The Sparrow Hawk is the handsomest of American birds of prey. Few small species are more active in the pursuit of quarry, and none more friendly and sociable in their intercourse with man. It receives its common name from the fringilline character of its fare, our various Sparrows forming a no inconsiderable portion thereof.
From Maine to California, and from Hudson's Bay to the Mexican possessions, these birds abound in greater or less abundance, but are notably scarce, or entirely wanting, in the Arctic regions of British America, and in our newly acquired territory of Alaska. The highest points which they have been supposed to reach are Fort Resolution, on Great Slave Lake, and Fort Rae. Throughout nearly the whole of this vast region they undoubtedly summer, and spend the time in the rearing of families.
Within the United States the species is a rara avis in some places, and a very abundant one in others. In the vicinity of Calais, Maine, it is quite common, which is otherwise the case in Eastern Massachusetts, although in the western parts of the latter State, birds have been known to breed. In the Middle Atlantic States, New York and Pennsylvania especially, it is a not uncommon occurrence to find it in great plenty, often as many as a dozen paired individuals being seen within a single square mile of territory. Throughout the West, but more particularly in the canyons of the eastern range of the Humboldt Mountains, Ridgway attests to its abundance, and also to its disposition to nest in hollows of limestone cliffs.
On the approach of winter these birds desert the northern and middle sections of our country, and mostly retire to warm southern latitudes beyond Virginia. According to Mr. Samuels, they are permanent residents of the lower districts of New England, although but slightly so in cold weather, if the observations of other writers of equal prominence are to be relied upon. In Florida they are found at all seasons, but mostly in the higher latitudes of the State during the breeding-season. West of the Rockies, and in the region watered by the "Father of Waters" and its numerous tributaries, they are probably but transient occupants; yet there seems to be no strong reason why they should not find comfortable winter-quarters in Southern California and in the regions situated between the same isothermal lines. When the Western history of this species has been more closely studied, this will doubtless prove the case.
The period of migration in the Middle Atlantic States seems dependent upon climatic influences. When the season is tardy by reason of long, cold winters, the birds do not arrive until after the middle of April; but when the weather is fine, and the prospect favors a continuance thereof, they ordinarily make their appearance early in the month. In New England, doubtless somewhat later, if the time of laying forms any argument upon which to base a conclusion.
Upon its arrival in the vicinity of Philadelphia, the species takes up its abode in old orchards chiefly, where it can be convenient to the homes of man. While here it destroys immense numbers of field-mice and noxious insects, and is certainly one of our foremost feathered benefactors. To be sure it will destroy a few young chickens occasionally, by way of changing the monotony of its life, but the immense good which it otherwise accomplishes, should induce humanity to throw a veil over its thoughtlessness and imprudence, and extend to it a cordial welcome. So small a bird could hardly perpetrate much mischief, and therefore should not be dreaded. Its many visits to the farm-yard are not made solely with the view of depredating upon the poultry, but for the purpose of feeding upon the vermin which infest the out-buildings, and which are so destructive to the garnered grain. These visits should be encouraged by all means. The adult chicken is too heavy a burden for such apparently frail creatures to bear away, and as for the young, they are generally too well guarded by the parent, to become very easy victims. It is only when the chicks have been scattered, that this Hawk has the audacity and hardihood to venture an assault upon the brood. Unlike many species, our little friend does not pursue its prey, but prefers to watch for it while perched upon a dead tree, or on a projecting twig. Here, solitary and alone, it will remain for hours, without perceptibly changing its position. The only motion visible at the time, is a peculiar jerking of the tail, which seems to betray an over-anxiety for something to turn up. A very common place of resort is a clump of bushes, or a hedge-row. The abundance of small birds which seek such situations being the cause of the attraction thither.
Thus the sexes keep apart from each other, and feast on the fat of the land, until the latter part of April, or the beginning of May, when the male, who is the first to abandon this selfish mode of life, desists therefrom, though hardly without a great effort, and prepares to lead the way by calling his partner from her near or far-off feeding-grounds. Standing upon a dead branch in an open situation, he sounds his peculiar call-note, at somewhat irregular intervals, and, anon, turns himself round as though to catch the well-known response, or to see the agreeable presence. For hours at a time he may be thus seen where undisturbed by bird or man. If no reply is elicited, he darts away in great hurry, and tries his fortunes elsewhere. This is usually the case with young males. But with old birds the rule is different. They mostly select the partners of past years, and there is always less formality in renewals of plighted vows. The suits of the younger and more spirited males are often attended with considerable difficulty. This arises chiefly from the fickleness and waywardness of the young females, who seem hard to woo, and who often indulge in cruel flirtations, much to the annoyance of their respective suitors. These little pranks upon their part are generally of short continuance, and soon decided one way or the other. If settled in favor of the several actors, the latter become highly elated, and give expression to their feelings in the most ridiculous manner. The females now become as unwavering and devoted in their fidelity and affection as they were before changeable and whimsical. The period of courtship seldom exceeds two days at the utmost. While it lasts, the birds make short tours around the country, and on their return settle down to the prosy realities of wedded life. A suitable spot must be selected for a home. Although both birds spend no little time in searching for one, yet the matter is generally and wisely left to the judgment of the female.
