry imparts new courage to them; their exertions multiply, and when spring returns, the place has a cheerful look. Venison, bear's-flesh, wild turkeys, ducks, and geese, with now and then some fish, have served to keep up their strength, and now their enlarged field is planted with corn, potatoes, and pumpkins. Their stock of cattle, too, has augmented; the steamer, which now stops there as if by preference, buys a calf or a pig, together with the whole of their wood. Their store of provisions is renewed, and brighter rays of hope enliven their spirits.

Who is he of the settlers on the Mississippi that cannot realise some profit? Truly none who is industrious. When the autumnal months return, all are better prepared to encounter the ague, which then prevails. Substantial food, suitable clothing, and abundant firing, repel its attacks; and before another twelvemonth has elapsed, the family is naturalized.

The sons have by this time discovered a swamp covered with excellent timber, and as they have seen many great rafts of saw logs, bound for the mills of New Orleans, floating past their dwelling, they resolve to try the success of a little enterprise. Their industry and prudence have already enhanced their credit. A few cross-saws are purchased, and some broad-wheeled "carry-logs" are made by themselves. Log after log is hauled to the bank of the river, and in a short time their first raft is made on the shore, and loaded with cord-wood. When the next freshet sets it afloat, it is secured by long grape-vines or cables, until the proper time being arrived, the husband and sons embark on it, and float down the mighty stream.

After encountering many difficulties, they arrive in safety at New Orleans where they dispose of their stock, the money obtained for which may be said to be all profit, supply themselves with such articles as may add to their convenience or comfort, and with light hearts, procure a passage on the upper deck of a steamer, at a very cheap rate, on account of the benefit of their labour in taking in wood or otherwise.

And now the vessel approaches their home. See the joyous mother and daughters as they stand on the bank! A store of vegetables lies around them, a large tub of fresh milk is at their feet, and in their hands are plates filled with rolls of butter. As the steamer stops, three broad straw-hats are waved from its upper deck; and soon, husband and wife, brothers and sisters, are in each other's embrace. The boat carries off the provisions, for which value has been left, and as the captain issues his orders for putting on the steam, the happy family enter their humble dwelling. The husband gives his bag of dollars to the wife, while the sons present some token of affection to their sisters. Surely, at such a moment, the Squatters are richly repaid for all their labours.

Every successive year has increased their savings. They now possess a large stock of horses, cows, and hogs, with abundance of provisions, and domestic comfort of every kind. The daughters have been married to the sons of neighbouring Squatters, and have gained sisters to themselves by the marriage of their brothers. The government secures to the family the lands, on which, twenty years before, they settled in poverty and sickness. Larger buildings are erected on piles, secure from the inundations; where a single cabin once stood, a neat village is now to be seen; warehouses, stores, and work-shops increase the importance of the place. The Squatters live respected, and in due time die regretted, by all who knew them.

Thus are the vast frontiers of our country peopled, and thus does cultivation, year after year, extend over the western wilds. Time will no doubt be, when the great valley of the Mississippi, still covered with primeval forests, interspersed with swamps, will smile with corn-fields and orchards, while crowded cities will rise at intervals along its banks, and enlightened nations will rejoice in the bounties of Providence.

THE SNOWY OWL.

STRIX NYCTEA.

PLATE CXXI. MALE AND FEMALE.

This beautiful bird is merely a winter visitor of the United States, where it is seldom seen before the month of November, and whence it retires as early as the beginning of February. It wanders at times along the sea coast, as far as Georgia. I have occasionally seen it in the lower parts of Kentucky, and in the State of Ohio. It is more frequently met with in Pennsylvania and the Jerseys; but in Massachusetts and Maine it is far more abundant than in any other parts of the Union.

The Snowy Owl hunts during the day, as well as in the dusk. Its flight is firm and protracted, although smooth and noiseless. It passes swiftly over its hunting ground, seizes its prey by instantaneously falling on it, and generally devours it on the spot. When the objects of its pursuit are on wing, such as ducks, grouse, or pigeons, it gains upon them by urging its speed, and strikes them somewhat in the manner of the Peregrine Falcon. It is fond of the neighbourhood of rivers and small streams, having in their course cataracts or shallow rapids, on the borders of which it seizes on fishes, in the manner of our wild cat. It also watches the traps set for musk-rats, and devours the animals caught in them. Its usual food, while it remains with us, consists of hares, squirrels, rats, and fishes, portions of all of which I have found in its stomach. In several fine specimens which I examined immediately after being killed, I found the stomach to be extremely thin, soft, and capable of great extension. In one of them I found the whole of a large house-rat, in pieces of considerable size, the head and the tail almost entire. This bird was very fat, and its intestines, which were thin, and so small as not to exceed a fourth of an inch in diameter, measured 4½ feet in length.

When skinned, the body of the Snowy Owl appears at first sight compact and very muscular, for the breast is large, as are the thighs and legs, these parts being covered with much flesh of a fine and delicate appearance, very much resembling that of a chicken, and not indelicate eating, but the thorax is very narrow for so large a bird. The keel of the breast-bone is fully an inch deep at its junction with the fourchette, which is wide. The heart and liver are large; the œsophagus is extremely wide, enabling the bird to swallow very large portions of its food at once. The skin may be drawn over the head without any difficulty, and from the body with ease. The male weighs 4 lb., the female 4¾ lb. avoirdupois.

The observations which I have made induce me to believe that the pure and rich light-yellowish whiteness of this species belongs to both sexes after a certain age. I have shot specimens which were, as I thought, so young as to be nearly of a uniform light-brown tint, and which puzzled me for several years, as I had at first conceived them to be of a different species. This, indeed, led me to think that, when young, these birds are brown. Others were more or less marked with broad transverse lines of deep brown or black; but I have seen specimens of both sexes perfectly free from spots, excepting on the occiput, where I have never missed them.

Some twenty years passed; and, during that time, scarcely was there a winter which did not bring several of these hardy natives of the north to the Falls of the Ohio at Louisville. At the break of day, one morning, when I lay hidden in a pile of floated logs, at the Falls of the Ohio, waiting for a shot at some wild geese, I had an opportunity of seeing this Owl secure fish in the following manner:—While watching for their prey on the borders of the "pots," they invariably lay flat on the rock, with the body placed lengthwise along the border of the hole, the head also laid down, but turned towards the water. One might have supposed the bird sound asleep, as it would remain in the same position until a good opportunity of securing a fish occurred, which I believe was never missed; for, as the latter unwittingly rose to the surface, near the edge, that instant the Owl thrust out the foot next the water, and, with the quickness of lightning, seized it, and drew it out. The Owl then removed to the distance of a few yards, devoured its prey, and returned to the same hole; or, if it had not perceived any more fish, flew only a few yards over the many pots there, marked a likely one, and alighted at a little distance from it. It then squatted, moved slowly towards the edge, and lay as before watching for an opportunity. Whenever a fish of any size was hooked, as I may say, the Owl struck the other foot also into it, and flew off with it to a considerable distance. In two instances of this kind, I saw the bird carry its prey across the Western or Indiana Shute, into the woods, as if to be quite out of harm's way. I never heard it utter a single note on such occasions, even when two birds joined in the repast, which was frequently the case, when the fish that had been caught was of a large size. At sun-rise, or shortly after, the Owls flew to the woods, and I did not see them until the next morning, when, after witnessing the same feats, I watched an opportunity, and killed both at one shot.

An old hunter, now residing in Maine, told me that one winter he lost so many musk-rats by the owls, that he resolved to destroy them. To effect this, without loss of ammunition, a great object to him, he placed musk-rats caught in the traps usually employed for the purpose, in a prominent spot, and in the centre of a larger trap. He said he seldom failed, and in this manner considerably "thinned the thieves," before the season was over. He found, however, more of the Great Grey Owl, Strix cinerea, than of the Snowy Owl. The latter he thought was much more cunning than the former.

In the course of a winter spent at Boston, I had some superb specimens of the Snowy Owl brought to me, one of which, a male, was alive, having only been touched in the wing. He stood upright, keeping his feathers close, but would not suffer me to approach him. His fine eyes watched every movement I made, and if I pretended to walk round him, the instant his head had turned as far as he could still see me, he would open his wings, and with large hops get to a corner of the room, when he would turn towards me, and again watch my approach. This bird had been procured on one of the sea-islands off Boston, by a gunner in my employ, who, after following it from one rock to another, with difficulty wounded it. In the course of the same winter, I saw one sailing high over the bay along with a number of gulls, which appeared to dislike his company, and chased it at a respectful distance, the owl seeming to pay no regard to them.

Several individuals have been procured near Charleston, in South Carolina, one on James' Island, another, now in the Charleston Museum, on Clarkson's plantation. A fine one was shot at Columbia, the seat of government for the State of that name, from the chimney of one of the largest houses in that town, and was beautifully preserved by Professor Gibbes of the Columbia College. I once met with one while walking with a friend near Louisville in Kentucky, in the middle of the day. It was perched on a broken stump of a tree in the centre of a large field; and, on seeing us, flew off, sailed round the field, and alighted again on the same spot. It evinced much impatience and apprehension, opening its wings several times as if intending to fly off; but, with some care, it was approached and shot. It proved to be a fine old female, the plumage of which was almost pure white. I have heard of individuals having been seen as far down the Mississippi as the town of Memphis. Some Indians assured me that they had shot one at the mouth of the Red River; and, while on the Arkansas River, I was frequently told of a large White Owl that had been seen there during winter.

So much has been said to me of its breeding in the northern parts of the State of Maine, that this may possibly be correct. In Nova Scotia they are abundant at the approach of winter; and Professor MACCULLOCH, of the University of Pictou, shewed me several beautiful specimens in his fine collection of North American Birds. Of its place and mode of breeding I know nothing; for, although every person to whom I spoke of this bird while in Labrador knew it, my party saw none there; and in Newfoundland we were equally unsuccessful in our search.

STRIX NYCTEA, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 132.—Lath. Index Ornith. vol. i. p. 57.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 36.—Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.- Americ. vol. i. p. 88.

SNOWY OWL, STRIX NYCTEA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 53. pl. 32. fig. 1.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 116.

Adult Male. Plate CXXI. Fig. 1.

Bill short, compressed, curved, acute, with a small cere at the base; upper mandible with its dorsal outline curved from the base, the edges sharp, the point trigonal, very acute, deflected; lower mandible with the edges sharp and inflected, the tip obtuse. Nostrils roundish, in the fore part of the cere, concealed by the recumbent bristles. Head very large, although proportionally smaller than in most other owls, as are the eyes and external ears. Body short. Legs of ordinary length; tarsus feathered, as are the toes, on which, however, are two scutella; claws curved, slender, rounded, extremely sharp.

The plumage is soft but compact above, blended beneath, and in general remarkable for its bulk and elasticity. The feet are thickly clothed with long shaggy feathers, and the eyes are surrounded by circles of bristly feathers with disunited barbs. Wings ample, the third quill longest; the secondaries very broad and rounded. Tail of moderate length, slightly rounded, of twelve very broad rounded feathers.

Bill and claws black. Iris bright yellow. The general colour of the plumage is white, the face, forehead, nape, fore neck, anterior part of the breast, abdomen, and rump, with the upper and lower tail-coverts, unspotted; the upper part of the head and the back marked with lunated umber brown spots, and the breast, sides, and thigh-coverts, with transverse curved lines of the same. Wing-coverts, wings, and tail, barred with transverse oblong dark-brown spots.

Length 21 inches, extent of wings 53; bill along the ridge 1-8/12, along the edge 2; tarsus 1-6/12, middle toe with the claw 2½.

Adult Female. Plate CXXI. Fig. 2.

The female is similar in external appearance, but much larger.

Length 26 inches, extent of wings 65.

Individuals of either sex vary according to age, the spots gradually disappearing the older the birds become, so that not unfrequently specimens of a uniform white may be found.

THE BLUE GROSBEAK.

FRINGILLA CÆRULEA, BONAP.

PLATE CXXII. MALE, FEMALE, AND YOUNG.

While the Cardinal Grosbeak enlivens the neighbourhood of our southern cities and villages, and frequents the lawn of the planter's habitation, the present species, shy and bashful, retires to the borders of the almost stagnant waters used as reservoirs for the purpose of irrigating the rice plantations. There, where the alligator, basking sluggishly on the miry pool, bellows forth its fearful cries, or in silence watches the timid deer, as it approaches to immerse its body in order to free it from the attacks of myriads of tormenting insects; where the watchful Heron stands erect, silent, and ready to strike its slippery prey, or leisurely and gracefully steps along the muddy margins; where baneful miasmata fill the sultry air, now imbued with a virus almost sufficient to prostrate all other beings save those whose nature enables them to remain in those damps;—there you meet with the Cærulean Grosbeak, timidly skipping from bush to bush, or over and amid the luxuriant rice, watchful even of the movements of the slave employed in cultivating the fertile soil. If the place is silent, and the weather calm, this cautious bird gradually ascends some high tree, from the top of which it pours forth its melting melodies, the female sitting the while on her eggs in her grassy nest, in some low sheltered bush hard by. Her mate now and then relieves her from her task, provides her with food while she sits, and again lulls her to repose by his song. One brood and again another are hatched, reared, and led forth to find for themselves the food so abundantly spread around them. Humbly and inconspicuously clad as the young birds are, most of them escape the talon of the watchful Hawk, or the fire of the mischief-loving gunner. The parents soon join them, and no sooner is their favourite rice gathered, than the whole fly off, and gradually wend their way to warmer climes.

