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diff --git a/20448-h/20448-h.htm b/20448-h/20448-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a3b9e61 --- /dev/null +++ b/20448-h/20448-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3393 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Wit of a Duck and Other Papers, by John Burroughs. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; right: 3%; + font-size: 75%; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + color: silver; background-color: inherit; + font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers */ + .pagenum a {text-decoration: none; color: silver; background-color: inherit;} + + a {text-decoration: none;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + img.plain { /* image with no border or padding, see float */ + border: none; padding: 0;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Wit of a Duck and Other Papers, by John Burroughs + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Wit of a Duck and Other Papers + +Author: John Burroughs + +Release Date: January 25, 2007 [EBook #20448] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WIT OF A DUCK AND OTHER PAPERS *** + + + + +Produced by Joseph R. Hauser, Suzan Flanagan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 245px;"> +<a href="images/duck001.jpg"> +<img src="images/duck001tn.jpg" width="245" height="400" class="plain" alt="Signature: John Burroughs" title="Signature: John Burroughs" /></a> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1" href="#Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h3>The Riverside Literature Series</h3> + + +<h1>THE WIT OF A DUCK</h1> + +<h3>AND OTHER PAPERS</h3> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<p><br /></p> +<h3>JOHN BURROUGHS</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 116px;"> +<a href="images/duck002.jpg"> +<img src="images/duck002tn.jpg" width="116" height="150" class="plain" alt="Printer's imprint" title="Printer's imprint" /></a> +</div> + +<h5>The Riverside Press Cambridge</h5> +<h4>HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</h4> +<h5>BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO</h5> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2" href="#Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" width="400" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<col style="width:5%;" /> +<col style="width:80%;" /> +<col style="width:15%;" /> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">The Wit of a Duck</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">An Astonished Porcupine</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">Human Traits in the Animals</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">The Downy Woodpecker</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">A Barn-Door Outlook</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">Wild Life in Winter</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">Bird Life in Winter</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">A Birds' Free Lunch</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">Bird-Nesting Time</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">A Breath of April</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">The Woodcock's Evening Hymn</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">The Coming of Summer</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><br /></p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><br /></p> +<div class="center"> +<span style="font-size: 10pt">COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY E. H. HARRIMAN<br /></span> + +<span style="font-size: 10pt">COPYRIGHT, 1904, 1905, 1908, AND 1913 BY JOHN BURROUGHS<br /></span></div> +<p><br /></p> +<div class="center"><span style="font-size: 10pt">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /></span></div> +<p><br /></p> +<div class="center"><span style="font-size: 10pt">The Riverside Press<br /></span> +<span style="font-size: 10pt">CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br /></span> +<span style="font-size: 10pt">U . S . A</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3" href="#Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<h2>JOHN BURROUGHS</h2> + + +<p>John Burroughs was born April 3, 1837, in a +little farmhouse among the Catskill Mountains. +He was, like most other country boys, acquainted +with all the hard work of farm life and enjoyed all the +pleasures of the woods and streams. His family was poor, +and he was forced at an early date to earn his own living, +which he did by teaching school. At the age of twenty-five +he chanced to read a volume of Audubon, and this +proved the turning-point in his life, inspiring a new zeal +for the study of birds and enabling him to see with keener +eyes not only the birds themselves, but their nests and +surroundings, and to hear with more discernment the +peculiar calls and songs of each.