They are never known to construct homes for themselves, but make use of hollow trees, Wookpeckers' holes, and often the old and forsaken nests of the common Crow and the Gray Squirrel. A low, flat shelving of rock beneath an overhanging bluff, in situations remote from the dwellings of man, is not unfrequently chosen. But in' places immediately surrounding him, and even within his precincts, unfinished stone-buildings and pigeon-cotes are occupied, the latter much to the dread of their rightful owners, who soon become reconciled to the glaring insult, and live on friendly terms with their courageous neighbors. In Germantown, Pa., many of these birds are accustomed to deposit their eggs in the holes left by the removal of scaffolding from the walls of unfinished buildings. In some instances, they are placed within a slight depression produced by the removal of the mortar; but, generally, a thin covering of leaves and grasses serves to relieve the roughness of the cavity. In one case a rather dense bedding of moss made a soft and cozy lining. Almost any tree that has been pressed into service by the Golden-shafted Woodpecker, and made to answer as a receptacle for its eggs, is utilized by the species under consideration. In an orchard, the apple is mostly a favorite; while in other situations, the swamp maple and common chestnut are as frequently occupied. Their height above the ground varies from ten to fifty feet. In no cases have we discovered it below this figure, and never above it. A nest found April 20th, 1881, near Rowlandville, by William Wentz, in a decayed chestnut branch, was fifty feet from the ground, and consisted entirely of dry grasses in quite limited quantity. This is the earliest one ever found in this locality. Generally, the nest is completed for oviposition during the last of this month, or the beginning of the succeeding. My son, Alan F. Gentry, on the fourth of May of the same year, met with one in a hollow branch of the chestnut, in Germantown. This was placed about twenty feet up, in a cavity whose width at the mouth was four and a half inches, and whose depth was nine inches. It was lined with a few leaves and fragments of decayed wood, and contained four eggs, which were partially incubated. Another complement of eggs, five in number, before us, was found May 17th, 1880, near Granville, N. Y., by F. T. Pember, Esq. It was placed in an isolated maple, about twenty feet from the ground, in what was once the home of a pair of Flickers. The bottom of the cavity was lined with straw and grass of last year's deposit, little, if any, fresh materials being noticeable. The diameter of the base was seven inches, and depth, twenty inches. The drawing represents a nest in a decayed branch of the red maple. The female bird is considerably reduced, and placed on the edge of the cavity, looking outwardly; whereas the male, in perfectly erect attitude, and with dignified demeanor, stands on a bent branch, at some distance from his home, engaged, as it were, in surveying the surrounding scenery. He is shown in his jauntiest feathers, and with his fair proportions diminished but one-fourth. Owing to the difficulty encountered in figuring the eggs in situ, we have been compelled to show a single specimen, the natural size, and on a tinted background below and to the left of the picture.
The nest being ready, the female is not dilatory about laying. Unlike most of the birds which we have previously described, she does not deposit with much regularity. Sometimes the eggs are laid on consecutive days, and, at other times, on each alternate day; never more than one being deposited daily. This business being accomplished, the female proceeds at once to incubate. After she has been thus occupied for a varying period of time, seldom less than two hours at a sitting, she summons her mate to her side, and resigns to him the laborious task for a season. While one is on the nest, the other, when not in quest of food, is on a tree in the immediate neighborhood, quietly on the alert. If danger is imminent, the sitting-bird is apprised of the fact in time to make its escape. This done, the two endeavor to protect their home from pillage. As long as there is some prospect of frightening away the depredators, they keep up the warfare with a good show of courage. But when constrained to desist from the attack by the too near approach of enemies, they do not forsake their home entirely, but choose a point out of reach of harm, where they station themselves, and behold with profound distress its demolition. In these attacks the female is the superior of her masculine companion, and exhibits the most reckless bravery. The latter is, however, more circumspect and cautious. But should the enemy be a feathered species, and of superior physique, the unequal warfare is waged with terrible fury, and often results in favor of the defendants. Where not interfered with by man, these birds have been known to visit the same locality year after year; but when meddled with, they abandon the site for another of greater security. The period of incubation ranges from fifteen to sixteen days.
The young are very helpless creatures when first hatched, and often tax the patience and vigilance of the parents to the utmost in their efforts to obtain for them a quantum sufficit of nourishing food. Both birds are seldom absent together on this important mission. While one is abroad, the other remains at home, and exercises the strictest surveillance. The food of the young at first consists of grasshoppers, crickets, and caterpillars of the family of measuring-worms. Being rapid growers, they are soon able to digest bits of small rodents and birds, which the parents tear from the warm flesh of the quivering victims which they hold in their talons. When four weeks old, parental assistance is in a measure withdrawn, and they are forced to feed themselves. A fortnight longer, they quit the nest, and receive their meals while perched on the tree-branches. But it is not until they attain an age of two months that they are entirely thrown upon their own resources. They, however, continue to reside with their parents, but for what length of time, we are unable to say. Like the latter, their appetites are very fastidious, tainted and unsavory food being rejected with disgust. When the young have vacated the nest, Audubon asserts that the parents are known to imitate their feeble cries, as they travel together in pursuit of game. Ordinarily, the cry of the adult birds is a peculiar series of notes, which are pronounced in a very shrill manner, and most difficult of imitation. It is said to resemble the call of the European Kestrel, and would doubtless be mistaken for it, were it not for its more powerful intonation.