Although this sweet songster spends the spring and summer in our Southern States, it must be considered as a rather scarce bird there. It seldom enters deep woods, but prefers such low grounds as I have described above, or the large and level abandoned fields covered with rank grasses and patches of low bushes. It arrives in the lower parts of Louisiana about the middle of March, the males appearing eight or ten days before the females, in small parties of five or six, when their common call-note, a single chuck, is frequently uttered to attract the females. They proceed through Alabama, Georgia, and the Carolinas, in all which districts they breed. Beyond this, however, few are to be met with. I never observed this species on the Mississippi farther up than the neighbourhood of Natchez; nor is it ever seen in Kentucky, or in any other part of the western country. Along the Atlantic coast, it is rarely found beyond the State of New Jersey.

It is remarkable that, although this bird seldom places its nest more than a few feet from the ground, it is fond of ascending to the tops of the tallest detached trees, to sing, during the spring and summer, rarely performing that pleasant duty among the low bushes which it usually inhabits.

One or two pairs of these birds generally take possession of a field, for the purpose of breeding, making choice of one little frequented by other birds. There, in the most secluded part, the Blue Grosbeak builds its nest, placing it in the upright fork of some small slender bush, or attaching it to the tall blades of a tuft of rank grass. It is composed of fine dried grasses, which are more carefully arranged towards the interior, and is lined with a few delicate fibrous roots, dried moss, or horse-hair. There are seldom more than four eggs, but two broods are raised in the season. When the first broods leave their parents, the young birds assemble in small flocks composed of a few families, and resort mostly to the rice fields, feeding on the grain when yet in its milky state, and until it is gathered. The parents join them with their second brood, and shortly after, or about the first days of September, they all depart southward.

In the summer of 1829, I accidentally met with a nest of these birds in the State of New Jersey, a few miles only from Philadelphia. I was attracted towards it by the cries of the birds, both of which were perched on a tall hickory tree, standing on a piece of barren ground, near a swamp well known on account of the visits it receives during the Woodcock season. I looked for the nest for some time in vain. The parents left the tree, flew about as if much alarmed and distressed, and at last alighted on the ground not far from me. Following them gradually, I saw them go up to one of their young, and on reaching the place, saw the nest in a low bush of the dogwood. In it were two young ones, dead, and covered with large insects. Presently I heard the chirp of a fourth, which I found within a few yards of the place. Concluding that the insects were the cause of all the distress I saw, I destroyed them, and replaced the young birds in the nest, where I left them. Visiting them repeatedly afterwards, I saw them grow apace, until at length they flew off, when I cut the twig, and drew it with the nest, as you now see it in the Plate.

My friend BACHMAN has favoured me with the following remarks, which I have pleasure in recommending to you. "Being desirous of procuring and raising the young of this bird, I made considerable exertions to find a nest. Having found four in the course of one spring, I observed that two of them had been robbed of their eggs before incubation commenced. The young of the third were destroyed by a snake, which I found in the act, and shot from the bush. Those of the fourth escaped until nearly fledged, when going towards them one morning to carry them away, and being within twenty steps of them, I heard them chirping loudly, as if anxious to be fed, when I saw a black snake a few yards before me, with its head raised high above ground, as if listening to their cries. It went in a straight line to the bush, as if following the sound, and before I came up to the place, it had swallowed one, and was trying to escape with another in its mouth. I carried the two remaining home, raised them with great ease, and kept them in an aviary for two years. They proved to be females. On taking them out of the nest, I had with me a trap cage, in which I tried to catch the old ones. They were both very shy, suspicious, and so cautious, that the female alone was inclined to enter it, and was secured. When left with her young, she noticed them not, and although I kept her for several years, she never attempted to build a nest. A full-plumaged male purchased in the market, and put in the aviary, mated on the following spring with one of the young females, took possession of the nest of a Cardinal Grosbeak, which they drove off, carefully repaired it, rendered it neat and comfortable, and laid two eggs, which unfortunately were destroyed by the rats. In the aviary these birds are generally silent, and during rain appeared delighted. They clung to the bars, driving all other birds away, as if determined to enjoy the whole pleasure themselves."

The food of this species consists principally of different sorts of seeds. They are fond of those of rice and grass of all kinds during spring and summer. Towards autumn, they now and then throw themselves into the fields of Guinea corn, the seeds of which they easily break with their strong bills. I never saw them eat fruits or berries.

The song of the Blue Grosbeak is prolonged or rapidly renewed, and resembles that of the Rice Bird (Fringilla oryzivora), but it seldom sings after the breeding season. Its flight is prolonged, undulating, and rapid, resembling that of the Rose-breasted species. They hop on the ground, where they pick up gravel to mix with their food, and frequently bathe. They are confined to the maritime districts, seldom going more than forty or fifty miles inland.

Individuals are now and then exposed for sale in the markets of the southern cities, where, on account of the difficulty experienced in catching them, they sell for about a dollar the pair.

The young, which has heretofore been represented as the female, does not attain its full plumage until the third year, and in the mean time varies but little from the one represented in the plate. In the course of the second autumn, it shews spots of blue irregularly placed on its back, and the following spring acquires its full beauty. The male and female represented in the same plate are both adult, and in their perfect spring plumage. They retain their colours unimpaired during winter, while in confinement, which is therefore probably the case in the countries to which they resort at that season.

FRINGILLA CÆRULEA, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 114.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 529.

LOXIA CÆRULEA, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 306.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 374.

BLUE GROSBEAK, LOXIA CÆRULEA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 78. Pl. 24. fig. 6.

Adult Male. Plate CXXII. Fig. 1.

Bill rather short, robust, bulging a little at the base, conical, acute; upper mandible with its dorsal outline very slightly convex, as is the lower, both rounded on the sides, the edges acute and straight to near the base, where they are a little deflected. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, partially concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body robust. Legs of moderate size; tarsus of the same length as the middle toe, covered anteriorly with a few scutella, the upper long, posteriorly sharp edged; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, rather compact above, blended beneath. Wings of moderate length, third and fourth primaries longest. Tail rather long, emarginate.

Bill pale greyish-blue beneath and on the edges of the upper mandible, the rest of which is dusky. Iris brown. Feet dusky. The general colour of the plumage is deep purplish-blue. Lore, chin, and a line round the base of the mandibles, black. Quills and larger coverts brownish-black, the primaries edged with blue, the secondary quills, secondary coverts and first row of smaller coverts light reddish-brown. Tail feathers brownish-black, edged with blue, as are the under tail coverts.

Length 7½ inches, extent of wings 11; bill along the ridge 7/12, along the edge 10/12; tarsus 1.

Adult Female. Plate CXXII. Fig. 2.

Bill as in the male, but paler. Feet brown. Head and hind part of the back, as in the male; the back, sides of the neck, and forepart of the breast greyish-brown, tinged with dull blue. The rest of the under parts yellowish-grey. The wings are nearly as in the male, but lighter, and the black at the base of the bill is wanting. The dimensions are somewhat less than those of the male.

Young Bird fully fledged. Plate CXXII. Fig. 3.

Bill yellowish-grey, dusky above. Feet brown. The general colour is light greenish-brown, the upper part of the head, the back, smaller wing coverts and upper tail coverts tinged with dusky. The wings and tail are as in the female.

THE DOG WOOD.

CORNUS FLORIDA, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. i. p. 661. Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. i. p. 108.—TETRANDRIA MONOGYNIA, Linn. CAPRIFOLIA, Juss.

See vol. i. pages 45, and 376.

THE BLACK AND YELLOW WARBLER.

SYLVIA MACULOSA, LATH.

PLATE CXXIII. MALE AND FEMALE.

Few of our Warblers have a more varied plumage, or are more animated in their motions, than this beautiful little bird. In Louisiana it is met with now and then as early as the middle of March, but there its occurrence appears to be merely accidental, as is indeed the case in Kentucky, Ohio, or any portion of the Middle States, through which a few are to be seen on their passage to more northern regions. In autumn I have seen them in great numbers near the Pocano Mountains, accompanied by their young, proceeding southward, as I thought, along the direction of that range. While in Maine, on my way to Labrador, in the month of May, I observed them to be very abundant by the roads, in the fields, the low woods, and even the orchards and gardens. In fact, so numerous were those interesting birds, that you might have fancied that an army of them had assembled to take possession of the country. Scarce a leaf was yet expanded, large icicles hung along the rocky shores, and I could not but feel surprised at the hardihood of the little adventurers. At night they roosted in numbers in the small evergreen trees, and by day they were to be seen flitting about wherever the sun shone. If the morning was cold, you might catch them with the hand, and several specimens, procured in that manner by children, were brought to me. This happened in the neighbourhood of Eastport. By the end of a fortnight, the greater part of them had pushed farther north. I met them wherever I landed in the neighbouring islands, and along the shores of the Bay of Fundy, as well as in the Straits of Cansso, the Magdeleine Isles, and Labrador. I have no doubt that the extraordinary congregation which I saw near Eastport, was caused by the foresight of the tiny travellers, aware that they could not at so early a period proceed farther without imminent danger. Many of these birds, however, remain and breed in the State of Maine, and in the British Provinces.

The Black and Yellow Warbler has a clear and sweetly modulated song, surpassing that of many other birds of its tribe. It sings in the interior of the low woods, to which it seems at all times to give a decided preference. Its motions are extremely graceful; its tail is constantly spread as it flits along the branches, or even while it is on the ground, to which it frequently betakes itself, and its wings are usually held in a drooping position, so as to display all the beauty of its plumage. It feeds on insects and their larvæ. Now and then it may be seen balancing itself in the air, opposite a cluster of leaves, among which it darts to secure its prey, and not unfrequently it emerges a few feet from among the foliage of a tree or bush, to seize a fluttering insect. In catching its prey, it does not produce the clicking sound, caused by the sudden meeting of the mandibles, so remarkable in some other species.

The nest, which is placed deep among the branches of low fir trees, is supported by horizontal twigs, and is constructed of moss and lichens, lined with fibrous roots, and a great quantity of feathers. In one, found in Labrador, in the beginning of July, there were five small eggs, rather more elongated than is usual in the genus. They were white, sprinkled with reddish dots near the larger end. The female, on being disturbed, spread out her wings and tail, fluttered along the branches in the agony of despair, lingered trembling about the spot, and returned to the nest while we were only a few yards distant from it.

During the first days of August, I saw many of the young following their parents, and perceived that some were already on their way southward. While in the Bay of St George, Newfoundland, I again saw these birds daily, although they became scarcer the longer we remained in the country. I also traced their retrograde flight into Nova Scotia, but on landing in the United States lost sight of them.

The young of this species is represented in Plate L., and described at page 260 of the first volume of the present work.

SYLVIA MACULOSA, Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 536.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 78.

BLACK, AND, YELLOW WARBLER, SYLVIA MAGNOLIA, Wils. Americ. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 63. Pl. 23. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 370.

Adult Male. Plate CXXIII. Fig. 1.

Bill shortish, nearly straight, subulato-conical, acute, nearly as deep as broad at the base, the edges acute, the gap-line a little deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, lateral, elliptical, half closed by a membrane. Head of ordinary size, neck short, body slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly by a few long scutella; toes scutellate above, the inner free, the hind toe of moderate size; claws slender, compressed, arched, acute.

Plumage soft, blended. Wings rather short, second and third quills longest, first shorter than the fourth, which is almost as long as the third. Tail rather long, slightly emarginate, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill black. Iris brownish-black. Feet dusky, the toes yellow beneath. Upper part of the head ash-grey. A band from the forehead to the eye, passing under it, and becoming broader behind the eye, hind neck, anterior part of the back, and upper tail-coverts, black. A short white line over and behind the eye, and a speck of the same under it. Wing-coverts and quills deep brown, edged with light grey, the first row of small coverts and the secondary coverts broadly tipped with white, forming two bars across the wing. Tail brownish-black, the feathers, excepting the two middle, having an oblong white mark on the inner web beyond the middle, forming a broad bar across the tail. The throat bright yellow, the rest of the lower parts of the same colour, fading behind into white, the middle of the neck, the breast, and sides, marked with large oblong longitudinal spots of brownish-black. Rump greyish-yellow.

During winter the black band crossing the cheek, passes over the hind neck, and joins the black of the back.

Length 5 inches, extent of wings 7½; bill along the ridge 4/12, along the edge 6/12; tarsus ¾, middle toe 7/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXIII. Fig. 2.

The Female is similar to the male, but somewhat paler beneath.

For the description of the Young fully fledged, see vol. i. p. 260.

THE FLOWERING RASPBERRY.

RUBUS ODORATUS, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 1085. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 348.—ICOSANDRIA POLYGYNIA, Linn. ROSACEÆ, Juss.

This species of rasp has the stems hispid; the leaves three or five-lobed, acute; the flowers in lateral and terminal corymbs, with divaricate stalks and appendiculate calyces. It is abundant in the Middle and Eastern, but rare in the Southern and Western Districts. It forms part of the rich undergrowth of our woods, and also grows in old fields with other species of the genus. The flowers are rose-coloured and showy, but destitute of odour, and the fruit is delicious and highly fragrant, from which circumstance the species derives its name.

THE GREEN BLACK-CAPPED FLYCATCHER.

MUSCICAPA WILSONII.

PLATE CXXIV. MALE AND FEMALE.