</p> + +<p>About the time of the Civil War he accepted a clerkship +in the Treasury Department at Washington, where +he remained nine years. It was here that he wrote his +first book, "Wake-Robin," and a part of the second, +"Winter Sunshine." He says: "It enabled me to live +over again the days I had passed with the birds and in +the scenes of my youth. I wrote the book sitting at a +desk in front of an iron wall. I was the keeper of a vault +in which many millions of banknotes were stored. During +my long periods of leisure I took refuge in my pen. How +my mind reacted from the iron wall in front of me, and +sought solace in memories of the birds and of summer +fields and woods!" In 1873 he exchanged the iron wall +in front of his desk for a large window overlooking the +Hudson, and the vault for a vineyard. Since then he has +lived on the banks of the Hudson in the midst of the woods +and fields which he most enjoys, adding daily to his fund +of information regarding the ways of nature. His close +habit of observation, coupled with his rare gift of im<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4" href="#Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>parting +to the reader something of his own interest and +enthusiasm, has enabled him to interpret nature in a +most delightfully fascinating way. He gives the key to +his own success when he says, "If I name every bird I +see in my walk, describe its color and ways, etc., give a +lot of facts or details about the bird, it is doubtful if my +reader is interested. But if I relate the bird in some way +to human life, to my own life,—show what it is to me and +what it is in the landscape and the season,—then do I +give my reader a live bird and not a labeled specimen."</p> + +<p>Mr. Burroughs thoroughly enjoys the country life, and +in his strolls through the woods or in the fields he is always +ready to stop and investigate anything new or interesting +that he may chance to see among the birds, or +squirrels, or bees, or insects. His long life of observation +and study has developed remarkably quick eyesight and +a keen sense of hearing, which enable him to detect all +the activities of nature and to place a correct interpretation +upon them to an extent that few other naturalists +have realized.</p> + +<p>When he writes he is simply living over again the experiences +which have delighted him, and the best explanation +of the rare pleasure that is imparted by his writings +to every reader is given in his own words: "I cannot +bring myself to think of my books as 'works,' because so +little 'work' has gone to the making of them. It has all +been play. I have gone a-fishing or camping or canoeing, +and new literary material has been the result.... The +writing of the book was only a second and finer enjoyment +of my holiday in the fields or woods; not till the +writing did it really seem to strike in and become part +of me"; and so the reader seems to participate in this +"finer enjoyment" of a holiday in the fields or woods, +walking arm-in-arm with the naturalist, feeling the influence +of his poetic temperament, learning something +new at every turn, and sharing the master's enthusiasm.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5" href="#Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h2>THE WIT OF A DUCK</h2> + + +<p>The homing instinct in birds and animals is one +of their most remarkable traits: their strong +local attachments and their skill in finding their way +back when removed to a distance. It seems at times +as if they possessed some extra sense—the home +sense—which operates unerringly. I saw this illustrated +one spring in the case of a mallard drake.</p> + +<p>My son had two ducks, and to mate with them +he procured a drake of a neighbor who lived two +miles south of us. He brought the drake home in a +bag. The bird had no opportunity to see the road +along which it was carried, or to get the general +direction, except at the time of starting, when the boy +carried him a few rods openly.</p> + +<p>He was placed with the ducks in a spring run, +under a tree in a secluded place on the river slope, +about a hundred yards from the highway. The two +ducks treated him very contemptuously. It was +easy to see that the drake was homesick from the +first hour, and he soon left the presence of the +scornful ducks.</p> + +<p>Then we shut the three in the barn together,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6" href="#Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +and kept them there a day and a night. Still the +friendship did not ripen; the ducks and the drake +separated the moment we let them out. Left to +himself, the drake at once turned his head homeward, +and started up the hill for the highway.</p> + +<p>Then we shut the trio up together again for a +couple of days, but with the same results as before. +There seemed to be but one thought in the mind of +the drake, and that was home.</p> + +<p>Several times we headed him off and brought +him back, till finally on the third or fourth day I +said to my son, "If that drake is really bound to go +home, he shall have an opportunity to make the +trial, and I will go with him to see that he has fair +play." We withdrew, and the homesick mallard +started up through the currant patch, then through +the vineyard toward the highway which he had +never seen.</p> + +<p>When he reached the fence, he followed it south +till he came to the open gate, where he took to the +road as confidently as if he knew for a certainty +that it would lead him straight to his mate. How +eagerly he paddled along, glancing right and left, +and increasing his speed at every step! I kept about +fifty yards behind him. Presently he met a dog; he +paused and eyed the animal for a moment, and then +turned to the right along a road which diverged +just at that point, and which led to the railroad +station. I followed, thinking the drake would soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7" href="#Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +lose his bearings, and get hopelessly confused in +the tangle of roads that converged at the station.