Nests and Eggs of Birds of The United States

While some remain in these parts to breed, others retire further north, and take up their quarters in old accustomed haunts; reaching New York and Southern New England towards the close of April, and the more northern portions of the latter section about the first of May. Continuing their migration, a few, according to Sir John Richardson, pass on until they have attained the latitude of 67° 31', where they stop to breed. This doubtless occurs about the last of May, or the beginning of June, if the fact of their nesting at Fort Chippewayan, ten degrees further south, on the fifteenth of May, affords any basis for computation.

On the Pacific coast these birds are less abundant than 011 our Eastern shores. This is attributable to the lack or scarcity of suitable building-places. As settlements multiply, they increase in numbers, especially in the neighborhood of farms. Farther inland, the species is conspicuous for its rarity.

From the time of its arrival until its departure about the first of September, and even during the breeding-period, this Swallow delights in society. When foraging for food, it is not unusual to see varying numbers of birds engaged in the same useful occupation. This habit of gregariousness, which evinces a love for the companionship of its kind, instead of dying out, as is generally the case with many species that might be cited, continues to exist, and manifests itself during the time of nesting by a desire to dwell in communities. But this is not everywhere the case.

In some parts of the country, particularly in the extreme north, the sexes appear to come together only upon arrival at their places of destination. Mating commences either while the birds are in transit, or immediately upon the conclusion thereof; and as nesting commences when they have reached the end of their journey, it is reasonable to conclude that the two follow each other in close succession, leaving no time for the display of those curious antics so characteristic of the feathered creatures.

But in lower latitudes, the first two or three weeks after the arrival of these birds, is spent in the procurement of food. The good which is then accomplished, cannot be fully appreciated, and is of such immense value as to gain for the species the high position which it occupies in the affections of mankind.

During the whole of this time, we have seen nothing that would appear to indicate that courtship is indulged in. Perhaps this necessary business of bird-life is practised in mid-air, while the sexes are skimming through the swaying fluid, or circling in joyous company high overhead. May not the pleasing, lively succession of twitterings which drop earthward, when these lovely creatures are careering towards the dome of heaven, he the love-songs which the males are pouring into the ears of listening females? To be fully appreciated, they should be heard during these exciting aerial movements. When perching, the birds seem less animated; consequently, the music is slower, but none the less agreeable.

Whether this business is in vogue or not among these birds, matters little, so long as the important duty which has brought them hither is accomplished. That this is the case, is indisputable, as the sexes are known to separate from the flocks, and repair to accustomed haunts to build.

The period of nesting varies somewhat according to latitude and the conditions of the weather. In the West, nests have been found with eggs as early as the thirtieth of April, but this was in the vicinity of San Francisco. In semi-tropical regions, it is reasonable to look for an early assumption of matrimonial relations. But in the generality of instances, outside of our warm Southern latitudes, the birds commence to build their domiciles from the fifteenth to the last of May, and, in some cases, even running into the first week of the month that follows.

In the construction of a home, which is usually the work of six days, the builders apply themselves with persevering assiduity, only stopping from their labors, for brief spells of time, in order to rest, or to procure the essential articles of food.

The places selected for this purpose are strange and various. In the wild districts of the West, the birds nidificate in caves that abound in the bluffs along the sea-shore. Near Fort Dallas, Oregon, the basaltic cliffs so common thereabouts are utilized. In the vicinity of Pyramid Lake, Nevada, their nests are placed among the "tufa domes" attached to the roofs of caves, seldom more than one or two pairs being found together. In other localities, in the same section of country, limestone cliffs, crevices of rocks, and sides of wooden bridges, serve the same purposes.

Coming East, where they are much more familiar and confiding, we find quite a change in this particular. Venturing into our crowded cities, they often build their elaborate homes in the porches of dwellings. But the various farm-buildings, which are noticeable in agricultural regions, are generally to be preferred. In such places, the nests are erected on horizontal rafters, or secured to the frameworks, underneath the eaves, after the fashion of the Cliff Swallow's nest. Again, bridges and dilapidated spring-houses are occasionally pressed into service. Besides the foregoing, cases have been cited where the nest of the Cliff Swallow was used, and also one where a small building, of very rude structure – which was temporarily occupied as a blacksmith-shop – was utilized.