This species passes rapidly through the United States on its way to the Northern Districts, where it breeds and spends the summer. WILSON saw only a few specimens, which he met with in the lower parts of Delaware and New Jersey, and supposed it to be an inhabitant of the Southern States, where, however, it is never found in the summer months. It is not rare in the State of Maine, and becomes more abundant the farther north we proceed. I found it in Labrador and all the intermediate districts. It reaches that country early in June, and returns southward by the middle of August.

It has all the habits of a true Flycatcher, feeding on small insects, which it catches entirely on the wing, snapping its bill with a smart clicking sound. It frequents the borders of the lakes, and such streams as are fringed with low bushes, from which it is seen every moment sallying forth, pursuing its insect prey for many yards at a time, and again throwing itself into its favourite thickets.

The nest is placed on the extremity of a small horizontal branch, amongst the thick foliage of dwarf firs, not more than from three to five feet from the ground, and in the centre of the thickets of these trees so common in Labrador. The materials of which it is composed are bits of dry moss and delicate pine twigs, agglutinated together and to the branches or leaves around it, and beneath which it is suspended, with a lining of extremely fine and transparent fibres. The greatest diameter does not exceed 3½ inches, and the depth is not more than 1½. The eggs are four, dull white, sprinkled with reddish and brown dots towards the larger end, where the markings form a circle, leaving the extremity plain.

The parents shew much uneasiness at the approach of any intruder, skipping about and around among the twigs and in the air, snapping their bill, and uttering a plaintive note. They raise only one brood in the season. The young males shew their black cap as soon as they are fully fledged, and before their departure to the south. The head of the young females is at first of the same tint as the back, but I could not ascertain if they acquire their full colour the first autumn.

I found these birds abundant in Newfoundland, but perceived that they had already begun to migrate, on the 20th of August; they were moving from bush to bush, and seldom flew farther than thirty or forty yards at a time; yet when crossing the arms of the Gulf of St Lawrence, they are obliged to fly forty miles or more without alighting. The little Winter Wren must perform the same task, it being found in the same countries, to which some individuals travel from the United States. I observed the Green Black-capped Flycatcher in considerable numbers, in the northern parts of Maine, in October 1832, and concluded that the individuals seen must have come from a great distance.

MUSCICAPA WILSONII.

SYLVIA WILSONII, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 86.

GREEN BLACK-CAPT FLYCATCHER, MUSCICAPA PUSILLA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 103. pl. 26. fig. 4.

GREEN BLACK-CAPT WARBLER, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 408.

Adult Male. Plate CXXIV. Fig. 1.

Bill short, straight, conical, depressed at the base, compressed towards the end, the tip acute; upper mandible slightly convex in its dorsal line, the sides convex, the edges sharp; lower mandible straight along the back, the sides convex. Nostrils basal, oval, half covered by the bristly feathers of the forehead. Head of ordinary size, neck short, body compact, rather slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus compressed, covered anteriorly with a few long scutella, sharp behind, longer than the middle toe; toes free, scutellate above; claws arched, slender, much compressed, acute.

Plumage soft and blended, slightly glossed; short but distinct bristles at the base of the upper mandible. Wings short, the second quill longest. Tail rather long, even, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill light-brown. Iris hazel. Feet flesh-coloured. Back, rump, and upper tail-coverts olive-green; crown black, bordered on the forehead and over the eyes with a broad band of bright yellow. Wings and tail dusky, the feathers margined with green, the tips of the first row of small coverts and of the secondary coverts pale greenish-grey. The sides of the neck greenish-grey, the lower parts in general bright yellow.

Length 4½ inches, extent of wings 6¾; bill along the ridge 3/12, along the edge 5/12; tarsus 8/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXIV. Fig. 2.

The female has the colours in general somewhat paler, and is without the black patch on the head, it being substituted by a light yellowish-grey colour.

THE SNAKE'S HEAD.

CHELONE GLABRA, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iii. p. 225. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 427.—DIDYNAMIA ANGIOSPERMIA, Linn. SCROPHULARINÆ, Juss.

This plant grows on the banks of rivers and swamps, in the Middle and Southern States. It is herbaceous and perennial, with opposite lanceolate-oblong, acuminate, serrate leaves, and dense terminal spikes of pale red flowers, not remarkable for beauty.

THE BROWN-HEADED NUTHATCH.

SITTA PUSILLA, LATH.

PLATE CXXV. MALE AND FEMALE.

Actively and most diligently employed is this little rover ever found in our pine woodlands of the Southern Districts, where it resides all the year, and beyond which it seldom extends, few being ever seen to the eastward of Maryland. Those large tracts of sandy soil that occupy the greater portion of the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas, appear to suit its habits best. It is rather rare in Louisiana, and none go so far as Kentucky. It is the smallest species of Nuthatch as yet found in the United States. Its notes are several octaves above those of the White-bellied Nuthatch, more shrill, and at least one and a half above those of its northern cousin, the Red-bellied.

Although fond of pine-trees and pine-barrens, it does not confine itself to these, but may not unfrequently be seen pursuing its avocations on lower trees and on fences, mounting, descending, turning in every imaginable position, and with a quickness of motion so much greater than that of most other birds as to render it extremely difficult to shoot at. It examines every hole and cranny of the bark of trees, as well as their leaves and twigs, on which it finds abundance of food at all seasons. During the breeding period they move in pairs, and are constantly chattering. Their notes resemble the syllables deut, deut, dend, dend, and although not musical are not disagreeable, particularly when heard in the woods in which they usually reside, and where at that season a mournful silence intimates the wildness of the place.

When the young have left the nest they continue together, and move from tree to tree with the activity of their parents, who join them when the succeeding broods are able to find food for themselves. Towards winter they associate with the smaller species of Woodpeckers, the Brown Creeper, and the Southern Black-headed Tit. These birds pursue their avocations with so much cheerfulness that the woods echo to their notes. I have seen a congregation of these Nuthatches, amounting to fifty or more, thus perambulating the Floridas in the months of November and December. In those districts they pair in the beginning of February, and have eggs about the middle of that month, while in South Carolina they breed about a month later.

The nest is usually excavated by the birds themselves, in the dead portion of a low stump or sapling, sometimes only a few feet from the ground, but not unfrequently so high as thirty or forty feet. The little creatures work in concert, with great earnestness, for several days, until the hole, which is round, and not larger at its entrance than the body of the bird, is dug ten or twelve inches deep, and widening at the bottom. The eggs are laid on the bare wood; they are from four to six, white, with reddish dots, and scarcely larger than those of the Humming Bird. They frequently raise three broods in the season, but more commonly two.

Extremely careless at the presence of man, who indeed seldom molests them, they often peep at him when at the distance of only a few feet; yet when apprehensive of danger, they instantly fly off or ascend the tree, and are out of sight in an instant.

Their flight is similar to that of the other species, and like them they frequently utter their notes while on the wing. Now and then they are seen on the ground, where they hop and turn over the dead leaves in search of their food, which consists entirely of insects and their larvæ.

The young of this species do not acquire the brown colour of the head until the approach of spring, when no difference is observable between the sexes.

SITTA PUSILLA, Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 263.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 97.

BROWN-HEADED NUTHATCH, SITTA PUSILLA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 105. pl. 15. fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 584.

Adult Male. Plate CXXV. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, strong, subconical, compressed, the tip abrupt and wedge-shaped; upper mandible slightly convex in the dorsal outline, the sides sloping, the edges acute; dorsal outline of lower mandible straight. Nostrils basal, lateral, oblong. General form short and robust. Feet rather short and strong; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, behind sharp; toes free, scutellate above, the hind toe strong; claws arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe large.

Plumage soft and blended; wings of ordinary length, the second, third, and fourth quills longest. Tail short, even, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill brownish-black above, and on the tips of the lower mandible, the base of which is light greyish-blue. Iris hazel. Feet dusky brown. The general colour of the plumage above is dull leaden grey; the two middle tail-feathers of the same tint; the rest black, the margin of the outermost and the ends of it, and of the three next on each side, white, the tips grey. Upper part of the head and hind-neck light reddish-brown, with a white spot on the hind-neck. The under parts in general are dull white.

Length 4 inches, extent of wings 8; bill along the back 5/12, along the edge 7/12; tarsus 8/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXV. Fig. 2.

The female has the tints paler, but in other respects resembles the male.

THE SQUATTERS OF LABRADOR.

Go where you will, if a shilling can there be procured, you may expect to meet with individuals in search of it.

In the course of last summer, I met with several persons as well as families, whom I could not compare to any thing else than what in America we understand by the appellation of Squatters. The methods they employed to accumulate property form the subject of the observations which I now lay before you.

Our schooner lay at anchor in a beautiful basin on the coast of Labrador, surrounded by uncouth granitic rocks, partially covered with stunted vegetation. While searching for birds and other objects I chanced one morning to direct my eye towards the pinnacle of a small island, separated from the mainland by a very narrow channel, and presently commenced inspecting it with my telescope. There I saw a man on his knees, with clasped hands, and face inclined heavenwards. Before him was a small monument of unhewn stones, supporting a wooden cross. In a word, reader, the person whom I thus unexpectedly discovered, was engaged in prayer. Such an incident in that desolate land was affecting, for there one seldom finds traces of human beings, and the aid of the Almighty, although necessary everywhere, seems there peculiarly required to enable them to procure the means of subsistence. My curiosity having been raised, I betook myself to my boat, landed on the rock, and scrambled to the place, where I found the man still on his knees. When his devotions were concluded, he bowed to me, and addressed me in very indifferent French. I asked him why he had chosen so dreary a spot for his prayers. "Because," answered he, "the sea lies before me, and from it I receive my spring and summer sustenance. When winter approaches, I pray fronting the mountains on the Main, as at that period the karaboos come towards the shore, and I kill them, feed on their flesh, and form my bedding of their skins." I thought the answer reasonable, and as I longed to know more of him, followed him to his hut. It was low and very small, formed of stones plastered with mud to a considerable thickness, The roof was composed of a sort of thatching made of weeds and moss. A large Dutch stove filled nearly one-half of the place, a small port-hole, then stuffed with old rags, served at times instead of a window; the bed was a pile of deer skins; a bowl, a jug, and an iron pot were placed on a rude shelf; three old and rusty muskets, their locks fastened by thongs, stood in a corner; and his buck shot, powder, and flints, were tied up in bags of skin. Eight Esquimaux dogs yelled and leaped about us. The strong smell that emanated from them, together with the smoke and filth of the apartment, rendered my stay in it extremely disagreeable.

Being a native of France, the good man shewed much politeness, and invited me to take some refreshment, when, without waiting for my assent, he took up his bowl and went off I knew not whither. No sooner had he and his strange dogs disappeared, than I went out also, to breathe the pure air, and gaze on the wild and majestic scenery around. I was struck with the extraordinary luxuriance of the plants and grasses that had sprung up on the scanty soil on the little valley which the Squatter had chosen for his home. Their stalks and broad blades reached my waist. June had come, and the flies, musquitoes, and other insects filled the air, and were as troublesome to me as if I had been in a Florida swamp.

The Squatter returned, but he was chop-fallen;—nay I thought his visage had assumed a cadaverous hue. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he told me that his barrel of rum had been stolen by the "eggers," or some fishermen! He said that he had been in the habit of hiding it in the bushes, to prevent its being carried away by those merciless thieves, who must have watched him in some of his frequent walks to the spot. "Now," said he, "I can expect none until next spring, and God knows what will become of me in the winter!"

PIERRE JEAN BAPTISTE MICHAUX had resided in that part of the world for upwards of ten years. He had run away from the fishing smack that had brought him from his fair native land, and expected to become rich some day by the sale of the furs, seal skins, eider down, and other articles which he collected yearly, and sold to the traders who regularly visited his dreary abode. He was of moderate stature, firmly framed, and as active as a wild cat. He told me that excepting the loss of his rum, he had never experienced any other cause of sorrow, and that he felt as "happy as a lord."

Before parting with this fortunate mortal, I inquired how his dogs managed to find sufficient food. "Why, Sir, during spring and summer they ramble along the shores, where they meet with abundance of dead fish, and in winter they eat the flesh of the seals which I kill late in autumn, when these animals return from the north. As to myself, every thing eatable is good, and when hard pushed, I assure you I can relish the fare of my dogs just as much as they do themselves."

Proceeding along the rugged indentations of the bay with my companions, I reached the settlement of another person, who, like the first, had come to Labrador with the view of making his fortune. We found him after many difficulties; but as our boats turned a long point jutting out into the bay, we were pleased to see several small schooners at anchor, and one lying near a sort of wharf. Several neat-looking houses enlivened the view, and on landing, we were kindly greeted with a polite welcome from a man who proved to be the owner of the establishment. For the rude simplicity of him of the rum-cask, we found here the manners and dress of a man of the world. A handsome fur cap covered his dark brow, his clothes were similar to our own, and his demeanour was that of a gentleman. On my giving my name to him, he shook me heartily by the hand, and on introducing each of my companions to him, he extended the like courtesy to them also. Then, to my astonishment, he addressed me as follows:—"My dear Sir, I have been expecting you these three weeks, having read in the papers your intention to visit Labrador, and some fishermen told me of your arrival at Little Natasguan. Gentlemen, walk in."

Having followed him to his neat and comfortable mansion, he introduced us to his wife and children. Of the latter there were six, all robust and rosy. The lady, although a native of the country, was of French extraction, handsome, and sufficiently accomplished to make an excellent companion to a gentleman. A smart girl brought us a luncheon, consisting of bread, cheese, and good port wine, to which, having rowed fourteen or fifteen miles that morning, we helped ourselves in a manner that seemed satisfactory to all parties. Our host gave us newspapers from different parts of the world, and shewed us his small but choice collection of books. He inquired after the health of the amiable Captain BAYFIELD of the Royal Navy, and the officers under him, and hoped they would give him a call.