</p> + +<p>But he seemed to have an exact map of the +country in his mind; he soon left the station road, +went around a house, through a vineyard, till he +struck a stone fence that crossed his course at right +angles; this he followed eastward till it was joined +by a barbed wire fence, under which he passed +and again entered the highway he had first taken. +Then down the road he paddled with renewed +confidence: under the trees, down a hill, through a +grove, over a bridge, up the hill again toward home.</p> + +<p>Presently he found his clue cut in two by the +railroad track; this was something he had never +before seen; he paused, glanced up it, then down +it, then at the highway across it, and quickly concluded +this last was his course. On he went again, +faster and faster.</p> + +<p>He had now gone half the distance, and was getting +tired. A little pool of water by the roadside +caught his eye. Into it he plunged, bathed, drank, +preened his plumage for a few moments, and then +started homeward again. He knew his home was +on the upper side of the road, for he kept his eye +bent in that direction, scanning the fields. Twice +he stopped, stretched himself up, and scanned the +landscape intently; then on again. It seemed as if +an invisible cord was attached to him, and he was +being pulled down the road.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8" href="#Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just opposite a farm lane which led up to a group +of farm buildings, and which did indeed look like +his home lane, he paused and seemed to be debating +with himself. Two women just then came along; +they lifted and flirted their skirts, for it was raining, +and this disturbed him again and decided him to +take to the farm lane. Up the lane he went, rather +doubtingly, I thought.</p> + +<p>In a few moments it brought him into a barnyard, +where a group of hens caught his eye. Evidently +he was on good terms with hens at home, for +he made up to these eagerly as if to tell them his +troubles; but the hens knew not ducks; they withdrew +suspiciously, then assumed a threatening attitude, +till one old "dominic" put up her feathers +and charged upon him viciously.</p> + +<p>Again he tried to make up to them, quacking +softly, and again he was repulsed. Then the cattle +in the yard spied this strange creature and came +sniffing toward it, full of curiosity.</p> + +<p>The drake quickly concluded he had got into the +wrong place, and turned his face southward again. +Through the fence he went into a plowed field. Presently +another stone fence crossed his path; along +this he again turned toward the highway. In a few +minutes he found himself in a corner formed by the +meeting of two stone fences. Then he turned appealingly +to me, uttering the soft note of the mallard. +To use his wings never seemed to cross his mind.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9" href="#Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, I am bound to confess that I helped the +drake over the wall, but I sat him down in the road +as impartially as I could. How well his pink feet +knew the course! How they flew up the road! His +green head and white throat fairly twinkled under +the long avenue of oaks and chestnuts.</p> + +<p>At last we came in sight of the home lane, which +led up to the farmhouse one hundred or more yards +from the road. I was curious to see if he would +recognize the place. At the gate leading into the lane +he paused. He had just gone up a lane that looked +like that and had been disappointed. What should he +do now? Truth compels me to say that he overshot +the mark: he kept on hesitatingly along the highway.</p> + +<p>It was now nearly night. I felt sure the duck +would soon discover his mistake, but I had not time +to watch the experiment further. I went around the +drake and turned him back. As he neared the lane +this time he seemed suddenly to see some familiar +landmark, and he rushed up it at the top of his speed. +His joy and eagerness were almost pathetic.</p> + +<p>I followed close. Into the house yard he rushed +with uplifted wings, and fell down almost exhausted +by the side of his mate. A half hour later the two +were nipping the grass together in the pasture, and +he, I have no doubt, was eagerly telling her the story +of his adventures.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10" href="#Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h2>AN ASTONISHED PORCUPINE</h2> + + +<p>One summer, while three young people and I +were spending an afternoon upon a mountaintop, +our dogs treed a porcupine. At my suggestion +the young man climbed the tree—not a large one—to +shake the animal down. I wished to see what +the dogs would do with him, and what the "quill-pig" +would do with the dogs. As the climber advanced +the rodent went higher, till the limb he clung +to was no larger than one's wrist. This the young +man seized and shook vigorously. I expected to see +the slow, stupid porcupine drop, but he did not. He +only tightened his hold. The climber tightened his +hold, too, and shook the harder. Still the bundle +of quills did not come down, and no amount of +shaking could bring it down. Then I handed a long +pole up to the climber, and he tried to punch the +animal down. This attack in the rear was evidently +a surprise; it produced an impression different from +that of the shaking. The porcupine struck the pole +with his tail, put up the shield of quills upon his +back, and assumed his best attitude of