Their natural breeding-places, before the settlement of this country, were caves, overhanging cliffs, and like situations. Swallow Cave, at Nahant, was formerly a favorite place of resort. As the country becomes. settled, these places are forsaken for the more convenient ones which the buildings of the farm afford. Such accommodations, experience has shown, tend to a rapid increase in their numbers, for the birds are not slow to perceive the advantages which result from a close familiarity with man.

The nests are constructed of separate layers of mud, from ten to twelve in number, which are often, though not always, parted by strata of fine grasses. The layers themselves are formed of small pellets composed of clay and fine sand, worked over by the birds, and which are adjusted side by side until each layer is complete. The walls being finished, the circumscribed cavity is stuffed with fine soft grass, and is warmly lined with downy feathers. The average height and breadth of such structures when placed on the horizontal rafters of barns is about five inches. The cavity is usually three inches wide at the rim – thus making the thickness of the walls an inch – and about two inches in depth. When placed against the side of a house or of a barn, a strong foundation of mud is usually built, upon which the nest is reared. In that event, the nest is more compactly made, and varies from the preceding, by its more elongate form.

A striking peculiarity of many of these fabrics, is an additional platform which is placed against the nest proper, but wholly distinct therefrom. This is undoubtedly designed as a roosting-place, and is used during the incubating period by the one or the other parent at night, or when not occupied in the procurement of food, or by both when the young have complete possession thereof.

A nest before us which was built upon a horizontal rafter underneath an overshoot, and which may be regarded as typical in the ordinary scientific sense, is composed externally of ten semi-elliptical series of mud pellets, slightly overlapping each other after the manner of tiles, and intercalated with the stems and blades of fine grasses. Similar vegetable materials are found in small quantities on the outside, which serve to strengthen the pellets, thus acting as substantial girders to the entire structure. On the inside is a small layer of the stems of our common timothy grass, which is followed by another of greater compactness, and, finally, by a lining of soft meadow grass. The entire length of this nest is four inches, and it gradually tapers from above downwards, giving the appearance of a longitudinal section of an inverted cone. The depression is two and a half inches wide in one direction, about four in the line of greatest width, and scarcely an inch in depth, the shallowness being compensated for by the greater length transversally.

The Plate represents a nest which is nearly the exact counterpart of the one just described, differing immaterially therefrom in the lack of grasses between the layers of mud on the outside, and in having a lining of feathers. The dimensions are about the same in the original, but have been somewhat reduced in the cut, owing to the size of the page. The female is shown upon the edge of the nest, peering therein, while her stronger half is on the wing, and evidently homeward-bound. In the natural position this elaborate structure was completely protected by the eaves of the building against which it reposed, but in order to show the inner arrangement, as well as the eggs in situ, the artist was compelled to leave it partially exposed.

The nest being completed, two or three days elapse before the female is ready to deposit her first egg. Having commenced, she continues to do so, at the rate of one a day, until her full number is laid, which, according to what shall constitute her complement, requires from four to six days. Incubation immediately succeeds, and lasts for eleven days. This is not exclusively the work of the female. Sometimes her affectionate husband relieves her for awhile. But when not thus employed, he occupies his spare moments either in fetching her some dainty article of meat, or in guarding his home from intrusion. Few species show less dread of man during these times. Such is the confidence which is reposed in him, that the sitting-bird will keep to the nest, and allow him to pass within a few feet of her. But, on the other hand, if any interference is attempted, she glides noiselessly out, and watches and contemplates his movements with few, if any, murmurs of complaint.