Having refreshed ourselves, we walked out with him, when he pointed to a very small garden, where a few vegetables sprouted out, anxious to see the sun. Gazing on the desolate country around, I asked him how he had thus secluded himself from the world. For it he had no relish, and although he had received a liberal education, and had mixed with society, he never intended to return to it. "The country around," said he, "is all my own, much farther than you can see. No fees, no lawyers, no taxes are here. I do pretty much as I choose. My means are ample, through my own industry. These vessels come here for seal-skins, seal-oil, and salmon, and give me in return all the necessaries, and indeed comforts, of the life I love to follow; and what else could the world afford me!" I spoke of the education of his children. "My wife and I teach them all that is useful for them to know, and is not that enough? My girls will marry their countrymen, my sons the daughters of my neighbours, and I hope all of them will live and die in the country!" I said no more, but by way of compensation for the trouble I had given him, purchased from his eldest child a beautiful fox's skin.

Few birds, he said, came around him in summer, but in winter thousands of ptarmigans were killed, as well as great numbers of gulls. He had a great dislike to all fishermen and eggers, and I really believe was always glad to see the departure even of the hardy navigators who annually visited him for the sake of his salmon, seal-skins, and oil. He had more than forty Esquimaux dogs; and, as I was caressing one of them, he said, "Tell my brother-in-law at Bras-d'Or, that we are all well here, and that, after visiting my wife's father, I will give him a call!"

Now, reader, his wife's father resided at the distance of seventy miles down the coast, and, like himself, was a recluse. He of Bras d'Or was at double that distance; but, when the snows of winter have thickly covered the country, the whole family, in sledges drawn by dogs, travel with ease, and pay their visits, or leave their cards. This good gentleman had already resided there more than twenty years. Should he ever read this article, I desire him to believe that I shall always be grateful to him and his wife for their hospitable welcome.

When our schooner, the Ripley, arrived at Bras d'Or, I paid a visit to Mr —, the brother-in-law, who lived in a house imported from Quebec, which fronted the strait of Belle Isle, and overlooked a small island, over which the eye reached the coast of Newfoundland, whenever it was the wind's pleasure to drive away the fogs that usually lay over both coasts. The gentleman and his wife, we were told, were both out on a walk, but would return in a very short time, which they in fact did, when we followed them into the house, which was yet unfinished. The usual immense Dutch stove formed a principal feature of the interior. The lady had once visited the metropolis of Canada, and seemed desirous of acting the part of a blue-stocking. Understanding that I knew something of the fine arts, she pointed to several of the vile prints hung on the bare walls, which she said were elegant Italian pictures, and continued her encomiums upon them, assuring me that she had purchased them from an Italian, who had come there with a trunk full of them. She had paid a shilling Sterling for each, frame included! I could give no answer to the good lady on this subject, but I felt glad to find that she possessed a feeling heart. One of her children had caught a siskin, and was tormenting the poor bird, when she rose from her seat, took the little fluttering thing from the boy, kissed it, and gently launched it into the air. This made me quite forget the tattle about the fine arts.

Some excellent milk was poured out for us in clean glasses. It was a pleasing sight, for not a cow had we yet seen in the country. The lady turned the conversation on music, and asked if I played on any instrument. I answered that I did, but very indifferently. Her forte, she said, was music, of which she was indeed immoderately fond. Her instrument had been sent to Europe to be repaired, but would return that season, when the whole of her children would again perform many beautiful airs, for in fact any body could use it with ease, as when she or the children felt fatigued, the servant played on it for them. Rather surprised at the extraordinary powers of this family of musicians, I asked what sort of an instrument it was, when she described it as follows:—"Gentlemen, my instrument is large, longer than broad, and stands on four legs, like a table. At one end is a crooked handle, by turning which round, either fast or slow, I do assure you we make most excellent music." The lips of my young friends and companions instantly curled, but a glance from me as instantly recomposed their features. Telling the fair one that it must be a hand-organ she used, she laughingly said, "Ah, that is it; it is a hand-organ, but I had forgot the name, and for the life of me could not recollect it."

The husband had gone out to work, and was in the harbour caulking an old schooner. He dined with me on board the Ripley, and proved to be also an excellent fellow. Like his brother-in-law, he had seen much of the world, having sailed nearly round it; and, although no scholar, like him, too, he was disgusted with it. He held his land on the same footing as his neighbours, caught seals without number, lived comfortably and happily, visited his father-in-law and the scholar, by the aid of his dogs, of which he kept a great pack, bartered or sold his commodities, as his relations did, and cared about nothing else in the world. Whenever the weather was fair, he walked with his dame over the moss-covered rocks of the neighbourhood; and, during winter, killed ptarmigans and karaboos, while his eldest son attended to the traps, and skinned the animals caught in them. He had the only horse that was to be found in that part of the country, as well as several cows; but, above all, he was kind to every one, and every one spoke well of him. The only disagreeable thing about his plantation or settlement, was a heap of fifteen hundred carcasses of skinned seals, which, at the time when we visited the place, in the month of August, notwithstanding the coolness of the atmosphere, sent forth a stench that, according to the ideas of some naturalists, might have sufficed to attract all the Vultures in the United States.

During our stay at Bras d'Or, the kind-hearted and good Mrs — daily sent us fresh milk and butter, for which we were denied the pleasure of making any return.

THE WHITE-HEADED EAGLE.

FALCO LEUCOCEPHALUS, LINN.

PLATE CXXVI. YOUNG.

Although I have already given a long account of the adult of this species, in the first volume of my biographies, I have thought it necessary, not only to figure the young, but also to offer you some of the observations relative to the habits of this handsome and powerful bird, which I have collected in the course of my long rambles. These I select from among the many recorded in my journals, giving the preference to those which seem most likely to interest you.

St John's River, East Florida, 7th February 1832.—I observed four nests of the White-headed Eagle this day, while the United States' schooner Spark lay at anchor not far from the shore. They were at no great distance from each other, and all placed on tall live pine-trees. Our commander, Lieutenant Piercey of our Navy, having at that time little to do, as he lay waiting the flood-tide, a boat was manned, and several of us went on shore. On approaching the nearest nest, we saw two young birds standing erect on its edge, while their parents were perched on the branches above them. As we went nearer, the old ones flew off silently, while the young did not seem to pay the least attention to us, this being a part of the woods where probably no white man had ever before put his foot, and the Eaglets having as yet had no experience of the barbarity of the race. The captain took the first shot: one of the birds was severely wounded, and tumbled half way from the nest towards the ground, when it recovered, flapped its wings, and suddenly sailed away until we lost sight of it as it flew into the woods. I marked its course, however. One of the sailors was told to shoot the other, which had not moved from its position; he missed it; and as I saw it make movements indicative of its surprise and fear, I fired, but wounded it so slightly in one pinion, that it was enabled to fly off in an irregular manner towards the river. This I judged was the first attempt it had ever made to fly. I followed its course with my eye, and after in vain waiting a long time for a shot at the old birds, I went in search of it, while the rest of the party pursued the other. After some time I reached our boat, and at the same instant was surprised to see the wounded bird perched on a low stump within half gun shot. I fired, and the bird fell, but before I reached the spot, it flew off again and tumbled into the river, where, in this to it new and wonderful element, it flapped its wings, and made way so fast, that I took to the water and brought it ashore, my faithful Newfoundland dog Plato being on board, quite lamed by having brought me birds some days before from banks of racoon oysters. After all, it was necessary to knock the bird on the head, which done I returned to the party, none of whom had yet found their prey, they having disagreed as to the course it had taken. Being somewhat of a woodsman, I pointed towards the place where I thought the bird must be, and after a few hundred yards walking among palmettoes, Spanish bayonets, sword-grass, and other disagreeable undergrowth, we discovered the poor bird gasping in its last agonies. On examining their bodies we found both well supplied with shot, and I became more assured than ever of the hardiness of the species.

On the same river, 8th February.—We visited another nest, on which, by the aid of a telescope, we saw three young ones in the posture described above. The bird first shot fell back in the nest and there remained: it was struck by a bullet. The next was so severely wounded that it clung outside the nest, until fired at a second time, when it fell. The third was killed, as it was preparing to fly off. Our axes being dull, the tree large, and a fair breeze springing up, we returned to the Spark, where in a few hours these young birds were skinned, cooked, and eaten, by those who had been "in at the death." They proved good eating, the flesh resembling veal in taste and tenderness. One of us only did not taste of the dish, simply I believe from prejudice. The contents of the stomachs of these young Eagles were large fragments of cat-fish heads and bones of quadrupeds and birds. We frequently saw old birds of the species sail down to the surface of the water, and rise holding in their talons heads of cat-fishes which abounded on the water and were rejected, as the inhabitants assured us, by the alligators, who content themselves with the best part, the tail, leaving the heads to such animals as can dissect them and escape the dangerous sharp bony guards placed near the gills, and which the fish has the power of firmly fixing at right angles as if they were a pair of small bayonets. Should this really be a general habit of the alligator, it indicates his faculty of gaining knowledge by experience, or of having it naturally implanted. I could easily distinguish the sex of all the young Eagles of this species which we procured. The females were not only larger, but almost black, whilst the males were much lighter and of less weight.

Some weeks afterwards, when young Eagles would have been thought a dainty even by our most prejudiced companions—for you must not suppose, reader, that every student of nature meets with "pigs ready roasted" in our woods—we saw an old White-headed Eagle perched on a tall tree at the edge of the river. While admiring its posture, by means of a telescope, and marking its eye keenly bent towards the water, it suddenly dropped like a stone from its perch, almost immersed its body into the stream, and rose with a large trout, with which it scrambled to the shore. Our captain, his first lieutenant, my assistant, and your humble servant, were present on this occasion, and saw it very composedly eat the fish, after shaking the water from its plumage. I must add that never before had I seen this bird plunge into the water, although I had several times seen it scrambling after small fishes in shallows and gravel banks.

February 29th.—I saw some Fish-Hawks defend themselves, and chase away from their nests the Bald Eagle. The former were incubating, and the latter, as well as some Turkey Buzzards, were anxiously trying to rob the nest, wherever they found the Fisher Bird absent from its tenement. The Fish-hawks at last collected from different parts of the river, and I felt great pleasure in seeing these brave birds actually drive away their cowardly enemies. The Fish-Hawk had only eggs in that country when the young of the Eagle were large and fully able to fly.

Bay of Fundy, 10th May 1833.—While admiring the extraordinary boldness of the rocky shores of this perhaps most wonderful of all bays, and trying to discover in what manner the stupendous natural fortifications are connected with the formidable tides that dash against them, I observed Crows, Ravens, and the White-headed Eagle, leisurely feeding on mussels and sea-eggs. The rocks were clad towards their summits with melancholy firs, of which each broken branch told of a tempest; slimy sea-weeds hung sluggishly over the waters; and, as each successive wave retired, banks of shells were exposed to view, closely impacted, and conveying to my mind the idea of gigantic honeycombs.

Labrador, July 1833.—The White-headed Eagle is unknown in this country, although many Fish-Hawks are found here, and I saw several of their nests, placed on the low fir trees.

Boston, Massachusetts, 21st November 1832.—This morning I received the following letter from my learned friend JACOB BIGELOW, Esq. M.D.—"Dear Sir, about sixteen years since, a large eagle, Falco leucocephalus, belonging to the Linnean Society of this city, was sentenced to contribute to a cabinet of natural history. A variety of experiments was made with a view to destroy him without injuring his plumage, and a number of mineral poisons were successively given him in large doses, but without effect. At length a drachm of corrosive sublimate of mercury was inclosed in a small fish, and given him to eat. After swallowing the whole of this, he continued to appearance perfectly well, and free from inconvenience. The next day an equal quantity of white arsenic was given him, without any greater effect; so that in the end the refractory bird was obliged to be put to death by mechanical means. The experiments were made by Dr HAYWARD and myself, in presence of other members of the Society. Very truly, your obedient servant, JACOB BIGELOW."

I have now no doubt that in a state of confinement, this species sometimes requires a long series of years before it attains the full adult plumage, by which it is so distinctly characterized. There is now one living in the suburbs of Philadelphia, which was eight years in coming to this state of maturity. Almost every person who saw it, while yet in its brown dress, called it either a new species or a Golden Eagle! Nay some said that it must be "the pretended Bird of Washington!" My constant and most worthy friend, Dr RICHARD HARLAN, took me to see it. I felt assured as to the species, and told him that its head and bill would become white, and that its size, which was rather larger than common, was not such as to indicate a different species. I offered a wager of one thousand dollars in support of my assertions, but the Doctor wisely declined meeting me on this ground. Four years afterwards, when this bird was eight years of age, it moulted, and the head and tail assumed a pure white colour. Dr HARLAN, in one of his letters, dated 26th April 1831, says, "I wish I could walk with you this moment to M'ARRAN'S garden, to shew you how white the head of the eagle, which we talked of betting about, has at last become, as well as his tail; but he must have been at least nine or ten years old first." This very eagle happened to have each of his middle claws of a whitish colour, and his owner would fain have persuaded me that it was a new bird, on the assertion, as he said, of a well-known ornithologist residing in Philadelphia, who has since published a description of it under a new and very curious name. The proprietor of this famed bird valued it at one hundred dollars, I at one!

