Birds and all Nature, Vol. IV, No. 2, August 1898

Squirrels vary in size and color according to the country in which they live. In Asia there is a Squirrel no larger than a Mouse, and in Africa there is one larger than a Cat.

I am a North American Squirrel, one of the "common" family, as they say. I eat all sorts of vegetables and fruits, as well as Mice, small Birds and eggs. I choose my mate in February or April, go to housekeeping like the birds, and raise a family of from three to nine little baby Squirrels.

Some of my little readers have seen me, perhaps, or one of my family, frisking among the branches, or running up and down the trunks of trees. My enemy the Hawk gets after me sometimes, and then I run up the tree "like a Squirrel," and hide behind one of the large branches, going from one to another till I tire him out.

Squirrels have to be "cunning as a Fox," as they say. When pursued – and oh, how often we are, by men and boys, as well as Hawks – we leap from branch to branch, or from tree to tree, altering our direction while in the air, our tails acting as rudders. At last we are driven into a solitary tree, so that we cannot leap into the branches of another. Then a boy or man climbs up, tries to shake us from the limb, and at length succeeds in knocking us to the ground. Off we run again, give them a long chase, perhaps, but at last are caught, and probably carried home to be kept in a cage like a little prisoner, or maybe in a stuffy wooden box. How can we be happy or playful under such circumstances? I think it is a great shame to put any animal, bird or otherwise, in a little cage; don't you?

There are men who make a business of selling Squirrels for household pets. If you want a young Squirrel – and nobody wants to buy an old one – look at its teeth; if young, they will be almost white; if old, a light yellow.

"Oh, mama," cried Dorothy one day, "do look at this dear little tame Squirrel the good man wants to sell. See how tame it is. It will let me stroke it, and never tries to bite."

Mama, who desired her children to have four-footed, as well as two-footed friends, bought the tame squirrel for her little girl. Alas! the good man had dosed the poor little animal with laudunum to keep it quiet. It died the next day.

THE LOON

IN ALL the lakes of the fur countries, says Nuttall, these birds abound, where, as well as in the interior of the most northern of the states, and probably in the inland seas of the St. Lawrence, along the whole Canadian line, they pass the period of reproduction. This species is the most common of its tribe in the United States and is a general inhabitant of cold and temperate climates throughout the whole northern hemisphere. They have been known to breed as far south as the Farne Isles, along with the Eider Ducks, with which they also associate on the shores of Labrador. In the United States from the severity of the winters, the young and even occasionally the old, are seen to migrate nearly, if not quite, to the estuary of the Mississippi.

Cautious, vigilant, and fond of the security attending upon solitude, the Loon generally selects, with his mate, some lonely islet, on the borders of a retired lake far from the haunts of men, where, on the ground, near the water, they build a rude and grassy nest. The Loons are, from the nature of their food, which consists almost wholly of fish, utterly rank and unedible, though in New England the following receipt is given for cooking one of the birds: Having dressed your Loon, stuff it with an iron wedge, then bake or boil. When you can stick a fork into the wedge the bird is ready for the table.

It is chiefly remarkable for the quickness with which it can dive, many observers maintaining that it can dodge a bullet or shot by diving at the flash of the gun. Mr. W. H. Porteous states that he once watched a man for more than an hour fire repeatedly at a Loon on a pond in Maine, the bird being frozen in by thin ice, a small circular space being kept open by its movements. The ice was not strong enough to sustain the man and the open space not large enough to enable the bird to swim and rise, as a Loon cannot rise in flight from a stationary position in the water. The Loon dodged every shot, by diving, although within easy gunshot range from the shore. It was not killed until the next morning, when the ice had become strong enough to permit the man to go close up to the open space and shoot when the Loon came to the surface. "Under the circumstances," adds Mr. Porteous, "I think the man ought to have been shot instead of the Loon."