An interesting account is given of these birds by Mr. J. K. Lord. While he and his party were encamped at Schyakwateen, in British Columbia, a small shanty, loosely constructed of poles, and tightly roofed, was erected, and used as a blacksmith's shop. Early one morning, late in June, they were visited by a pair of Swallows, who instantly perched on the roof of this shed, unmindful of the noise of the bellows, or the showers of sparks that flew around. Presently they entered the house, and commenced an examination of the roof and its supporting poles, twittering to each other the while, in the most animated manner. At length the matter appeared to be settled, and on the ensuing day they commenced the erection of a building on one of the poles directly over the anvil. Though the hammer was constantly passing close to the structure, yet the fearless builders kept steadily at work, and in about three days had completed the rough outline thereof. A few days more, and their home was ready for occupancy. The narrator often stationed himself upon a log to watch them, with his face so near, that their feathers frequently brushed against it as they toiled at their task. Suffice it to say, the eggs were laid, the young hatched and successfully reared, and the trustful pair maintained their serenity and fearlessness till the last.

The attentions of the parents to their young are unremitting. The number of small insects which they collect for them is almost incredible. Flies, aquatic larvæ, and small moths form a considerable part of their earliest diet. But as they become older, other insects are added to their bill of fare. When about fourteen days old they are able to leave the nest. The manouvres of the parents to entice them out, and the assistance which they render them in their first feeble attempts at flight, are among the most curious and interesting of all our ornithological experiences. A few days' training gives them complete control over their alar appendages, and they are soon as merry and happy as any of their older companions, as they sail through the air in quest of insects, or in the pursuit of pleasure. By the first of September, they are strong enough to endure the fatigue incident to the long journey which they are called upon to make, in obedience to the supreme law of their being, at this season of the year.

The eggs of this species are white with a roseate tinge in unblown specimens, and are marked with spots of reddish and purplish brown, varying in size and number, but chiefly collected about the larger end. From the Cliff Swallow's eggs, they differ in having finer spots, and in being smaller and rather more elongated. Specimens from different localities, and even in this region, show marked variations in length, some being .95 of an inch, and others; not more than .74. The same bolds good with respect to the width; the greatest being .63 of an inch, and the least .50. The average dimensions are .77 by .55 of an inch. The number of broods generally raised is two, the latter often as late as the last of July, or the beginning of August. This is not always the case, especially when the season has been unusually delayed by means of the weather, or when the natural instinct has been unaccountably restrained.

Plate XV. – LOPHORTYX CALIFORNICA, Bonaparte. – The Valley Quail of California

The Valley Quail – so called in contradistinction to the Plumed or Mountain Quail, which inhabits hills and highlands – has an exceedingly limited range. It abounds in all the valleys of California and Oregon, both inland and maritime, but never in the forest-depths, nor on the mountain-tops, nor in the interior basin where there is a dearth of water and vegetation. In the spring of 1857 these birds were introduced into Washington Territory, on the grassy plains near Puget Sound, where they soon established themselves.

According to Dr. Cones, who has paid special attention to the distribution of our birds, the present species ranges from the Columbia River to Cape St. Lucas. In California it is chiefly restricted to the country west of the Sierra Nevada, which, with the Great Colorado Desert, is said to constitute an apparently impassable barrier between it and Gambel's Partridge – a very near relative. Up the mountains a higher elevation than three or four thousand feet is never known to be attained, the region beyond being occupied by the Mountain Quail.

Prairies and grain-fields, and thickets along the borders of streams, are noted places of resort. Coveys of from a dozen to a hundred or more individuals may be seen in such places, during the non-breeding season, busily employed in gleaning, or in some sort of diversion. Although comparatively tame, and permitting a very near approach, yet when disturbed, they betake themselves to the bushes or trees. When to the latter, they squat so closely along the branches, as to escape the keen sight of pursuers. It will not lie to a dog, as our Eastern species is wont to do, but runs until driven to seek safety in flight.

Throughout California these birds are often domesticated, and made to consort with the common barnyard fowl. A similar practice might be tried in the East with happy results. That it would succeed, there can be no reasonable doubt. A few years ago, an attempt was made to introduce them into Long Island, which was only partially successful. But the demands of New York epicures soon led to their extermination.