While at the lovely village of Columbia, in South Carolina, Dr ROBERT W. GIBBES, a man of taste and talent, as well as one who loves the science of birds for its own sake, kept one of these Eagles for some time in his aviary, and, being desirous of granting it more liberty, cut across all the primary quills of one of its wings, and turned it loose in his yard. No sooner was the bird at liberty, than it deliberately pulled out the stump of each mutilated quill, in consequence of which the wing was soon furnished anew. The Doctor told me that his first intention was to draw them out himself, but this he found so difficult that he gave it up. Do birds possess a power of contracting the sheaths of their feathers so powerfully as to prevent their being pulled without great force?

Since my earliest acquaintance with birds, I have felt assured of the ignoble spirit of the White-headed Eagle, and the following fact strengthens the impression. WILLIAM W. KUNHARDT, Esq. of Charleston, S. C., kept one of these birds (a full-grown male) for many months. He one day put a game-cock into its cage, to see how the prisoner would conduct himself. The gallant cock at once set to, and beat the eagle in the "handsomest manner," his opponent giving in at each blow, without paying the least regard to the established rules of combat. Other cocks of the common race proved equally formidable to the degraded robber of the Fish-Hawk.

The White-headed Eagle seldom utters its piercing cry without throwing its head backward until it nearly touches the feathers of the back. It then opens its bill, and its tongue is seen to move as it emits its notes, of which five or six are delivered in rapid succession. Although loud and disagreeable when heard at hand, they have a kind of melancholy softness when listened to at a great distance. When these birds are irritated, and on the wing, they often thrust forth their talons, opening and closing them, as if threatening to tear the object of their anger in pieces.

The synonyms and necessary references having been already given in the first volume (page 169), it is unnecessary to repeat them here. WILSON figured and described the young of the White-headed Eagle under the name of the Sea Eagle, Falco ossifragus, although not without expressing doubts.

FALCO LEUCOCEPHALUS, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 26.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 72.

AQUILA LEUCOCEPHALA, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americana, part ii. p. 15.

SEA EAGLE, FALCO OSSIFRAGUS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. vii. p. 16. pl. 55. fig. 2.

The Young Bird fully fledged is represented in Plate CXXVI.

In this state it differs greatly in its colours from the F. ossifragus or young of the F. albicilla of Europe, with which it was confounded by WILSON.

The bill is black above, bluish-grey towards the end of the lower mandible, the cere, the base of the lower mandible, and the soft margins of the bill at the angle, yellow tinged with green. The narrow elongated feathers of the head and neck are dark-brown tipped with dull white, and the general colour of the plumage above is dull hair-brown; the lower parts having the feathers deep brown, broadly margined with greyish-white. The quills are deep brown, and the tail-feathers are brownish white, minutely mottled with dark brown, and having their extremities of that colour. The iris is yellowish-brown, the feet greenish-yellow, the claws black.

The Adult birds have been described in vol. i. of the present work, p. 169.

THE ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK.

FRINGILLA LUDOVICIANA, BONAP.

PLATE CXXVII. MALE, FEMALE, AND YOUNG.

One year, in the month of August, I was trudging along the shores of the Mohawk River, when night overtook me. Being little acquainted with that part of the country, I resolved to camp where I was, the evening was calm and beautiful, the sky sparkled with stars, which were reflected by the smooth waters, and the deep shade of the rocks and trees of the opposite shore fell on the bosom of the stream, while gently from afar came on the ear the muttering sound of the cataract. My little fire was soon lighted under a rock, and, spreading out my scanty stock of provisions, I reclined on my grassy couch. As I looked around on the fading features of the beautiful landscape, my heart turned towards my distant home, where my friends were doubtless wishing me, as I wished them, a happy night and peaceful slumbers. Then were heard the barkings of the watch-dog, and I tapped my faithful companion to prevent his answering them. The thoughts of my worldly mission then came over my mind, and having thanked the Creator of all for his never failing mercy, I closed my eyes, and was passing away into the world of dreaming existence, when suddenly there burst on my soul the serenade of the Rose-breasted bird, so rich, so mellow, so loud in the stillness of the night, that sleep fled from my eyelids. Never did I enjoy music more: it thrilled through my heart, and surrounded me with an atmosphere of bliss. One might easily have imagined that even the Owl, charmed by such delightful music, remained reverently silent. Long after the sounds ceased did I enjoy them, and when all had again become still, I stretched out my wearied limbs, and gave myself up to the luxury of repose. In the morning I awoke vigorous as ever, and prepared to continue my journey.

I have frequently observed this beautiful species, early in the month of March, in the lower parts of Louisiana, making its way eastward; and when residing at Henderson in Kentucky, and in Cincinnati in Ohio, I have noticed the same circumstance. At this early period, it passes at a considerable height in the air, and now and then alights on the tops of the tallest trees of the forest, as if to rest a while. While on wing it utters a clear note, but when perched it remains silent, in an upright and rather stiff attitude. It is then easily approached. I have followed it in its migrations into Pennsylvania, New York, and other Eastern States, through the British provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, as far as Newfoundland, where many breed, but I saw none in Labrador. It is never seen in the maritime parts of Georgia, or those of the Carolinas, but some have been procured in the mountainous portions of those States. I have found them rather plentiful in the early part of May, along the steep banks of the Schuylkil River, twenty or thirty miles from Philadelphia, and observed, that at that season they fed mostly on the buds of the trees, their tender blossoms, and upon insects, which they catch on wing, making short sallies for the purpose. I saw several in the Great Pine Forest of that State; but they were more abundant in New York, especially along the banks of the beautiful river called the Mohawk. They are equally abundant along the shores of Lakes Ontario and Erie, although I believe that the greater number go as far as New Brunswick to breed. While on an excursion to the islands at the entrance of the Bay of Fundy, in the beginning of May, my son shot several which were in full song. These islands are about thirty miles distant from the mainland.

The most western place in which I found the nest of this species was within a few miles of Cincinnati on the Ohio. It was placed in the upright forks of a low bush, and differed so much in its composition from those which I have seen in the Eastern States, that it greatly resembled the nest of the Blue Grosbeak already described. The young, three in number, were ready to fly. The parents fed them on the soft grains of wheat which they procured in a neighbouring field, and often searched for insects in the crannies of the bark of trees, on which they alighted sidewise, in the manner of sparrows. This was in the end of July. Generally, however, the nest of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak is placed on the top branches of an alder bush, near water, and usually on the borders of meadows or alluvial grounds. It is composed of the dried twigs of trees, mixed with a few leaves and the bark of vines, and is lined with fibrous roots and horse hair. The eggs are seldom more than four, and I believe only one brood is raised in the season. Both sexes incubate. I have found the nest and eggs, on the 20th of May, on the borders of Cayuga Lake in the State of New York.

The flight of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak is strong, even, and as graceful as it is sustained. When travelling southward, at the approach of autumn, or about the 1st of September, it passes high over the forest trees, in the manner of the King Bird and the Robin, alighting toward sunset on a tall tree, from which it in a few minutes dives into some close thicket, where it remains during the night. The birds travel singly at this season, as well as during spring.

I am indebted to my friend JOHN BACHMAN, for the following information respecting this interesting Grosbeak: "One spring, I shot at a beautiful male bird of this species, in the State of New York. It was wounded in one foot only, and although I could not perceive any other injury afterwards, it fell from the tree to the ground, and before it recovered itself I secured it. Not having a cage at hand, I let it fly in the room which I had made my study. Before an hour had elapsed, it appeared as if disposed to eat; it refused corn and wheat, but fed heartily on bread dipped in milk. The next day it was nearly quite gentle, and began to examine the foot injured by the shot which was much swollen and quite black. It began to bite off its foot at the wounded part, and soon succeeded in cutting it quite across. It healed in a few days, and the bird used the mutilated leg almost as well as the other, perching and resting upon it. It required indeed some care to observe that the patient had been injured. I procured a cage for it, to which it immediately became reconciled. It ate all kinds of food, but preferred Indian corn meal and hempseed. It appeared fonder of insects than birds of that genus are supposed to be, and ate grasshoppers and crickets with peculiar relish. It would at times sit for hours watching the flies, as these passed about it, and snatched at and often secured such wasps as now and then approached the pieces of fruit thrown into the cage. Very often, of fine moonshiny nights, it would tune its pipe, and sing sweetly, but not loudly, remaining quietly perched and in the same position. Whilst singing during the day, it was in the habit of opening its wings, and gently raising them, somewhat in the manner of the Mocking Bird. I found it very difficult to preserve this bird during winter, and was obliged for that purpose to place it in a room heated by a stove to summer temperature. It was a lively and very gentle companion of my study for nearly three years; it died of cold the third winter. It frequently escaped from the cage, but never exhibited the least desire to leave me, for it invariably returned to some portion of the house at the approach of night. Its song continued about six weeks during summer, and about two in the autumn; at all other periods it simply uttered a faint chuck, and seemed to possess many of the ordinary habits of the Blue Grosbeak."

The food of this beautiful bird consists of seeds of the cereal plants, of grasses, and those of different kinds of berries, along with insects. The young are three years in obtaining their full dress, and undergo their changes very slowly. I have placed several of these birds of both sexes, and of different ages, on a branch of the ground hemlock, the berries of which they attack for their seeds.

LOXIA LUDOVICIANA, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 306.—Lath. Index Ornith. vol. i. p. 379.

FRINGILLA LUDOVICIANA, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 113.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 527.

ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK, LOXIA ROSEA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 135. pl. 17. fig. 1. Male.—Ch. Bonaparte, Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. pl. 14. fig. 2. Female.

COCCOTHRASTES LUDOVICIANA, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.- Amer. vol. ii. p. 271.

Adult Male. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 1, 1.

Bill short, robust, bulging at the base, conical, acute; upper mandible with its dorsal outline a little convex, the sides rounded, the edges sharp; lower mandible with its dorsal outline also a little convex, the sides rounded, the edges inflected; the gap-line is deflected at the base, then straight to the end. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, partly concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, general form robust. Legs of moderate length, rather strong; tarsus anteriorly covered with a few scutella, the upper long, posteriorly sharp; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe not much larger.

Plumage soft and blended, but firm and elastic. Wings of moderate length, broad, the second, third, and fourth quills longest, the secondaries rounded. Tail longish, slightly emarginate, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill white. Iris hazel. Feet greyish-blue. The head all round, including the upper part of the neck, the hind neck, the back, wings, and tail, glossy black; the first row of coverts, the tips of the secondary coverts, the basal half of the primary quills, and the inner webs towards the end of the three lateral tail-feathers, white, as is the rump, that part, however, being spotted with black. Lower neck and middle of the breast of a bright carmine tint; lower wing coverts white, tinged with carmine.

Length 7¾ inches, extent of wings 13; bill along the back 7½/12, along the edge 9/12; tarsus 11/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 2.

The female differs greatly from the male in external appearance. The bill brown above, paler beneath; iris hazel; feet as in the male. The general colour of the plumage above is olivaceous brown, spotted with brownish-black, the central part of each feather being of the latter colour. On the head is a central longitudinal band of pale yellowish-grey, spotted with dark brown, then on each side, a dark brown band, and above the eye a white one; a brown band from the bill to the eye and beyond it, and under this a whitish band. There are two white bands on the wings as in the male, but narrower and duller. The quills and tail are brown. The lower parts light brownish-yellow, fading behind into white; the fore neck, breast, and sides, marked with small longitudinal spots or streaks of dark-brown. The lower wing-coverts very slightly tinged with rose-colour.

Young Male in autumn. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 3.

After the first moult, the young male resembles the female, but already shews the rosy tints both on the breast, and on the under wing-coverts.

Young in first plumage. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 4.

In this state also the young resemble the female.

THE GROUND HEMLOCK.

TAXUS CANADENSIS, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iv. p. 856. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 647.—DIŒCIA MONADELPHIA. CONIFERÆ, Juss.

The Ground Hemlock, or Canadian Yew, is abundant on the declivities of the mountains from Maryland to Maine. It is a low tree, or rather bush, often almost prostrate, and frequently hanging from the rocks. The leaves are linear, distichous, revolute at the margin. The berries, which are oblong or globular, and of a pale red colour, are eatable.

THE CAT BIRD.

TURDUS FELIVOX, VIEILL.

PLATE CXXVIII. MALE AND FEMALE.

Some individuals of this species spend the winter in the southern portions of East Florida, where I have found them during the months of December and January; but the greater number retire beyond the limits of the United States about the middle of October. They are very rarely seen in the State of Louisiana, nor have I known any to breed in that portion of the country. They pass in abundance through Georgia and the Carolinas early in September, feeding then on the berries of the Sweet Gum, those of the Poke and Sumach, the seeds of grasses, &c. On their return in spring, they reach the neighbourhood of Charleston, about the 20th of March, when they feed on insects found along the lanes and garden-walks; but none are heard to sing, or are found to breed there. They are abundant during summer in the whole of the western country, and are plentifully dispersed from Virginia to the middle portions of Massachusetts, beyond which, proceeding eastward, I saw none. They are in fact unknown in the State of Maine, as well as in the British provinces.

Their migration is performed mostly during night, when they move slowly from bush to bush, scarcely ever extending their flight beyond the breadth of the rivers which they meet with. In a place where not an individual is to be seen in an afternoon, in the months of April or May, a considerable number may be found the following morning. They seem to give a preference to the Middle States during the summer season. Pennsylvania is particularly favoured by them; and it would be difficult to walk through an orchard or garden, along a field, or the borders of a wood, without being saluted by their plaintive notes. They breed in these places with much carelessness, placing their nests in any bush, tree, or briar that seems adapted for the purpose, and seeming to think it unnecessary to conceal them from man, who indeed ought to protect such amiable birds, but who sometimes destroys them in revenge for the trifling depredations which they commit on the fruits of the garden.