"In the fall," says Thoreau, "the Loon came, as usual, to moult and bathe in the pond, making the woods ring with his wild laughter before I had risen. At rumor of his arrival all the mill-dam sportsmen are on the alert, in gigs and on foot, two by two and three by three, with patent rifles and conical balls and spy glasses. They come rustling through the woods like autumn leaves, at least ten men to one loon. Some station themselves on this side of the pond, some on that for the poor bird cannot be omnipresent; if he dive here he must come up there. But now the kind October wind raises, rustling the surface of the water, so that no loon can be heard or seen. The waves generously rise and dash angrily, taking sides with all water-fowl, and our sportsman must beat a retreat to town and shop and unfinished jobs. But they were too often successful.

As I was paddling along the north shore one very calm October afternoon, for such days especially they settle on the lakes, like the milkweed down, a Loon, suddenly sailing out from the shore toward the middle a few rods in front of me, set up his wild laugh and betrayed himself. I pursued with a paddle and he dived, but when he came up I was nearer than before. He dived again, but I miscalculated the direction he would take, and we were fifty rods apart when he came to surface this time, for I had helped to widen the interval; and again he laughed long and loud, and with more reason than before. He maneuvered so cunningly that I could not get within half a dozen rods of him. Each time, when he came to the surface, turning his head this way and that, he coolly surveyed the water and the land, and apparently chose his course so that he might come up where there was the widest expanse of water and at the greatest distance from the boat. It was surprising how quickly he made up his mind and put his resolve into execution. He led me at once to the widest part of the pond, and could not be driven from it. While he was thinking one thing, I was endeavoring to divine his thought. It was a pretty game, played on the smooth surface of the pond, man against a Loon. Some times he would come up unexpectedly on the other side of me, having apparently passed directly under the boat. So long-winded was he and so unweariable, that when he had swum farthest he would immediately plunge again, nevertheless; and then no wit could divine where in the deep pond he might be speeding his way like a fish, for he had time and ability to visit the bottom of the pond in its deepest part. It is said Loons have been caught in the New York lakes eighty feet beneath the surface, with hooks set for trout. I found that it was as well for me to rest on my oars and wait his reappearing; for again and again, when I was straining my eyes over the surface one way, I would be startled by his unearthly laugh behind me. He was indeed a silly Loon, I thought, for why, after displaying so much cunning did he betray himself the moment he came up by that loud laugh? Did not his white breast enough betray him? It was surprising to see how serenely he sailed off with unruffled breast when he came to the surface, doing all the work with his webbed feet beneath. His usual note was this demoniac laughter, yet somewhat like that of a water-fowl; but occasionally when he had balked me most successfully and he came up a long way off, he uttered a long-drawn, unearthly howl, probably more like that of a Wolf than any bird. This was his looning, perhaps the wildest sound that is ever heard here, making the woods ring far and wide. At length, having come up fifty rods off, he uttered one of those prolonged howls, as if calling on the Gods of Loons to aid him, and immediately there came a wind from the east, rippled the surface, and filled the whole air with misty rain. And so I left him disappearing far away on the tumultuous surface."

THE MOCKINGBIRD

WISHING to verify a statement which we had seen in a contemporary, we wrote to Mr. R. F. Bettis, of Tampa, Florida, requesting, if it were true, that he would confirm it, although, from our acquaintance with the bird, we had no doubt of its substantial correctness. In response Mr. Bettis writes us as follows:

"Yours of June 24 received. Will say in regard to the Mockingbird, I live one and one fourth miles north of the courthouse in Tampa. I have a lot containing two acres of land, and it is grown up in live and water oak bushes which are very dense in foliage. It is a fine place for birds to nest and raise young. I do not allow any one to shoot or destroy the birds on my place, and it doesn't take the birds long to find out a place where they are protected. I think there are about twenty-five or thirty Mocking birds on my place, and they become very tame.