When taken from the nest, these Hawks are readily domesticated, and make very interesting pets. Audubon once reared a young bird, which he kept about the house. At nights it would roost upon a favorite window-shutter. In the daytime it would wander about the fields, where it was often assailed by its wilder kindred. On these occasions, instead of making a stand and resenting such uncivilized conduct, it would invariably beat a precipitate flight to the house where it was sure of finding protection. At length this poor bird was killed by an enraged hen, one of whose chicks it was essaying to capture. While in Columbia, South Carolina, Dr. Coues saw three of these birds in the possession of a neighbor. They had been taken while quite young, and were perfectly reconciled to their imprisonment. During early life they ate all kinds of meat, but as they approached the age of maturity, they began to display much of their natural disposition. When disturbed they would show their displeasure by snapping the bill, and clutching at the offending cane with their talons. Among the number there was a cripple who was most dreadfully misused and bullied by his companions. One night, being insufficiently fed or unusually irritable, they set upon the poor fellow, killed him, and had nearly made way with him by the returning morn.
The eggs of this species vary in number from four to seven, complements of fives and sixes being oftener found than any other. In one case a set of three was found by a friend of the writer's, but this was probably exceptional in its character. The ground-color is never fixed, but passes from a beautiful white, through a dark cream, into one that is decidedly buff. In some specimens, under a glass of moderate power, the ground is a perfectly uniform buff, but in others which appear to the unaided vision of the same color, the lens reveals a whitish background very densely covered with minute dottings. There is also noticeable considerable variation in the markings. Three from a nest in Philadelphia, with a pure-white ground-color, are marked with dottings and blotches of light-brown, sparsely scattered over the greater portion of their surfaces, excepting a space of the size of a dime about either extremity, where a dark and almost continuous patch of reddish-brown occurs, relieved by a few small spots of blackish-brown. These eggs are nearly spherical, of the ordinary shape, and have an average measurement of 1.38 by 1.14 inches. Another set, four in number, from near Germantown, Pa., have a light-buff ground, and are completely covered with fine markings of brown, and others of bolder spots of the same, so as almost to conceal the color below. They average the same in dimensions as the preceding, and are similarly shaped. A clutch of five from Granville, N. Y., is the exact counterpart of the Germantown specimens in every particular. All eggs which we have seen from New England, the South, and the West, California in particular, though subject to variations in size and ornamentation, are uniform as to shape. The length usually varies from 1.32 to 1.49, and the width from 1.07 to 1.20 inches.
The Wood Duck, appropriately so named because it breeds in trees, surpasses in elegance of plumage and gracefulness of action all North American birds of its family. Although known by the name of Summer Duck, from the fact of its remaining with us during the entire hot season, and not journeying to the cold regions of the North as many of its brethren are wont to do, it is however more commonly designated by the former appellation. Few species are more highly esteemed by lovers of the beautiful in Nature than this, and, where obtainable, it is one of the first that finds its way into the private collection of the amateur naturalist. But by epicures, it is considered as of rather inferior standing, lacking the delicacy of flesh which makes the Green-winged Teal and others of such immense gastronomic value.
Although truly an American species, it is more generally found throughout the United States than any other, nesting wherever suitable localities present themselves. North of the Potomac, and in the various States situated above the parallel which cuts its head-waters, at least so far as the country east of the Rocky Mountains is concerned, it is chiefly a migrant, arriving towards the latter part of March, or the beginning of April. South of this line, from Maryland to Florida, and in a southwesterly direction through the Gulf States into Mexico, the birds are found in more or less abundance during the entire year.
In the South Atlantic and Gulf States, they generally pair, we are told, about the first of March, but in New England and the Middle States, in favorable seasons, from the first to the fifteenth of April, perhaps later; and in the country bordering on the Great Lakes, about the last of May or the beginning of June. In Iowa, and other Western States of the same latitude, from the fifteenth to the last of May.
Upon its arrival in our Northern States, remarkable to say, unlike many of its numerous family connections, it seldom frequents the seashore, or the adjoining salt marshes, but manifests a predilection for the ponds, mill-dams, and deep muddy streams of the interior. The same is true of its more southern breeding-grounds along creeks and bayous of the land where the orange and palmetto charm the eye with perennial verdure.
During the interval of time between the appearance of these birds and the renewal of their ancient vows at the accustomed trysting-place, the sexes consort together in ever-varying flocks of fours or more, but never in very large numbers, and fatten on acorns, the seeds of the wild oats, and such insects as they can procure from the tree-branches, or the muddy margins of the streams and ponds which they frequent.
On each recurrence of the mating season, there is reason for believing that the same couple come together, and pledge anew the sincerity of their fidelity, and the constancy of their affection, unless debarred from so doing by death, or some other of the numerous vicissitudes to which life is prone. The troth-plight being sealed, the happy lovers are not slow in effecting a union. A few reciprocations of love, mutual and sympathetic, and the role is ended. But in cases where the male has lost his partner, doubtless more time is devoted to this important business. Much time is spent in seeking a suitable companion, and even when the seeker is successful in finding one which combines the necessary qualities, no little time is frittered away in rendering himself agreeable to her lady's notions of what a husband should be, for she not unfrequently acts as if she were possessed of some taste and discrimination.
Having settled this important business, the newly-mated couple start off in quest of a spot for the location of a home. In the case of old birds the same locality has been known to be visited for four successive years.