No sooner has the Cat Bird made its appearance in the country of its choice, than its song is heard from the topmost branches of the trees around, in the dawn of the morning. This song is a compound of many of the gentler trills and sweeter modulations of our various woodland choristers, delivered with apparent caution, and with all the attention and softness necessary to enable the performer to please the ear of his mate. Each cadence passes on without faltering; and if you are acquainted with the song of the birds he so sweetly imitates, you are sure to recognise the manner of the different species. When the warmth of his loving bosom engages him to make choice of the notes of our best songsters, he brings forth sounds as mellow and as powerful as those of the Thrasher and Mocking Bird. These medleys, when heard in the calm and balmy hours of retiring day, always seem to possess a double power, and he must have a dull ear indeed, and little relish for the simple melodies of nature, who can listen to them without delight.

The manners of this species are lively, and at intervals border on the grotesque. It is extremely sensitive, and will follow an intruder to a considerable distance, wailing and mewing as it passes from one tree to another, its tail now jerked and thrown from side to side, its wings drooping, and its breast deeply inclined. On such occasions, it would fain peck at your hand; but these exhibitions of irritated feeling seldom take place after the young are sufficiently grown to be able to take care of themselves. In some instances, I have known this bird to recognise at once its friend from its foe, and to suffer the former even to handle the treasure deposited in its nest, with all the marked assurance of the knowledge it possessed of its safety; when, on the contrary, the latter had to bear all its anger. The sight of a dog seldom irritates it, while a single glance at the wily cat excites the most painful paroxysms of alarm. It never neglects to attack a snake with fury, although it often happens that it becomes the sufferer for its temerity.

The vulgar name which this species bears, has probably rendered it more conspicuous than it would otherwise be, and has also served to bring it into some degree of contempt with persons not the best judges of the benefits it confers on the husbandman in early spring, when, with industrious care, it cleanses his fruit-trees of thousands of larvæ and insects, which, in a single day, would destroy, while yet in the bud, far more of his fruit than the Cat Bird would eat in a whole season. But alas, selfishness, the usual attendant of ignorance, not only heaps maledictions on the harmless bird, but dooms it to destruction. The naughty boys pelt the poor thrush with stones, and destroy its nest whenever an opportunity presents; the farmer shoots it to save a pear; and the gardener to save a raspberry; some hate it, not knowing why: in a word, excepting the poor, nearly extirpated crow, I know no bird more generally despised and tormented than this charming songster.

The attachment which the Cat Bird shews towards its eggs or young is affecting. It even possesses a humanity, or rather a generosity and gentleness, worthy of beings more elevated in the scale of nature. It has been known to nurse, feed, and raise the young of other species, for which no room could be afforded in their nests. It will sit on its eggs after the nest has been displaced, or even after it has been carried from one bush to another.

Like all our other Thrushes, this is very fond of bathing and rolling itself in the dust or sand of the roads or fields. Several are frequently seen together on the borders of small ponds or clear rivulets, immersed up to their body, splashing the water about them until completely wetted; then, ascending to the tops of the nearest bushes, they plume themselves with apparent care, notwithstanding which they are at times so infested with a minute species of louse as to be destroyed by it. This is also the case with the Mocking Bird and the Ferruginous Thrush, many individuals of which I have known to be killed by these parasitic animals.

Although the Cat Bird is a pleasant songster, it is seldom kept in a cage, and I believe all attempts at breeding it in aviaries have failed. Its food consists of fruits and berries of all descriptions, worms, wasps, and various other insects. Its flight is low, often rapid, and somewhat protracted, generally performed by glidings, accompanied with sudden jerks of the tail. It moves on the ground with alertness and grace, not unfrequently going before a person the whole length of the garden-walk.

The nest of the Cat Bird is large, composed externally of dry twigs and briars, mixed with withered leaves, weeds, and grass, and lined with black fibrous roots, neatly arranged in a circular form. The eggs are from four to six, of a plain glossy greenish-blue, without spots. Two and sometimes three broods are raised in the season.

I have placed a pair of these birds on a branch of the Blackberry Bush, on the fruit of which they feed. The young attain their full plumage before they depart in autumn.

TURDUS FELIVOX, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 75.

MUSCICAPA CAROLINENSIS, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 328. —Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 483.

ORPHEUS FELIVOX, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.-Amer. part ii. p. 192.

CAT BIRD, TURDUS LIVIDUS, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 90. pl. 20. fig. 3.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 332.

Adult Male. Plate CXXVIII. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, rather weak, slightly arched, broad at the base, compressed towards the end acute; upper mandible with the ridge rather acute, the sides convex, the edges sharp, the tip a little declinate; lower mandible nearly straight. Nostrils basal, oblong, half closed above by a membrane, and partially concealed by the feathers. Head of ordinary size, neck rather long, general form slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, acute behind; toes free, scutellate above, the lateral ones nearly equal; hind toe rather stronger; claws compressed, arched, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Bristles at the base of the bill. Feathers of the hind head longish. Wings of ordinary length, broad, rounded, the fifth quill longest, the fourth nearly equal, the first very short. Tail long, rounded, of twelve straight narrowly rounded feathers.

Bill black. Iris hazel. Feet dark umber. The general colour of the plumage above is blackish-grey, the head and tail brownish-black, as are the inner webs of the quills. The cheeks, and under surface in general, deep bluish-grey, the abdomen paler, and the under tail-coverts brownish-red. The outer tail-feather transversely barred with white on the inner web.

Length 9 inches, extent of wings 12; bill along the ridge 7½/12, along the edge 9½/12; tarsus 1-1/12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXVIII. Fig. 2.

The female is a little paler in the tints of the plumage, but in other respects is similar to the male.

The Cat Bird, both in the form of its bill, and the colour of its plumage, as well as in many of its habits, is closely allied to several Flycatchers, while in other respects it approaches the genus Turdus, and especially that section of it which contains the Mocking Birds.

THE BLACKBERRY.

RUBUS VILLOSUS, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 1085. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 346.—ICOSANDRIA POLYGYNIA, Linn. ROSACEÆ, Juss.

This species of bramble is pubescent, prickly, with angular twigs; the leaves ternate or quinate, with ovato-oblong, serrate, acuminate leaflets, downy on both sides; the calycine leaves short, acuminate; the flowers white, in a loose raceme. Blackberries are so plentiful in all parts of the United States, that they are gathered in great quantities, and often exposed for sale in the markets, especially those of the Eastern Districts, where they are applied to various domestic uses. They grow to a remarkably large size in the Southern States, where the plant itself is larger and more productive. In Kentucky and Louisiana, I have observed a variety bearing fruit of a light yellow colour, which is still superior to the common sort in flavour.

THE GREAT CRESTED FLYCATCHER.

MUSCICAPA CRINITA, LINN.

PLATE CXXIX. MALE.

How often whilst gazing on the nest of a bird, admiring the beauty of its structure, or wondering at the skill displayed in securing it from danger, have I been led to question myself why there is often so much difference in the conformation and materials of those of even the same species, in different latitudes or localities. How often, too, while admiring the bird itself, have I in vain tried to discover the causes why more mental and corporeal hardihood should have been granted to certain individuals, which although small and seemingly more delicate than others, are wont to force their way, and that at an early season, quite across the whole extent of the United States; while others, of greater bodily magnitude, equal powers of flight, and similar courage, never reach so far, in fact merely enter our country or confine their journeys to half the distance to which the others reach. The diminutive Ruby-throated Humming-bird, the delicate Winter Wren, and many warblers, all birds of comparatively short flight, are seen to push their way from the West India Islands, or the table-lands of Mexico and South America, farther north than our boundary-lines, before they reach certain localities, which we cannot look upon but as being the favourite places of rendezvous allotted to these beings for their summer abode.

How wonderful have I thought it that all birds which migrate are not equally privileged. Why do not the Turkey Buzzard, the Fork-tailed Hawk, and many others possessing remarkable ease and power of flight, visit the same places? There the Vulture would find its favourite carrion during the heat of the dog-days, and the Hawk abundance of insects. Why do not the Pigeons found in the south ever visit the State of Maine, when one species, the Columba migratoria, is permitted to ramble over the whole extent of our vast country? And why does the small Pewee go so far north, accompanied by the Tyrant Flycatcher; while the Titirit, larger and stronger than either, remains in the Floridas and Carolinas, and the Great Crested Flycatcher, the bird now before you, seldom travels farther east than Connecticut? Reader, can you assist me?

The places chosen by the Great Crested Flycatcher for its nest are so peculiar, and the composition of its fabric is so very different from that of all others of the genus with which I am acquainted, that perhaps no one on seeing it for the first time, would imagine it to belong to a Flycatcher. There is nothing of the elegance of some, or of the curious texture of others, displayed in it. Unlike its kinsfolk, it is contented to seek a retreat in the decayed part of a tree, of a fence-rail, or even of a prostrate log mouldering on the ground. I have found it placed in a short stump at the bottom of a ravine, where the tracks of racoons were as close together as those of a flock of sheep in a fold, and again in the lowest fence-rail, where the black snake could have entered it, sucked the eggs or swallowed the young with more ease than by ascending to some large branches of a tree forty feet from the ground, where after all the reptile not unfrequently searches for such dainties. In all those situations, our bird seeks a place for its nest, which is composed of more or fewer materials, as the urgency may require, and I have observed that in the nests nearest the ground, the greatest quantity of grass, fibrous roots, feathers, hair of different quadrupeds, and exuviæ of snakes was accumulated. The nest is at all times a loose mass under the above circumstances. Sometimes, when at a great height, very few materials are used, and in more than one instance I found the eggs merely deposited on the decaying particles of the wood, at the bottom of a hole in a broken branch of a tree, sometimes of one that had been worked out by the grey squirrel. The eggs are from four to six, of a pale cream colour, thickly streaked with deep purplish-brown of different tints, and, I believe, seldom more than a single brood is raised in the season.

The Great Crested Flycatcher arrives in Louisiana and the adjacent country in March. Many remain there and breed, but the greater number advance towards the Middle States, and disperse among the lofty woods, preferring at all times sequestered places. I have thought that they gave a preference to the high lands, and yet I have often observed them in the low sandy woods of New Jersey. Louisiana, and the countries along the Mississippi, together with the State of Ohio, are the districts most visited by this species in one direction, and in another the Atlantic States as far as Massachusetts. In this last, however, it is very seldom met with unless in the vicinity of the mountains, where occasionally some are found breeding. Farther eastward it is entirely unknown.

Tyrannical perhaps in a degree surpassing the King Bird itself, it yet seldom chases the larger birds of prey, but, unlike the Bee Martin, prefers attacking those smaller ones which inadvertently approach its nest or its station. Among themselves these birds have frequent encounters, on which occasions they shew an unrelenting fierceness almost amounting to barbarity. The plucking of a conquered rival is sometimes witnessed.

In its flight this bird moves swiftly and with power. It sweeps after its prey with a determined zeal, and repeatedly makes its mandibles clatter with uncommon force and rapidity. When the prey is secured, and it has retired to the spray on which it was before, it is seen to beat the insect on it, and swallow it with greediness, after which its crest is boldly erected, and its loud harsh squeak immediately resounds, imitating the syllables paiip, paip, payup, payiup. No association takes place among different families, and yet the solicitude of the male towards his mate, and of the parent birds towards their young, is exemplary. The latter are fed and taught to provide for themselves, with a gentleness which might be copied by beings higher in the scale of nature, and in them might meet with as much gratitude as that expressed by the young Flycatchers towards their anxious parents. The family remain much together while in the United States, and go off in company early in September. This species, like the Tyrant Flycatcher, migrates by day, and during its journeys is seen passing at a great height.

The squeak or sharp note of the Great Crested Flycatcher is easily distinguished from that of any of the genus, as it transcends all others in shrillness, and is heard mostly in those dark woods where, recluse-like, it seems to delight. During the love-season, and as long as the male is paying his addresses to the female, or proving to her that he is happy in her society, it is heard for hours both at early dawn and sometimes after sunset; but as soon as the young are out, the whole family are mute.

It feeds principally upon insects, so long as these are abundant; but frequently in autumn, and as it retrogrades from the Middle Districts, its food is grapes and several species of berries, among which those of the pokeweed are conspicuous. While in the woods, its flight is peculiarly rapid: it dashes through the upper branches of the tallest trees like an arrow, and often sweeps from this elevated range close to the earth, to seize an insect, which it has espied issuing from among the grass or the fallen leaves.

MUSCICAPA CRINITA, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 325.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 485.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 67.

GREAT CRESTED FLYCATCHER, MUSCICAPA CRINITA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 75. pl. 13. fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 271.

Adult Male. Plate CXXIX. Fig. 1

Bill rather long, stout, broader than deep, excepting towards the end, where it is compressed; upper mandible with the ridge broad and nearly straight, the sides convex, the tip declinate, the edges sharp, with a sinus close to the tip; lower mandible with the back broad at the base, the sides convex, the ridge rather sharp towards the end, the edges sharp. Nostrils basal, lateral, roundish, partly covered by the bristly feathers. Head rather large, but the general form rather slender. Feet short; tarsus very short, covered anteriorly with a few scutella, sharp behind; toes free, scutellate, slender; claws arched, much compressed, very acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Feathers of the head pointed and elongated. Wings of ordinary length, broad, rounded, the fourth and fifth quills longest. Tail rather long, slightly forked, of twelve rounded feathers. The bristles at the base of the bill strong.