About two years ago one of the birds took to coming into the house, and sitting on the chairs and warbling in a low tone, and my wife and children began to talk to it and put bread crumbs on the window sill for it, and it soon began to come for something to eat. It would sit on the trellis in front of the window and sing for hours at a time, and on moonlight nights would sit on the chimney and sing for half the night. * * *

It would recognize the family, and when my wife and daughter would go from home, it would fly along and alight on the fence and give a chirping noise as though it did not want them to go, and on their return would meet them the same way, but the chirping would be in a different tone, as though glad to see them. When they were in the house it would sing some of the sweetest notes that ever came from a bird's throat. Every morning at about 5 o'clock it would peck on the window pane until we got up and opened up the house. About six months ago while all the family were away some Cuban and negro boys came by my place and shot it, and it seems as if something were missing from the place ever since. But I have three more that will come in on the back porch and eat crumbs. Two are on the back porch now about fifteen feet from me while I write, but they are not as gentle as the other one. There has been so much shooting about my place since the soldiers came that it frightens the birds some. The soldiers have a sham battle every day, around my house and sometimes in my yard.

Hoping you can cull out of this what you want for your magazine, I am

Yours truly,R. F. Bettis."

THE BOBOLINK'S SONG

Suddenly from the dead weed stalks in the draw, where the Blackbirds had sung yesterday, there broke forth the most rollicking, tinkling, broken-up, crushed-glass kind of bird melody that he had ever heard – something in perfect accord with his mood again; and looking up he saw a flock of black and white birds all mingled in, some plain, streaked, sparrow-like kinds – the former given to the utmost abandon of music. He had seen these birds before occasionally, but he never knew their names, and now he found there was more he had not known, for he had heard the Bobolink sing for the first time. —From Baskett's "At You All's House."

HOW BUTTERFLIES ARE PROTECTED

IN the July number of Birds and All Nature we quoted from an interesting article in the Boston Transcript some information concerning the commercial aspect of Butterflies. From this study of the remarkable collection of the Denton Brothers of Wellesley, we print another extract, which will indicate to our readers something of what they may expect to see in future numbers of Birds, as it is our purpose to present all of the remarkable specimens of these insects. Some of our Subscribers tell us that they would rather have the pictures than the specimens themselves. In an early number we shall present a picture of the wonderful Butterfly Crœsus. It is an inhabitant of India, and even there is rarely seen and difficult to secure. It is of deep dead black, with broad splotches on the wings, which are exactly the color of new, untarnished gold, its name being given it for this characteristic. But, as the Transcript says, "perhaps the most interesting thing in looking over the Dentons' collection is to have them explain the wonderful ways in which they are protected from their natural enemies, the birds. Perhaps the most remarkable instance of the way in which this is done is the leaf butterfly, a native of India. The upper side of this insect's wings has the characteristically brilliant coloring of its country, but the under side is of a dull brown, the significance of which is not seen until the insect alights and closes its wings. When it is in this position it has exactly the appearance, in shape and color, of a dead leaf, and this is so exact that even the little dark spots caused by decaying fungi on the leaves are reproduced.

"What is most wonderful of all is that these spots vary, and in different specimens have the appearance of different kinds of fungi, the imitation being invariably a perfect one.

"This characteristic is to be seen in nearly all kinds of butterflies, the under side of the wings of the most brilliantly colored species being of a dull color which does not readily attract attention. Almost the only variation to this is in certain species which ordinarily carry their wings erect, and droop them when they alight. In these the brilliant coloring is on the under side of the wing, and the dull color on the upper side. Perhaps the most remarkable single case known is that of a certain Indian moth, which is a heavy flyer, and found in the woods. When this moth alights, it leaves only the tip of its wings sticking out of the leaves, and this tip, in marking, color, and attitude, has exactly the appearance of the head of a cobra. The same general scheme may be observed in our native moths, and also in most other heavy flyers, in the sharply defined round markings, one on each wing. These have the appearance of an eye of some good-sized animal, and keep many birds from making any closer investigation.

"Another interesting instance of of the self-protecting instinct is found here in the habits of some kinds of our native butterflies. Some of these are naturally protected by having so strong and unpleasant taste that the birds will not eat them. The habits of these kinds are imitated by other kinds that have a strong resemblance to them, but which are not naturally protected, and this is so successfully done that the birds let them alone and prey upon other varieties that have just as strong a resemblance to, but do not imitate the actions of the protected ones."