This doubtless is the rule where the birds are permitted to obey their own natural instincts uninterfered with by beast or man. For obvious reasons, these Ducks delight to live in close proximity to bodies of water. Such places afford conveniences to the young when they are sufficiently matured to betake themselves thither. Situations remote from this element entail unnecessary labor upon the female, who is then required, at considerable risk and trouble, to carry them one by one in her bill. When the distance is not too great, and the ground beneath the tree is well covered with dried leaves and grasses, the young scramble to the mouth of the nest, drop themselves down, and under the maternal leadership wend their way to the much-loved fluid. Often the tree or stub which contains their home is found to overshadow the water. All that is necessary then is for the tender creatures after reaching the entrance, to spread their ill-feathered wings and oar-like feet, and fling themselves down. This feat can be performed without jeopardy to life or limb.
The site being agreed upon to the mutual satisfaction of the parties concerned, all that is necessary to be done before going to house-keeping, is to select a place for the nest. For this purpose, almost any tree, or branch thereof, containing the essential hollow, and located reasonably near some stream or expanse of water, can be utilized. According to Audubon, "the holes to which they betake themselves are either over deep swamps, above cane-brakes, or on broken branches of high sycamores, seldom more than forty or fifty feet from the water." Our experience, which is similar to Wilson's, is that these birds do not have a partiality for any particular species. While tree hollows are generally preferred, we have the authority of the illustrious personages whose names we have just cited for saying that such places are not exclusively chosen. The former claims to have met with the home of a pair of these birds in a fissure of a rock, along the Kentucky River, only a few miles from Frankfort; and the latter speaks of having discovered one which was placed in a fork composed of branches, and built out of a few rude sticks. In the South, the forsaken retreat of the Gray Squirrel, or the hole of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker, are common nesting-places. Often the entrance to the nest is apparently so small compared with the bulk of the occupant, that it is a matter of surprise to many how she can manage to make her way into it without suffering bodily injuries. But she does, which is proof that she knows either how to conform to circumstances, or else is a better judge of size than many of us would-be-wise lords of creation. All structures which we have examined were generally wide enough at the mouth to admit of easy passage, and were from four to six feet deep. The bottom of the cavity invariably consisted of soft decayed wood, and a few feathers which were doubtless plucked by the bird from her own breast. Besides these articles, other writers have observed dry plants, down, and feathers of the Wild Turkey, Wild Goose, and the common barnyard fowl. The height of the entrance above the ground varies from fifteen to thirty feet, according to our experience. Possibly a less, or even a greater elevation may sometimes be attained.
Wilson speaks of a nest which he observed in an old grotesque white oak. It stood on a slope of one of the banks of the Tuckahoe River, in New Jersey, just twenty yards from the water's edge, and had been occupied for four consecutive years. At the time of his visit it contained thirteen young birds, which the maternal head was engaged in carrying down to the water to give them, perhaps, their first experience in the natatorial art. So carefully, and yet so adroitly and quickly did she perform this seemingly difficult task, that she was less than ten minutes in its accomplishment. Although the male usually stands sentry while the diverse processes of laying and sitting are going on, and signals the approach of enemies by a peculiar cry which has been likened to the crowing of a young cock—oe êêh! oe êêk!—yet from the silence of one writer upon the subject, we infer that the duty of rearing the rather numerous family is left to the mother, her proud and consequential partner, as though disdaining such ignoble and degrading because slavish work, being off with his gay companions, disporting themselves in mid-air, or trimming, while perched upon some sheltering bough, their rich and varied plumage. So intent, however, was the mother-bird upon the faithful discharge of her joyous home-duties, that she heeded not the stately sloop, then nearly completed, as it lay upon the stocks close-by, with its hull looming up within twelve feet of her home, darkened with the presence, and reverberating with the noise of workmen, but continued to pass in and out as though unconscious of the so near approach of danger. Audubon claims that the male deserts the female when the period of sitting commences, and joins his sterner brethren, who unite into flocks of considerable numbers, and keep apart from their partners until the young are fully matured, when young and old of both sexes come together, and thus remain until the return of another breeding-season.
From what has been said above, it must be evident to the reader that the female is wholly concerned with the duties of incubation. For a little more than twenty-one days she is thus occupied, and with nothing to relieve the monotony of her task. How often must she despair, and bewail the hardship of her lot, no mortal knows. But it is the decree of inexorable fate, and most willingly does she bow to it. But the ennui of the labor is in a measure forgotten in the vision which hope holds out to the patient little housewife. Weary, and well-nigh spent of her strength, she persists a little while longer, and her patience and assiduity are rewarded. A whole nest-full of happy ducklings gladden her heart, and send a new thrill through her being. While the hatching process is going on, the loving parent only leaves the nest when pressed by the pangs of hunger, and but for a short time. Before leaving, she always takes the precaution to see that her treasures are carefully covered with down.
The young follow the mother the same as our domesticated species do, and gather whatever of vegetable and insect food they happen to meet with. They are passionately fond of the water, and best show their real nature and disposition when gracefully floating upon its glassy surface, or diving beneath its liquid depths. At an early age they respond to the parent's call with a soft and mellow pee, pee, pee-e, which is uttered quite rapidly, and at repeated intervals. The call of the mother, when addressing the young, at such times, is rather low and soft, and resembles the above sounds, only a little more prolonged.