Bill and legs brownish-black. Iris brown. The colour of the upper parts is dull greenish-olive. Quills and coverts dark brown, the primaries margined with light reddish-brown, the secondaries with white, of which there are two bars across the wing, formed by the tips of the secondary coverts and first row of small coverts. Inner webs of the tail-feathers light ferruginous, as are those of the quills. Sides of the head and neck bluish-grey. The under parts in general lemon-yellow.

Length 8½ inches, extent of wings 13; bill along the ridge 8/12, along the edge 11/12; tarsus 8/12.

The Female resembles the male.

THE YELLOW-WINGED SPARROW.

FRINGILLA PASSERINA, WILS.

PLATE CXXX. MALE.

This is another of those remarkable species which pass unobserved from the Mexican dominions and some of the West India Islands, to the middle portions of our Atlantic States. Not one of the species have I ever met with in Louisiana, the Floridas, any of the other Southern States, or those west of the Alleghany range; while from Maryland to Maine it is found in considerable numbers, and is not uncommon in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. In all the States it prefers the neighbourhood of the coast and a light sandy soil. It arrives in the latter districts about the 10th of May, and throws itself into the open newly-ploughed fields, and those covered with the valuable red clover. It is never found in the woodlands. Its food consists of such insects and larvæ as are found on the ground, together with the seeds of grasses and other plants.

Its flight is low, short, and performed by a kind of constant tremor of the wings, resembling that of a young bird. It alights on the tops of low bushes, fence-rails, and tall grasses, to sing its unmusical ditty, composed of a few notes weakly enunciated at intervals, but sufficing to manifest its attachment to its mate. Almost unregarded, it raises two broods in the season, perhaps three when it has chosen the warmer sandy soils in the vicinity of the sea, where it is evidently more abundant than in the interior of the country.

The nest of the Yellow-winged Sparrow is as simple as its owner is innocent and gentle. It is placed on the ground, and is formed of light dry grasses, with a scanty lining of withered fibrous roots and horse hair. The female deposits her first egg about the 20th of May. The eggs are four or five, of a dingy white, sprinkled with brown spots. The young follow their parents on the ground for a short time, after which they separate and search for food singly. This species, indeed, never congregates, as almost all others of its tribe do, before they depart from us, but the individuals seem to move off in a sulky mood, and in so concealed a way, that their winter quarters are yet unknown.

Scarcely any difference is perceptible in the plumage of the sexes, and by the time the young return to us the following spring, they have obtained the full plumage of their parents.

FRINGILLA PASSERINA, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 109.

YELLOW-WINGED SPARROW, FRINGILLA PASSERINA, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 76. pl. 24. fig. 5.

SAVANNAH FINCH, or YELLOW-SHOULDERED BUNTING (FRINGILLA SAVANARUM, Gmel.) Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 494.

Bill short, conical, acute; upper mandible slightly convex in its dorsal outline, angular, and encroaching a little on the forehead, of the same breadth as the lower, with sharp and inflected edges; lower mandible also inflected on the edges; gap-line slightly deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body full. Feet of moderate length, slender; tarsus covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella, acute behind; toes free, scutellate above, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, compressed, acute, slightly arched, that of the hind toe elongated.

Plumage soft and blended, slightly glossed. Wings shortish, curved, rounded, the first and second primaries longest, the third scarcely shorter; the secondaries long, but less so than in the Henslow Bunting, which belongs to the same group. Tail short, small, rounded, slightly emarginate, of twelve narrow, tapering feathers.

Bill flesh-coloured beneath, dusky above. Iris dark brown. Feet light flesh-coloured. The general colour of the upper parts is light greyish-brown, mixed on the neck with ash-grey tints, the central parts of the feathers brownish-black, the margins of those of the back bright chestnut. The upper part of the head brownish-black, with a longitudinal central line of brownish-white. Secondary coverts dusky, margined with greyish-white; along the flexure of the wing the small feathers are bright yellow, whence the name of the species. Quills wood-brown, margined with pale yellowish-brown. Tail-feathers of the same colour, the outermost much paler. The under parts pale yellowish-grey, the breast of a richer tint, being of a light yellowish-brown, its sides anteriorly spotted with brownish-black.

Length 4-10/12 inches, extent of wings 8; bill along the ridge 5½/12, along the edge ½; tarsus ⅔, middle toe a little more than ⅔, hind toe 7/12.

This species forms part of a group more allied to the Buntings than to the Finches, and composed of HENSLOW'S Bunting or Finch, the Savannah Finch, and the Yellow-winged Sparrow. They are all very closely allied, so that it is somewhat difficult to distinguish them.

Let us compare the Yellow-winged Sparrow in the first place, with the Henslow Bunting, described at p. 360 of Vol. I.

In HENSLOW'S Bunting the bill is smaller, and has the margin less sinuous; the tarsi are shorter, being only 7/12 (erroneously ⅔ in the description), while those of the present species are ⅔. The feet of the latter are also stronger, and the toes a little longer. The colouring of the upper parts is very similar; but the present species has a distinct white line along the middle of the head, whereas the other has the same part of the general olivaceous tint of the hind-neck, the quills are differently coloured on their margins, and while the present species is unspotted on the breast and sides, the other is distinctly streaked.

But besides these differences the feathers present others still more decisive. The tail of HENSLOW'S Bunting is 2⅛ inches long, graduated, with narrower feathers, which taper to a point, while that of the Yellow-winged Sparrow is only 1-10/12, rounded, much stronger, with broader (though still very narrow) feathers, having a narrow rounded point. Then in the first the secondaries are so long as to be only 2/12 shorter than the longest primary, whereas in the second they are ½ inch shorter. In the first the third quill is longest, while in the second the first exceeds the others, although in neither is there any great difference between the first three quills in length.

But the Yellow-winged Sparrow is much more closely allied to the Savannah Finch than to HENSLOW'S Bunting.

The colouring of the upper parts is almost the same, but the Savannah Finch has very little of the bright bay tints, and the flexure of the wing is so slightly tinged with yellow that one might be apt to overlook it. There is a central whitish streak on the head of the Savannah Finch, as on that of the Yellow-winged Sparrow. The great difference in colouring lies in the circumstance, that while the throat, breast, and sides of the latter are unspotted, those of the former are very conspicuously marked with longitudinal dark brown streaks, margined with reddish-brown.

The bills and feet are of the same form, but the bill of the Savannah Finch is much less robust, and its feet rather more so. In the Savannah Finch the secondaries are proportionally as long as in the Henslow Bunting, and the third and fourth quills are longest; whereas in the Yellow-winged Sparrow the first is longest, and in the Henslow Bunting the third.

* * * * *

Having in my possession a fine specimen of a new species allied to the above, but still more decidedly an Emberiza, I embrace this opportunity of describing it. The species having been discovered, in the vicinity of Philadelphia, by Dr TOWNSEND of that city, I cannot dedicate it with equal propriety to any other individual, and I am happy in thus paying my tribute of respect to him for his great attainments in ornithology.

TOWNSEND'S BUNTING.

EMBERIZA TOWNSENDII.

In form this species is compact and rather robust, like the common Sparrow of Europe, or the Black-throated Bunting of America. The bill is short, strong, conical, compressed, acute; the upper mandible narrower, with its dorsal line a little convex, as is that of the lower, the edges of both inflected, and the gap-line declinate at the base. Nostrils roundish, basal. Feet of ordinary length and thickness, the tarsus with seven anterior scutella, and two lateral plates meeting behind so as to form an edge; lateral toes equal, the outer united as far as the second joint, hind-toe strong; claws, arched, compressed, acute, with a lateral groove.

The wings are short, the first quill longest, the next scarcely shorter, the rest graduated, the second, third, and fourth, very slightly cut out on the outer web towards the end, the secondaries rounded, the outer slightly emarginate. Tail of moderate length, and slightly emarginate. The plumage is soft and rather compact.

Bill brownish-black above, light blue beneath, with a longitudinal black line from the tip half way to the base. Iris light hazel. Feet and claws dusky brown. Head above deep bluish-grey, streaked with black; the cheeks, hind-neck, sides of the neck, fore part of the breast, and the sides of the same colour, becoming paler backwards. Back bluish-grey, each feather with a narrow dark brown central streak bordered with light brown, the margins grey; the rump grey, without streaks. Quills and tail wood-brown, slightly edged with paler, wing-coverts light brown, the central parts of the feathers darker. There is a narrow white line over the eye, and the minute feathers margining the eyelids are of the same colour. The throat and fore-neck are white. A line of short brownish-black streaks passes on either side from the base of the lower mandible, separating a narrow portion of the white space, and margining the lower part of it, although there the streaks are scattered; the middle part of the breast and abdomen are also greyish-white.

Length 5¾ inches, extent of wings 9; bill along the ridge 7/12; tarsus 10/12.

DEATH OF A PIRATE.

In the calm of a fine moonlight night, as I was admiring the beauty of the clear heavens, and the broad glare of light that glanced from the trembling surface of the waters around, the officer on watch came up and entered into conversation with me. He had been a turtler in other years, and a great hunter to boot, and although of humble birth and pretensions, energy and talent, aided by education, had raised him to a higher station. Such a man could not fail to be an agreeable companion, and we talked on various subjects, principally, you may be sure, birds and other natural productions. He told me he once had a disagreeable adventure, when looking out for game, in a certain cove on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico; and, on my expressing a desire to hear it, he willingly related to me the following particulars, which I give you, not perhaps precisely in his own words, but as nearly so as I can remember.

"Towards evening, one quiet summer day, I chanced to be paddling along a sandy shore, which I thought well fitted for my repose, being covered with tall grass, and as the sun was not many degrees above the horizon, I felt anxious to pitch my musquito bar or net, and spend the night in this wilderness. The bellowing notes of thousands of bull-frogs in a neighbouring swamp might lull me to rest, and I looked upon the flocks of blackbirds that were assembling as sure companions in this secluded retreat.

I proceeded up a little stream, to insure the safety of my canoe from any sudden storm, when, as I gladly advanced, a beautiful yawl came unexpectedly in view. Surprised at such a sight in a part of the country then scarcely known, I felt a sudden check in the circulation of my blood. My paddle dropped from my hands, and fearfully indeed, as I picked it up, did I look towards the unknown boat. On reaching it, I saw its sides marked with stains of blood, and looking with anxiety over the gunwale, I perceived to my horror, two-human bodies covered with gore. Pirates or hostile Indians I was persuaded had perpetrated the foul deed, and my alarm naturally increased; my heart fluttered, stopped, and heaved with unusual tremors, and I looked towards the setting sun in consternation and despair. How long my reveries lasted I cannot tell; I can only recollect that I was roused from them by the distant groans of one apparently in mortal agony. I felt as if refreshed by the cold perspiration that oozed from every pore, and I reflected that though alone, I was well armed, and might hope for the protection of the Almighty.

Humanity whispered to me that, if not surprised and disabled, I might render assistance to some sufferer, or even be the means of saving a useful life. Buoyed up by this thought, I urged my canoe on shore, and seizing it by the bow, pulled it at one spring high among the grass.

The groans of the unfortunate person fell heavy on my ear, as I cocked and reprimed my gun, and I felt determined to shoot the first that should rise from the grass. As I cautiously proceeded, a hand was raised over the weeds, and waved in the air in the most supplicating manner. I levelled my gun about a foot below it, when the next moment, the head and breast of a man covered with blood were convulsively raised, and a faint hoarse voice asked me for mercy and help! A death-like silence followed his fall to the ground. I surveyed every object around with eyes intent, and ears impressible by the slightest sound, for my situation that moment I thought as critical as any I had ever been in. The croakings of the frogs, and the last blackbirds alighting on their roosts, were the only sounds or sights; and I now proceeded towards the object of my mingled alarm and commiseration.

Alas! the poor being who lay prostrate at my feet, was so weakened by loss of blood, that I had nothing to fear from him. My first impulse was to run back to the water, and having done so, I returned with my cap filled to the brim. I felt at his heart, washed his face and breast, and rubbed his temples with the contents of a phial, which I kept about me as an antidote for the bites of snakes. His features, seamed by the ravages of time, looked frightful and disgusting; but he had been a powerful man, as the breadth of his chest plainly shewed. He groaned in the most appalling manner, as his breath struggled through the mass of blood that seemed to fill his throat. His dress plainly disclosed his occupation:—a large pistol he had thrust into his bosom, a naked cutlass lay near him on the ground, a red silk handkerchief was bound over his projecting brows, and over a pair of loose trowsers he wore fisherman's boots. He was, in short, a pirate.

My exertions were not in vain, for as I continued to bathe his temples, he revived, his pulse resumed some strength, and I began to hope that he might perhaps survive the deep wounds which he had received. Darkness, deep darkness, now enveloped us. I spoke of making a fire. "Oh! for mercy's sake," he exclaimed, "don't." Knowing, however, that under existing circumstances it was expedient for me to do so, I left him, went to his boat, and brought the rudder, the benches, and the oars, which with my hatchet I soon splintered. I then struck a light, and presently stood in the glare of a blazing fire. The pirate seemed struggling between terror and gratitude for my assistance; he desired me several times in half English and Spanish to put out the flames, but after I had given him a draught of strong spirits, he at length became more composed. I tried to staunch the blood that flowed from the deep gashes in his shoulders and side. I expressed my regret that I had no food about me, but when I spoke of eating he sullenly waved his head.