MID-SUMMER

The hills are sweet with the brier-rose. – WhittierSweet is the rose, but grows upon a brier. – Edmund SpencerAs though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. – KeatsWhat mortal knows Whence comes the tint and odor of the rose. – Thomas Bailey AldrichThe rose saith in the dewy morn,I am most fair;Yet all my loveliness is bornUpon a thorn. – Christina G. Rossetti.The roses grew so thickly, I never saw the thorn,Nor deemed the stem was prickly until my hand was torn. – Peter Spencer.Gather ye rosebuds while you may,Old Time is still a-flying;And this same flower that smiles to-dayTo-morrow will be dying. – Herrick.If this fair rose offend thy sight,Placed in thy bosom bare,'Twill blush to find itself less white,And turn Lancastrian there. – Unknown.I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows,Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. – Shakespeare.The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew,And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. – Scott.My life is like the summer roseThat opens to the morning sky,But ere the shades of evening close,Is scattered on the ground – to die!Yet on the rose's humble bedThe sweetest dews of night are shed. – Richard Henry Wilde.

THE RED FOX

EXCEPT in South America and Australia, Foxes are distributed over all the great continents. There are known to be between twenty-five and thirty species. They differ from the dog family in the greater sharpness of the nose and the greater length and bushiness of the tail.

The Red Fox of eastern North America is closely allied to the common Fox of Europe, and is regarded by many naturalists as only a variety of the common species, an opinion which is somewhat confirmed by the fact that no remains of the Red Fox have been found in the cave deposits, although remains of the Grey Fox have been. It is larger than the common Fox of Europe, the fur longer and softer, and the color more brilliant. It is said that it does not possess the wind of the English Fox. It runs for about a hundred yards with great swiftness, but its strength is exhausted in the first burst, and it is soon overtaken by a Wolf or a mounted horseman. In Canada and the United States it is largely hunted for its valuable fur, many thousands of skins being annually exported. The Fox is exceedingly shy and difficult of approach, owing probably to the persistency with which it is hunted by the fur traders. Only the Red and Grey Foxes are hunted. There are several permanent colors of this species similar to those found in our Squirrels, the young presenting a variety of colors in the same litter. In Ohio and others of the middle states, Foxes are said to be hunted as follows: On an appointed day, the whole of the population of the neighborhood turn out and inclose as large a tract of country as possible, all hands leisurely advancing toward some point near the center of the circle; as they advance a great noise is made that the game may be driven before them. When the circle is quite small, and the Foxes are seen running about looking for an opening by which to escape, small boys are sent in with directions to catch the animals, a task which is not accomplished without much exertion and perhaps a few bites. When a Fox is caught, it is sold to pay the expenses of the hunt.

Fox hunting as practised in England was transported to this country as early as the middle of the eighteenth century. In the mother country it is one of the greatest pleasures accorded to the titled gentry; the Horses are bred for the purpose, and a first-class hunter commands a large price. Many Virginia planters of leisure and means were accustomed before the Civil War to keep a number of Hounds, and with the best riders of the neighboring county, frequently held their "meets," when, with horn and whipper-in, and all other accompaniments, according to true English Fox-hunting rules, they would start Reynard and follow him to the death. The wealthy and leisure class of New York pursue the sport in true English style in many places on Long Island.

When pursued, the Fox gives out a strong, disagreeable scent, which lies so long on the ground that it may be perceived for nearly an hour after he has passed. Of its cunning when pursued, many tales are related, such as driving another Fox out of its lair and forcing it to substitute itself as the chase; diving into a heap of manure, to throw the dogs off the scent; fording streams, doubling on its track, and so forth.

Like the Squirrels, Foxes vary in size and color according to the countries in which they live. Their habits are mostly nocturnal, that is to say, they prowl around after dark.

By day the Fox lies concealed in his burrow – if he owns a house of that sort – or else in the depths of some thicket. Toward evening he goes out in search of something to eat – Hare, Rabbit, Pheasant, Mouse, or Bird.