These beautiful birds have often been domesticated. At such times they become so unsuspicious and familiar as to allow themselves to be stroked upon the back with the hand. Instances are on record. Such being so, what is there to prevent the introduction of them into our yards? Nothing. Then let it be tried. A glance at the picture will show that no handsomer bird could be chosen. Look at the male as he stands upon an embankment on the right of the picture ready at any moment, so it seems, to plunge into the watery fluid below, and tell us if there is anything more beautiful in the world of swimming-birds. We apprehend not. His conspicuous size, some nineteen inches in length, and scope of wing of two and one-third inches, make him a being of no mean proportions. But then it is the richness and variety of his colors that render him an object of attraction. Near the farther shore of the pond, with her shadow reflected in the water, like a thing of grace, floats his loved but less showy companion. She is nearly of the same size as he, but wanting in the same dignity of demeanor. On the other side stands an old tree, festooned with vines, which represents the nest of these birds, with a female just in the act of entering.
The eggs of the Wood Duck range from six to thirteen to a setting. Their shape passes from the ovate form to one that is nearly oval, and, indeed, specimens are often found which are almost perfectly elliptical. Eggs from Massachusetts measure 1.97 by 1.45 inches. Others from Michigan, 2.21 by 1.54; and some from Maine, 2.10 by 1.54. A set of ten from Iowa, but recently received, of a yellowish-white or creamy color, which seems to be the natural hue, are beautifully elliptical in contour, and have an average measurement of 2.08 by 1.59 inches; the largest being 2.19 inches long, and 1.59 wide, and the smallest, 1.96 in length and 1.63 in width.
The Least Tit, introduced to the notice of ornithologists by Mr. Townsend in 1837, is exclusively a denizen of the country bordering on the Pacific Ocean. It inhabits the whole region stretching from Fort Steilacoom, in Washington Territory, to Fort Tejon, in California. According to Dr. Garnbel, it is not only abundant throughout California, but is also an occupant of the Rocky Mountains. But as this author wrote at a period anterior to that which marked the separation of this species from its nearest kin—the Plumbeous Tit—it is believed by Dr. Coues that those nice shades of difference which climate or other influences have impressed upon the Rocky Mountain birds were unobserved by him, and that he was thus led to consider the two species identical.
Although these birds have been deemed migratory in Washington Territory, as the writings of Drs. Cooper and Suckley would lead us to infer, yet there is strong evidence for believing that it is not wholly the case. From observations made by Mr. Townsend, we learn that they are quite common during the winter, and may be seen in great numbers hopping around among the bushes, or hanging head downwards from leafless twigs after the fashion of other Titmice. While thus engaged in search of the pupa of insects, they are very reckless, and keep up a continual twittering. Their notes are rapidly enunciated, and have been likened to the words thshish tslmt-tsee-twee, the last two syllables bearing a slight resemblance to the concluding strains of our Eastern Chickadee.
While gleaning for food, these noisy beings go in companies. Troops of fifties and sixties, and some say hundreds, travel through the woods, and make their otherwise cheerless depths resound with din and chatter. Nor do they journey alone, for they are often accompanied by the Kinglets and other kindred species. So intent are they upon the procurement of food at such times, that they seem utterly unconscious of danger. It is not uncommon for a bystander to be so surrounded by one of these flocks as to be almost able to capture the birds with the hand.
Nuttall, in speaking of this species, affirms that it arrives on the banks of the Willamette River, in Oregon, about the fifteenth of May, which would lead one to believe that even in this State it is a migrant. As this date is about the period of breeding in slightly lower latitudes, may not this writer have been somewhat hasty in expressing his opinion? In the East, birds that are reputed permanent residents during mild, open winters, can be seen in moderate abundance in accustomed haunts, and at all times. But let the weather become severe, and there will be a notable scarcity of birds. They do not certainly migrate to warmer regions, but seek hidden recesses or nooks where they can obtain the necessary shelter and protection. A recurrence of warmer days, after a little, soon causes them to return to old, familiar haunts, which could not be, had they journeyed to lower and semi-tropical climes. Perhaps some such event had occurred on the occasion to which Nuttall alludes, or a short time before, or the birds, by reason of a paucity of food-stuffs, may have been forced to move to adjoining localities in the same latitude, and had just returned for purposes of nesting. If such was the case, an eye-witness of the scene would be likely to pronounce it a veritable migration, not knowing the facts.
But whether these birds do actually migrate or not, matters little for present purposes. What concerns us most, is their history at the mating time. Of this we know little. But not unlike their many kin, the desire for food is so strong, that most of the time in early spring is spent in its search. The precarious lives which most migratory birds are-forced to lead during the unprolific season of the year, when the reign of plenty begins, forces them into habits of gormandizing. Life seems to have acquired new zest. The collection of food, and its application to the wants of the body, exercise supreme control, all other considerations being swallowed up thereby. But this cannot last long. Satiety, like pleasure, soon o'erdoes itself, and reason comes to the rescue.
A few weeks of such a life are enough. Grown weary of its monotony, and surfeited with delights, the flocks now dissolve into pairs. All is now a scene of bustle and activity. Actuated by amatory influences, the males seek themselves partners, and matrimonial relations are assumed. There is good reason to believe that mating happens early during some seasons. Dr. Cooper mentions the finding of a nest on the first of March, which would lead us to infer that it had occurred during the preceding month. Finished structures in our collection from Santa Paula, California, which were discovered by Prof. B. W. Evermann, bear the respective dates of April 14 and 17. Making allowances for building, it is probable that the sexes do not pair until the middle or the last of March. Of the precise time we are left in darkness. Nor are we the wiser about the general behavior of the birds, much less those pleasing little episodes of bird-life which are then called into existence.