My situation was one of the most extraordinary that I have ever been placed in. I naturally turned my talk towards religious subjects, but, alas, the dying man hardly believed in the existence of a God. "Friend," said he, "for friend you seem to be, I never studied the ways of Him of whom you talk. I am an outlaw, perhaps you will say a wretch,—I have been for many years a Pirate. The instructions of my parents were of no avail to me, for I have always believed that I was born to be a most cruel man. I now lie here, about to die in the weeds, because I long ago refused to listen to their many admonitions. Do not shudder when I tell you—these now useless hands murdered the mother whom they had embraced. I feel that I have deserved the pangs of the wretched death that hovers over me; and I am thankful that one of my kind will alone witness my last gaspings."

A fond but feeble hope that I might save his life, and perhaps assist in procuring his pardon, induced me to speak to him on the subject. "It is all in vain, friend—I have no objection to die—I am glad that the villains who wounded me were not my conquerors—I want no pardon from any one—Give me some water, and let me die alone."

With the hope that I might learn from his conversation something that might lead to the capture of his guilty associates, I returned from the creek with another capful of water, nearly the whole of which I managed to introduce into his parched mouth, and begged him, for the sake of his future peace, to disclose his history to me. "It is impossible," said he, "there will not be time; the beatings of my heart tell me so. Long before day, these sinewy limbs will be motionless. Nay, there will hardly be a drop of blood in my body; and that blood will only serve to make the grass grow. My wounds are mortal, and I must and will die without what you call confession."

The moon rose in the east. The majesty of her placid beauty impressed me with reverence. I pointed towards her, and asked the Pirate if he could not recognise God's features there. "Friend, I see what you are driving at," was his answer,—"you, like the rest of our enemies, feel the desire of murdering us all.—Well—be it so—to die is after all nothing more than a jest; and were it not for the pain, no one, in my opinion, need care a jot about it. But, as you really have befriended me, I will tell you all that is proper."

Hoping his mind might take a useful turn, I again bathed his temples and washed his lips with spirits. His sunk eyes seemed to dart fire at mine—a heavy and deep sigh swelled his chest and struggled through his blood-choked throat, and he asked me to raise him for a little. I did so, when he addressed me somewhat as follows, for, as I have told you, his speech was a mixture of Spanish, French and English, forming a jargon, the like of which I had never heard before, and which I am utterly unable to imitate. However I shall give you the substance of his declaration.

"First tell me, how many bodies you found in the boat, and what sort of dresses they had on." I mentioned their number, and described their apparel. "That's right," said he, "they are the bodies of the scoundrels who followed me in that infernal Yankee barge. Bold rascals they were, for when they found the water too shallow for their craft, they took to it and waded after me. All my companions had been shot, and to lighten my own boat I flung them overboard; but as I lost time in this, the two ruffians caught hold of my gunwale, and struck on my head and body in such a manner, that after I had disabled and killed them both in the boat, I was scarce able to move. The other villains carried off our schooner and one of our boats, and perhaps ere now have hung all my companions whom they did not kill at the time. I have commanded my beautiful vessel many years, captured many ships, and sent many rascals to the devil. I always hated the Yankees, and only regret that I have not killed more of them.—I sailed from Mantanzas.—I have often been in concert with others. I have money without counting, but it is buried where it will never be found, and it would be useless to tell you of it." His throat filled with blood, his voice failed, the cold hand of death was laid on his brow, feebly and hurriedly he muttered, "I am a dying man, farewell!"

Alas! It is painful to see death in any shape; in this it was horrible, for there was no hope. The rattling of his throat announced the moment of dissolution, and already did the body fall on my arms with a weight that was insupportable. I laid him on the ground. A mass of dark blood poured from his mouth; then came a frightful groan, the last breathing of that foul spirit; and what now lay at my feet in the wild desert?—a mangled mass of clay!

The remainder of that night was passed in no enviable mood; but my feelings cannot be described. At dawn I dug a hole with the paddle of my canoe, rolled the body into it, and covered it. On reaching the boat I found several buzzards feeding on the bodies, which I in vain attempted to drag to the shore. I therefore covered them with mud and weeds, and launching my canoe, paddled from the cove with a secret joy for my escape, overshaded with the gloom of mingled dread and abhorrence."

THE AMERICAN ROBIN OR MIGRATORY THRUSH.

TURDUS MIGRATORIUS, LINN.

PLATE CXXXI. MALE, FEMALE, YOUNG, AND NEST.

The first land-bird seen by me, when I stepped upon the rugged shores of Labrador, was the Robin; its joyful notes were the first that saluted my ear. Large patches of unmelted snow still dappled the surface of that wild country; and although vegetation was partially renewed, the chillness of the air was so peculiarly penetrating, that it brought to the mind a fearful anxiety for the future. The absence of trees, properly so called, the barren aspect of all around, the sombre mantle of the mountainous distance that hung along the horizon, excited the most melancholy feelings; and I could scarcely refrain from shedding tears when I heard the song of the Thrush, sent there as if to reconcile me to my situation. That song brought with it a thousand pleasing associations referring to the beloved land of my youth, and soon inspired me with resolution to persevere in my hazardous enterprise.

The traveller who, for the first time in his life, treads the wastes of Labrador, is apt to believe that what he has been told or read of it, must be at least in part true. So it was with me: I had conceived that I should meet with numberless Indians who would afford me much information respecting its rivers, lakes, and mountains, and who, like those of the far west, would assist me in procuring the objects of my search. But alas! how disappointed was I when, in rambling along three hundred miles of coast, I scarcely met with a single native Indian, and was assured that there were none in the interior. The few straggling parties that were seen by my companions or myself, consisted entirely of half-bred descendants of "the mountaineers;" and, as to Esquimaux, there were none on that side of the country. Rivers, such as the Natasguan, which on the maps are represented as of considerable length, degenerated into short, narrow, and shallow creeks. Scarcely any of its innumerable lakes exceeded in size what are called ponds in the Southern States; and, although many species of birds are plentiful, they are far less numerous than they were represented to us by the fishermen and others before we left Eastport. But our business at present is with the Robin, who greeted our arrival.

This bird breeds from North Carolina, on the eastern side of the Alleghany Mountains, to the 56th degree of north latitude, and perhaps still farther. On the western side of those mountains, it is found tolerably abundant, from the lower parts of Kentucky to Canada, at all times of the year; and, notwithstanding the snow and occasional severe winters of Massachusetts and Maine, flocks remain in those States the whole season. Thousands, however, migrate into Louisiana, the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas, where, in winter, one cannot walk in any direction without meeting several of them. While at Fayetteville, in North Carolina, in October 1831, I found that the Robins had already arrived and joined those which breed there. The weather was still warm and beautiful, and the woods, in every direction, were alive with them, and echoed with their song. They reached Charleston by the end of that month. Their appearance in Louisiana seldom takes place before the middle of November. In all the Southern States, about that period, and indeed during the season, until they return in March, their presence is productive of a sort of jubilee among the gunners, and the havoc made among them with bows and arrows, blowpipes, guns, and traps of different sorts, is wonderful. Every gunner brings them home by bagfuls, and the markets are supplied with them at a very cheap rate. Several persons may at this season stand round the foot of a tree loaded with berries, and shoot the greater part of the day, so fast do the flocks of Robins succeed each other. They are then fat and juicy, and afford excellent eating.

During the winter they feed on the berries and fruits of our woods, fields, gardens, and even of the ornamental trees of our cities and villages. The holly, the sweet-gum, the gall-berry, and the poke, are those which they first attack; but, as these fail, which is usually the case in January, they come nearer the towns and farm-houses, and feed voraciously on the caperia berry (Ilex caperia), the wild-orange berry (Prunus caroliniana), and the berries of the pride of India (Melia azedarach). With these they are often choked, so that they fall from the trees, and are easily caught. When they feed on the berries of the poke-plant, the rich crimson juices colour the stomach and flesh of these birds to such an extent as to render their appearance, when plucked, disagreeable; and although their flesh retains its usual savour, many persons decline eating them. During summer and spring they devour snails and worms, and at Labrador I saw some feeding on small shells, which they probed or broke with ease.

Toward the approach of spring they throw themselves upon the newly ploughed grounds, into the gardens, and the interior of woods, the undergrowth of which has been cleared of grass by fire, to pick up ground-worms, grubs, and other insects, on which, when perched, they descend in a pouncing manner, swallowing the prey in a moment, jerking their tail, beating their wings, and returning to their stations. They also now and then pick up the seed of the maize from the fields.

Whenever the sun shines warmly over the earth, the old males tune their pipe, and enliven the neighbourhood with their song. The young also begin to sing; and, before they depart for the east, they have all become musical. By the 10th of April, the Robins have reached the Middle Districts; the blossoms of the dogwood are then peeping forth in every part of the budding woods; the fragrant sassafras, the red flowers of the maple, and hundreds of other plants, have already banished the dismal appearance of winter. The snows are all melting away, and nature again, in all the beauty of spring, promises happiness and abundance to the whole animal creation. Then it is that the Robin, perched on a fence-stake, or the top of some detached tree of the field, gives vent to the warmth of his passion. His lays are modest, lively, and ofttimes of considerable power; and although his song cannot be compared with that of the Thrasher, its vivacity and simplicity never fail to fill the breast of the listener with pleasing sensations. Every one knows the Robin and his song. Excepting in the shooting season, he is cherished by old and young, and is protected by all with anxious care.

The nest of this bird is frequently placed on the horizontal branch of an apple-tree, sometimes in the same situation on a forest-tree; now and then it is found close to the house, and it is stated by NUTTALL that one was placed in the stern timbers of an unfinished vessel at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in which the carpenters were constantly at work. Another, adds this amiable writer, has been known to rebuild his nest within a few yards of the blacksmith's anvil. I discovered one near Great Egg Harbour, in the State of New Jersey, affixed to the cribbing-timbers of an unfinished well, seven or eight feet below the surface of the ground. To all such situations this bird resorts, for the purpose of securing its eggs from the Cuckoo, which greedily sucks them. It is seldom indeed that children meddle with them.

Wherever it may happen to be placed, the nest is large and well secured. It is composed of dry leaves, grass, and moss, which are connected internally with a thick layer of mud and roots, lined with pieces of straw and fine grass, and occasionally a few feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a beautiful bluish-green, without spots. Two broods are usually raised in a season.

The young are fed with anxious care by their tender parents, who, should one intrude upon them, boldly remonstrate, pass and repass by rapid divings, or, if moving along the branches, jerk their wings and tail violently, and sound a peculiar shrill note, evincing their anxiety and displeasure. Should you carry off their young, they follow you to a considerable distance, and are joined by other individuals of the species. The young, before they are fully fledged, often leave the nest to meet their parents, when coming home with a supply of food. The family of Robins which I have grouped in the plate exhibits such an occurrence.

During the pairing season, the male pays his addresses to the female of his choice frequently on the ground, and with a fervour evincing the strongest attachment. I have often seen him, at the earliest dawn of a May morning, strutting around her with all the pomposity of a pigeon. Sometimes along a space of ten or twelve yards, he is seen with his tail fully spread, his wings shaking, and his throat inflated; running over the grass and brushing it, as it were, until he has neared his mate, when he moves round her several times without once rising from the ground. She then receives his caresses.

Many of these birds shew a marked partiality to the places they have chosen to breed in, and I have no doubt that many who escape death in the winter, return to those loved spots each succeeding spring.

The flight of the Robin is swift, at times greatly elevated and capable of being long sustained. During the periods of its migrations, which are irregular, depending upon the want of food or the severity of the weather, it moves in loose flocks over a space of several hundred miles at once, and at a considerable height. From time to time a few shrill notes are heard from different individuals in the flock. Should the weather be calm, their movements are continued during the night, and at such periods the whistling noise of their wings is often heard. During heavy falls of snow and severe gales, they pitch towards the earth, or throw themselves into the woods, where they remain until the weather becomes more favourable. They not unfrequently disappear for several days from a place where they have been in thousands, and again visit it. In Massachusetts and Maine, many spend the most severe winters in the neighbourhood of warm springs and spongy low grounds sheltered from the north winds. In spring they return northward in pairs, the males having then become exceedingly irritable and pugnacious.

The gentle and lively disposition of the Robin when raised in the cage, and the simplicity of his song, of which he is very lavish in confinement, render him a special favourite in the Middle Districts, where he is as generally kept as the Mocking Bird is in the Southern States. It feeds on bread soaked in either milk or water, and on all kinds of fruit. Being equally fond of insects, it seizes on all that enter its prison. It will follow its owner, and come to his call, peck at his finger, or kiss his mouth, with seeming pleasure. It is a long-lived bird, and instances are reported of its having been kept for nearly twenty years. It suffers much in the moult, even in the wild state, and when in captivity loses nearly all its feathers at once.

The young obtain their full plumage by the first spring, being spotted on the breast, and otherwise marked, as in the plate. When in confinement they become darker and less brilliant in the colours, than when at liberty.

So much do certain notes of the Robin resemble those of the European Blackbird, that frequently while in England the cry of the latter, as it flew hurriedly off from a hedge-row, reminded me of that of the former when similarly surprised, and while in America the Robin has in the same manner recalled the Blackbird to my recollection.

TURDUS MIGRATORIUS, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 292.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 330.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 75.

MERULA MIGRATORIA, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.-Amer.