The season of flocking being over, which continues from the first of September until about the middle of May, as nearly as we can ascertain, the coveys break up into pairs, and mating is about to commence. This important event is heralded by certain peculiar cries which the male-birds emit while sitting upon a stump or prostrate log in the midst of the surrounding verdure. These notes are very strange, and may be likened to the harsh and disagreeable tones of some of the Woodpeckers. "They may be aptly represented," says Dr. Newberry, "by the syllables kûck-kuck-kûck-kâ, the first three notes being rapidly repeated, the last prolonged with a falling inflection."

Language can hardly describe the actions of the males during these times. While some may be seen strutting along some fallen log, or gesticulating overhead on the motionless tree-branches, others, less lofty in their aspirations, move with dignified demeanor in and out the bushes, untrammeled by interlacing grasses. All, however, seem animated by one common impulse – the admiration and favor of birds less beautiful, perhaps, but more modest, than themselves.

It is a charming sight, and one ever to be remembered, to watch these enamored birds as they press their several suits. The stately tread, erect but comely carriage, waving plumes, quivering wings, and flashing eyes, bespeak the proud consciousness of superior worth and vigor. The beautiful bird glances defiantly about him, and challenges loudly for a rival. Again, he throws down the gauntlet, but none appears to take it up. He may now retire; his rights are proven.

But hid away in leafy bower, a gentler being watches his movements, admires his bearing, and fascinated by the courage she sees displayed, hopes that the next movement may bring him to her side, but dreading lest it may. At length their eyes meet, she trembles and attempts to fly, but cannot. Another look; he reads the secret of her heart, and with one loud, exultant cry, flies straight to her, curtsies low, and with wing half-spread above her, whispers softly in her ear the story of his love. She listens, but draws away. He pleads once more. She stands irresolute. Again he makes the attempt. This time with all the eloquence of his being. He conquers, and what a joy is his!

The trial over, the prize secured, the delighted lover, proud of his bride, showers upon her the rich fruitage of his love, guards her with jealous care, and seeks by every means in his power to add to her comfort and happiness. A few days thus spent, and the wedded couple, conscious of the sense of responsibility which attaches to them, cast about for a suitable spot for a home. They search through the tall, rank herbage, among piles of driftwood that lie scattered about, under fallen cacti, or in the shadow of jasmine bushes, and at length make up their minds. Where none of these are to be found, they do not hesitate to take to an open field. Little more is needed than to fix upon a spot, for the nest is far from an elaborate affair, being aught else than a collection of loose, dry grasses arranged without much care. In many instances, even these articles are dispensed with. The Plate represents the ordinary style of nest, containing a set of thirteen eggs drawn to the natural size. On the left of the picture may be seen the male, which differs from the female in his more brilliant and vivid colors, both being placed in the background.

Having finished her simple domicile, or rather having chosen a spot, for laying – for in the generality of cases no nest whatever is made – the female deposits day after day the eggs which are to constitute her complement. These are said to be from twelve to sixteen in number. When not pressed to lay, she rambles about with her lord, in close company, until compelled to take the nest. She now abandons all recreation, becomes sober and maternal, and sets about her duty in earnest. But she is not forgotten because she cannot enter into his idle amusements. Mounted upon some bush or log which projects above the nest, he stands watch, or solaces her weary moments with his best music. This ditty, though far from being harmonious, is presumably satisfactory to the one concerned. The time spent in incubation lasts for two weeks or more, until feeble cries are heard from the nest. The mother-bird now dries and cuddles the queer little beings, and the happy parents soon lead them off in quest of food. When the young are disturbed by human foes, the male-bird utters a sharp pit, resembling the common note of the Cardinal Grosbeak, which is doubtless the signal for flight.