Having mated, the happy couple start off together in quest of a suitable bush or tree in which to build. The live oak, the willow, occasionally the mistletoe, and perhaps others, are selected. These structures are sometimes suspended from a forked twig, but more generally from a single branch. A remarkable peculiarity about their building is the elevation at which their dwellings are placed. The height varies from four to eight feet, and we cannot find that the latter distance has been exceeded.
Few nests, if any, surpass in beauty and comfort the nest of this species. It is the most artistic of all pensile structures, and resembles an old-fashioned silken purse. In form, texture and finish it is a perfect model of architectural design and skill. When we consider its size, the durability and smoothness of its outside periphery, and coziness of interior, we are lost in wonder and admiration. What ingenuity and perseverance are here displayed! It seems almost impossible that such wee specimens of the feathered creation could have built such a monument. But the naked truth, real and substantial, lies before us. When we contemplate this wonderful work of art, we know not whether to admire most the indefatigable industry of the builders, or their cunning workmanship.
A typical structure before us is closely and evenly woven of slender spears of grass, fine rootlets, fragments of branching and crustaceous lichens, small stems, fibrous rootlets, down, vegetable cotton and mosses. These substances are pretty regularly distributed, like the colors in a carpet, so that the fabric presents uniformity in appearance. The interior is lined with down and other soft vegetable materials, producing thereby a chamber of which the daintiest Sybarite of the palmy days of Magna Græcia would delight to be the proud possessor. Some structures are cozily lined with large masses of feathers, which are made to project from the entrance, and which, in some instances, become a part of the walls of the building itself. Ordinarily, the nest retains the greenish-gray color which the mosses and lichens impart to its exterior, long after it has been detached from its point of suspension. The length of these fabrics varies from six to nine inches. The width is generally three inches, and the thickness of the walls, three-fourths of an inch. Inside, the depth ranges from four to five inches, according to the length of the structure, and width, from seven-eighths to one inch. The entrance is most generally near the top, and measures one inch in diameter. The specimen from which the drawing is made, is six inches long, nearly cylindrical, with rounded extremities, and about three inches in width. The walls are an inch thick, and the opening, which is near the top, is exactly one inch in diameter. For convenience we were compelled to reduce the dimensions, and put it slightly in the background. The female bird, which has a length of 4.30 inches, and an expanse of wings of 2.15, is proportionally diminished, while the male occupies a position in front, and appears with uncurtailed proportions. The nest is represented as hanging from a branch, a species of cherry, which is popularly known as the soft-leaved cherry.
We mention, in this connection, a very fine nest of this species, which has lately come into our possession, through the kindness of Prof. Evermann, of Indiana. This nest was suspended from a branch of the live oak, and was discovered on the fifteenth of April, 1880. It is largely composed of down, grass-stems and spears of the same, lichens, mosses, vegetable down and cotton, on the outside, and is comfortably lined with the down and wool of plants. In structure and composition it resembles all other nests of this species, but differs therefrom in form and dimensions. This beautiful fabric measures twenty-two inches in length, and is somewhat shaped like an elongated spindle. It is three inches wide in the middle, one and a half at the summit, and two and a half at the base. The opening is three-fourths of an inch in diameter, and placed fully five inches from the top of the nest. From the entrance to the bottom of the chamber, the cavity does not perceptibly widen, but maintains the width at the mouth. This affects the thickness of the walls, which is greatest in the middle, and least above. But owing to their elasticity, they can be made to conform to the volume of either occupant. The depth of the cavity is twelve inches. When we consider the size of this nest, it does not seem possible that such diminutive specimens of bird-life could have the enterprise and courage to enter into such a gigantic project, and the patience and perseverance to carry it to completion. Prof. Evermann does not inform us whether it was accomplished by the pair of occupants, or by them with the assistance of others. Even the ordinary structure is so wondrously large compared with the individual bulk of the builders, as to suggest to the mind of Dr. Cooper the possibility of its being the result of the united labors of an entire flock. What would our worthy friend say should he meet with another just like the one we have described? We think he would be inclined to attribute it to the labor of several flocks, or else imagine it the work of supernatural beings. Such disparity as exists between the cyclopean monument before us and the pigmy architects thereof, would almost persuade us to one or the other conclusion.
From information gleaned from the recorded observations of others, and from personal knowledge of closely-related species, we incline to the opinion that these birds manifest a great fondness for their homes, and guard them with the most jealous care. Nuttall makes mention of a circumstance occurring under his notice, which confirms this belief. During one of his excursions, he met with a male-bird, whose overanxiety about the safety of the nest induced him to keep a lookout for anything that might happen. Following his guide, who, though unwilling to expose its whereabouts, was driven to it by an irresistible influence, he came to a low bush, where, dangling from a branch, and only about four feet from the ground, flashed upon his vision the lovely spectacle. It was a beautiful affair, in shape like a long purse, and having a neat circular opening near the top which answered for a doorway. The lint of plants, moss and down entered into its manufacture, and within there was a soft lining of feathers. This nest contained six perfectly white treasures, which were only awaiting the mysterious and miraculous powers of a few more days, perhaps hours, of heat, to transform them into restless, active, yet helpless beings. When a bird is killed, we are told, others will gather around it with manifestations of anxiety, calling plaintively upon it to follow them in their sports and wanderings. So fearless do they become at such times that it is almost possible to take them by the hand. Assuredly, such exhibitions of sorrow and solicitude as we have depicted, are not only to be met with then, but also, to an infinitely greater extent, on those more trying occasions when their homes are about being desecrated and despoiled by sacrilegious hands.