Reynard, as the Fox is often called, does not attempt to chase the Hare, for it would be too swift for him, nor the Rabbit, for it would quickly dive into its hole, nor the Pheasant, for it would fly away. No, indeed! Mr. Fox is too cunning for that. He just quietly creeps to some place where Hares or Rabbits or Pheasants are likely to pass, and then as they run by him, out he pounces and secures his evening meal.

When the Rabbit has a nest full of little "Bunnies," she takes good care to keep them at the end of the burrow. It is too small for the Fox to creep into, so she thinks they are safe. But Mr. Fox finds a way, a much better way, he thinks, to get at the little, soft, furry things, which will hardly make him a meal anyway. He sniffs around, locates the spot right above the the burrow, digs downward, and soon – well, when he gets through there are no "Bunnies" in the nest. Mr. Fox smiles, winks one eye, and trots off.

Sometimes he steals into a hen-roost, and woe to nearly every chicken in the roost. He eats all he can, carries some of them home, and the remainder he buries for future use.

"Cunning as a Fox." That is an old saying, you know, and we apply it to persons who take advantage of their fellow beings.

However, no matter how great a rascal the Fox is, we must pity him when pursued for "sport" by a pack of hounds, as well as men and women. When irritated or alarmed, the Fox gives off a strong, disagreeable scent, which lies so long on the ground that it may be perceived for nearly an hour after he has passed. He has been known to dive into a heap of manure to throw the dogs off the scent; jumping over a wall, run a little way, come back again, lie under the wall until all the dogs had passed, then leap a second time over the same place where he had passed before, and make off on his old track.

THE LEAST SANDPIPER

THIS lively, social little Sandpiper is common throughout America, nesting in the Arctic regions. It is migratory, arriving the last of March to the first of May, a few occasionally remaining till November. It has been found breeding as far south as Sable Island, Nova Scotia, but its usual breeding grounds are north from Labrador and Alaska to Greenland, wintering from California and the Gulf states southward. It is more restless and active than the larger Sandpipers, but in habits it differs little, if any, from them. It runs nimbly about, often with the large waders, feeding around and beneath them, apparently heedless of danger. While watching the birds, they will often pass close to the feet, but at the least motion the whole flock will spring into the air "like a flash, with a startled Peep, peep, and in a compact form swiftly sweep about in an uncertain manner, canting from side to side, showing rapidly the white beneath and the dark above, a wavy, pretty sight, the white at times fairly glistening in the sunlight." When migrating or going any distance their flight is steady and direct. Audubon, who observed the breeding habits of the birds in Labrador, says that at all periods, excepting those at which they have nests containing eggs, or young so small and feeble as to require all the care of their parents, the flight of this species resembles that of the Common Snipe (see Birds, Vol. IV., page 7); but when started from the nest, or from any place in the immediate vicinity, it rises and moves off low over the ground, with deeply incurved wings, and with a whirling motion thereof, which, if as rapid as those of a Partridge, would appear quite similar, but on such occasions the Lesser Sandpiper moves slowly, and instead of uttering the note of independence, as it were, which it emits at other times, while freely and fearlessly traveling, it gives out sounds weakened by grief or anxiety, for the purpose of inducing the observers to follow it. If on the ground, it acts in a similar manner, moves off slowly, and limping as if crippled, and this at times quite as much as if one had come upon it while on its nest, or surprised it with its young.

The Sandpiper's nest is placed on the ground in a slight depression, scantily lined with leaves and grasses. The eggs are three or four, of ground color cream buff to light drab, spotted and blotched irregularly with varying shades of brown, thickest about the larger end.

The Least Sandpiper is always found associated with the Semi-palmated Sandpiper, which in the later summer throng our shores and form staple sport to the youthful and city tyros. Flocks of birds are often composed of both species. When this is the case, the latter, even if largely in the minority, take the lead, as they are of somewhat larger size, stronger in flight, and have a louder note. When not in company with other species, none of our shore birds are more confiding and unsuspecting than these, says Davie, large flocks continuing their search for food almost under the feet of the observer.