The eggs of this Quail differ somewhat in size, and also in ornamentation. The ground-color is usually a creamy-white. The markings sometimes occur in the form of freckles, at other times in large scattered spots, and frequently in the form of confluent blotches. Their colors pass from a uniform shading of olivaceous-drab, through a rusty-drab, into a chestnut-brown. All the specimens that we have seen are sharply defined at one extremity and rounded at the other. In a set of fourteen eggs before us, the largest measures 1.32 by 1.00 inches; the smallest 1.13 in length and .97 in breadth. The average size is 1.23 by .98 inches. From the number of eggs sometimes found in a nest, it becomes a question whether birds, severely pressed, may not sometimes lay in nests not their own. We have no positive information that this does happen, but observation renders it highly probable that such is the case with the Virginia Quail, and, also, with some other birds. But however this may be, it is tolerably certain that broods of young sometimes coalesce after hatching. It has even been inferred that several females belong to one male, and with their varying broods run together.

Plate XVI. – REGULUS SATRAPA, Licht. – Golden-crowned Kinglet

The Golden-crowned Kinglet, or Wren, ranges over nearly the entire continent of North America, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, and northward from Texas and New Mexico to Sitka on the west, where it seems to replace the Ruby-crown. On our eastern seaboard it doubtless attains as high a latitude. Audubon claims to having found it nesting in Newfoundland, and Baedecker, in Labrador, but recent travelers have certainly not encountered its presence during the breeding-period in those parts, since they have left no record of such occurrence.

In the United States, until recently, it was generally supposed to be a migrant; arriving pretty punctually in October, just as autumn is merging into winter, and remaining till May. But the past five or six years have let in new light upon its history, and shown, what had already been surmised, that it would be found to breed in the coniferous forests, and mountainous regions toward our northern border.

Our knowledge of the species is limited, and is mainly restricted to its habits during its long stay with us from October to May. Every one who has left the shadow of home, and strayed out into the fields and woods, or along the margins of ice-bound streams and ponds, must have had his attention directed to its cries as it flitted from tree to tree in search of food. At such times, the sexes remain apart, or but occasionally come together. Although shunning, rather than courting each other's society, their casual meeting is not the harbinger of contention, but is either tacitly acknowledged, or passed by unnoticed. While there seems to be an indisposition to mingle, yet evidence is not wanting to show that society of some kind is not wholly disagreeable. Either sex manifests, or seems to manifest, some regard for the Black-capped Titmouse. Wherever you discover the one, you are pretty sure to find the other. This occurrence does not appear to be accidental, but rather to be dictated by a desire for company, or by actual necessity.

Although evincing a decided partiality for Nature in her wildness, on warm, sunshiny days in mid-winter our little friend may frequently be seen climbing about our trees after the fashion of a Creeper, or standing beside our doors in anxious expectation of receiving his share of crumbs from the table. He is now the very impersonation of fearlessness, and conducts himself with all the familiarity of a long-tried friend.

But as spring returns, a peculiar cry greets the ear, louder and more frequent than usual. Tsi-tsi-tsi comes from wood and glen, from stream and hollow. Once heard, these syllables can never be forgotten, for they are uttered in a running, pleasing rhythm, and with a gently-rising intonation, and seem indicative of joy and satisfaction. But as the season for departure arrives, these sounds give place to others of a more agreeable character. Even in the heart of winter this music may be heard. Perhaps some precious reminiscence of the past has arisen in the memory to evoke this flood of song.

Full of expectancy and unrest, about the middle of May – often earlier, seldom later – the little Golden-crown wings its flight to other scenes. Of the exact time, we know nothing. It does not stop to bid us an affectionate adieu, but is gone before we are hardly aware of the blank which it has left. Its return is as unheralded and mysterious. To-day we admire its graceful actions, sprightly ditty and beautiful plumage. To-morrow we search the old haunts, feeling almost confident that it must be lurking somewhere about, but to be doomed to disappointment. Occasionally our patience is rewarded by finding a couple of individuals, who have either lost their reckoning, or have made up their minds to spend the summer at home. But the most of their fellows still follow the path which their ancestors have so long trodden.