The eggs of the Least Tit are quite small, beautifully oval in shape, and of a pure, unspotted white color. They slightly vary in dimensions. In a set of five which we have before us, the largest measures .57 of an inch in length, and .44 in width; the smallest, .56 by .45 inches. The average measurement is .57 by .44 of an inch. The number of eggs constituting a complement ranges from five to nine. Nothing has been stated in regard to the number of broods annually raised, but it is probable the species is single-brooded.
The Whippoorwill, in its migrations, passes from Mexico, Guatemala, and, perhaps, Cuba, through the eastern parts of the United States, northward into the British Provinces as far as the 50th parallel of latitude, and from the Atlantic westward to the valley of the Missouri, where it is replaced by a closely-allied species. Throughout New England, the Middle States, and the Southern Atlantic region, the Carolinas especially, it is rather abundant, and the same may be affirmed of the western limits of its range. In New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, lying outside of our possessions, it is met with but rarely; whereas, in the vicinity of Montreal, and around Hamilton, it is far from being an uncommon summer visitor. There seems to be a notable scarcity of birds in Eastern Maine as we approach the Canadian territory in the north-east. Why the species should dwindle into numbers insignificant as the seaboard is neared, while in the contrary direction it is apparently as abundant as in Pennsylvania, it is not our province to speak with positiveness. Perhaps the somewhat different conditions of soil and climate which prevail in the north-west have much to do with this seeming preference. Unlike most species, the subject of our sketch will, doubtless, when its history has been as carefully studied in every part of its habitat as it has been in the East, be found to breed throughout the vast area of its United States range.
These birds never arrive in old, familiar haunts until the weather has assumed the mild, placid demeanor of spring, and everything points to the complete vanquishment of the winter-god and his merciless hordes of invaders. A chorus of strange, weird voices from the solemn depths of the forest-shades, when night has thrown her sable curtain o'er earthly landscapes, is the first reminder that we have of their mysterious presence. Like an evil genius from the land of dreams they come among us to disturb our slumbers by their lugubrious utterances. But in the daytime, when all respectable beings, whether beast or man, do most delight to be seen and heard, these sylph-like denizens of the air shrink away to the uncertain shadows of the grove, where they spend their time in sleep, or moody silence, or, mayhap, in the concocting of ways to terrify poor, timid human beings. Coming down from these flights of imagination to the prose of real life, we may truthfully say, that they "love darkness rather than light." From the time of their first appearance during the early nights of May until their departure in August or September for the Gulf country and the land stretching southward, they maintain the same shy and retired disposition, concealing themselves from the glare of full-orbed day in close-set forests among fallen leaves and underbrush, and only venturing out in quest of food when the sun has sought his rosy couch beyond the Western wave. With the setting of the day-star, and the stir of the myriads of moths that now make night lively with their graceful motions and riotings, these Night-jars, as they are sometimes appropriately called, emerge from their hiding-places, and rejoice in wanton and luxurious feasting. They are far from being the dull, stupid beings which we would have been disposed to designate them only a few hours before. They are now all nimbleness and grace. Watch them as they sail through the bending, swaying ether as noiselessly as a thistle-down, and as lightly as a balloon afloat, and tell us were there ever more graceful creatures, and any better adapted to the purposes of their being? We apprehend not. What a beautiful and nice adaptation of means to end is here exemplified! Being designed and created to hold in check, in common with others of their kin, the various and multitudinous swarms of insects which fill the nocturnal atmosphere, the Wisdom that never errs has given them a peculiar structure, and peculiar habits. They must seek the darkness of night, and shun the light of day. And in order to capture their prey without startling it, they must move on swift and noiseless pinions, and with the greatest caution. Their prey often being large, a wide gape of mouth is necessary. Everything, even down to the minutest details of structure, declare their eminent fitness for the part which they have to play in the role of life.
Such a decided partiality has our friend for the lovely woods, that he seldom forsakes its time-honored precincts for the open field. The sombre shadows cast by the motionless or quivering leaves upon the ground, and the melancholy streaks of light which fitfully play through the spaces between them, combined with the dark colors of the leaves that repose upon the soil beneath, produce a sort of gray and mellow light which beautifully harmonizes with the sober tints of these birds, and thus adds to their protection. In our travels we have frequently surprised an individual in his slumbers only a few paces away. Alarmed at this unexpected intrusion, the bird would wing its somewhat uncertain flight on swift and noiseless pinions to a place a few hundred feet distant, where it would alight upon a branch, or on the ground. After indicating the spot by a fallen log, or an adjoining bush, we would stealthily and quietly approach the place, straining our vision all the while in hopes of gaining a glimpse of the squatting bird. But before the desire could be gratified, the object of our search would become apprised of our presence, and take to wing. Again and again we have made the attempt to steal upon the bird unawares, but it invariably failed in accomplishment, even when the greatest caution was observed. The means which these birds employ for the detection of danger are both remarkable and wonderful. The visual organs being ill-suited to the bright light of day, and even the mellowed glow of the woods being seemingly too powerful a stimulus, it certainly depends upon other functions than those of sight. The sense of hearing being well-developed, may not this function be called into requisition at such times?
The common appellation of this species is derived from the cry which it emits at night. This cry has a slight resemblance to whip-poor-will, but, by a fertile fancy, it can be construed into a variety of sounds. The syllables are rapidly enunciated only when the bird is squatting on a bush or fence, or any other object near the ground, but never while in flight. It is always heard at night. As the day begins to dawn, it measurably diminishes in frequency and intensity, and finally ceases altogether. The absence of song while on the wing may be accounted for by the fact that the birds are such vigorous feeders, and are so absorbed with the business before them, that they have neither the time nor the disposition to indulge in such pastime. Besides, the wide-open position of the mouth which is assumed while sailing through the air, is hardly one which would favor a free exercise of the vocal powers. When in a restful state, the cry is perhaps the call which the sexes address to each other, or it may be interpreted sometimes as the signal for the resumption of the night's carousal after the day-sleep is over.
For nearly two weeks after their appearance the sexes, although already paired, continue to sleep the daylight away, and spend the nighttime in feasting and revelling. It is not until the middle of May that they become alive to the business which has called them from the land of the agave and loblolly-tree. With due diligence, and with but little time spent in preliminaries, they seek themselves out a spot for a home, where they construct, if at all, the merest apology of a nest. By a prostrate and decayed log, usually where the deepest shadow prevails, the female is wont to deposit her eggs. A slight concavity is ordinarily scooped out by her, in Eastern Pennsylvania, and lined with decayed wood or dried leaves. In other localities, and, to some extent, in the writer's own State, she does not even go to this trouble, but deposits her treasures, without thought-of what she is doing, upon the ground. Whether they rest upon a few loose leaves, or on the bare earth, is all the same to her. Having chosen her humble home, the female begins immediately to lay her first egg. This is followed on the ensuing day by another, and this completes her nest-complement. Incubation is at once assumed by the lady-bird, and seems to be her exclusive business for the space of fourteen or fifteen days. While she is thus occupied during the day, her illustrious partner is seldom to be seen, although it is possible that he is generally at no great distance from the spot, quietly preparing for the night's adventures. Perhaps he is then more considerate, and either sits upon the nest while his wife is away in quest of food, or else acts the part of an affectionate and indulgent husband, and conveys to her lonely chamber the necessary food wherewith to strengthen her for the trying duty which she is engaged in performing.
Few mothers manifest greater love for their children. She will often imperil her own life in their behalf. Her vigilance is wonderful, and the stratagems she practises to draw intruders away from her eggs and young are almost unsurpassed by those of any of our feathered species, excepting the female Maryland Yellow-Throat. On an occasion of disturbance her actions are strange and curious. She flutters as if mounded, beats the ground with her wings as though unable to rise, and performs these movements so successfully as to deceive the most wary and experienced collector. While thus seeking to divert attention from her home, she has even been known to spirit her young away when danger seemed imminent. Mr. Wilson cites a case that came under his own observation. This writer once set to work to delineate a young bird. Having accomplished the desired object, he left the spot, and, on missing his pencil, retraced his steps. On arriving thither, to his great surprise he discovered that the young bird had been carried away to a place of safety, but by what means, he doubtless never learned.
The young leave the nest when they are about seven days old, and are then able to move with considerable swiftness. At brief intervals, while nestlings, they utter a low, plaintive note, which has been likened by Nuttall to the syllables pé-ugh. A fortnight longer at home, under the guardianship of the maternal head, prepares them for the stern realities and cold charities of the outside world. They are now able to supply themselves with food, although still members of the same household. At first their food consists of caterpillars which are procured by the parents from the leaves and branches of trees. The different species of measuring-worms, and mature forms of noctuids and tineids among lepidoptera, constitute a considerable portion of their diet. But as they grow older, and are able to feed themselves, they devour immense numbers of ants and grasshoppers. When first hatched, in their helplessness, they depend for safety upon the close similarity which obtains between them and their immediate surroundings.
The eggs of this species are elliptical, being nearly or quite equal at both extremities. The ground-color is a pure creamy-white, and is irregularly scratched and marbled all over with reddish-brown and purplish-lavender lines and blotches, the former predominating. There is considerable variation in the intensity of coloration, some specimens being heavily marked, while others, from the faintness of the tracery, appear bleached or faded. Eggs from New England measure from 1.21 to 1.26 inches in length, and from .75 to .78 in width; from the Middle States they average 1.26 by .89; while specimens from the South and the North-west offer no material differences in many particulars these eggs resemble those of the Chuck-will's-widow, but are purer and more beautiful. There is also a notable resemblance to the eggs of the two European Goatsuckers, which is what the real scientist would naturally expect. In the drawing, the eggs are represented the natural size, and by the side of a fallen log. The male is considerably reduced, and may be readily distinguished from his partner by the white collar of the throat, and by his larger size. He measures ten inches in length, and has an expanse of wings of six and a half inches. The female is proportionally diminished, and is characterized by a light fulvous gorget, and in the absence of the white patch of the tail.