defense. +Still the pole persisted in its persecution, regardless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11" href="#Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +of the quills; evidently the animal was astonished: +he had never had an experience like this before; he +had now met a foe that despised his terrible quills. +Then he began to back rapidly down the tree in the +face of his enemy. The young man's sweetheart +stood below, a highly interested spectator. "Look +out, Sam, he's coming down!" "Be quick, he's +gaining on you!" "Hurry, Sam!" Sam came as +fast as he could, but he had to look out for his footing, +and his antagonist did not. Still, he reached the +ground first, and his sweetheart breathed more +easily. It looked as if the porcupine reasoned thus: +"My quills are useless against a foe so far away; +I must come to close quarters with him." But, of +course, the stupid creature had no such mental process, +and formed no such purpose. He had found the +tree unsafe, and his instinct now was to get to the +ground as quickly as possible and take refuge among +the rocks. As he came down I hit him a slight blow +over the nose with a rotten stick, hoping only to confuse +him a little, but much to my surprise and mortification +he dropped to the ground and rolled down +the hill dead, having succumbed to a blow that a +woodchuck or a coon would hardly have regarded +at all. Thus does the easy, passive mode of defense +of the porcupine not only dull his wits, but it makes +frail and brittle the thread of his life. He has had no +struggles or battles to harden and toughen him.</p> + +<p>That blunt nose of his is as tender as a baby's, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12" href="#Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +he is snuffed out by a blow that would hardly bewilder +for a moment any other forest animal, unless +it be the skunk, another sluggish non-combatant of +our woodlands. Immunity from foes, from effort, +from struggle is always purchased with a price.</p> + +<p>Certain of our natural history romancers have +taken liberties with the porcupine in one respect: +they have shown him made up into a ball and rolling +down a hill. One writer makes him do this in +a sportive mood; he rolls down a long hill in the +woods, and at the bottom he is a ragged mass of +leaves which his quills have impaled—an apparition +that nearly frightened a rabbit out of its wits. +Let any one who knows the porcupine try to fancy +it performing a feat like this!</p> + +<p>Another romancer makes his porcupine roll himself +into a ball when attacked by a panther, and +then on a nudge from his enemy roll down a snowy +incline into the water. I believe the little European +hedgehog can roll itself up into something like a ball, +but our porcupine does not. I have tried all sorts of +tricks with him, and made all sorts of assaults upon +him, at different times, and I have never yet seen +him assume the globular form. It would not be the +best form for him to assume, because it would partly +expose his vulnerable under side. The one thing the +porcupine seems bent upon doing at all times is to +keep right side up with care. His attitude of defense +is crouching close to the ground, head drawn in and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13" href="#Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +pressed down, the circular shield of large quills upon +his back opened and extended as far as possible, and +the tail stretched back rigid and held close upon the +ground. "Now come on," he says, "if you want to." +The tail is his weapon of active defense; with it he +strikes upward like lightning, and drives the quills +into whatever they touch. In his chapter called "In +Panoply of Spears," Mr. Roberts paints the porcupine +without taking any liberties with the creature's +known habits. He portrays one characteristic of +the porcupine very felicitously: "As the porcupine +made his resolute way through the woods, the manner +of his going differed from that of all the other +kindreds of the wild. He went not furtively. He had +no particular objection to making a noise. He did +not consider it necessary to stop every little while, +stiffen himself to a monument of immobility, cast +wary glances about the gloom, and sniff the air for +the taint of enemies. He did not care who knew of +his coming, and he did not greatly care who came. +Behind his panoply of biting spears he felt himself +secure, and in that security he moved as if he held +in fee the whole green, shadowy, perilous woodland +world."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14" href="#Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h2>HUMAN TRAITS IN THE ANIMALS</h2> + + +<p>That there is a deal of human nature in the +lower animals is a very obvious fact; or we +may turn the proposition around and say, with +equal truth, that there is a deal of animal nature in +us humans. If man is of animal origin, as we are +now all coming to believe, how could this be otherwise? +We are all made of one stuff, the functions +of our bodies are practically the same, and the +workings of our instincts and our emotional and +involuntary natures are in many ways identical. +I am not now thinking of any part or lot which the +lower orders may have in our intellectual or moral +life, a point upon which, as my reader may know, I +diverge from the popular conception of these matters, +but of the extent in which they share with us +the ground or basement story of the house of life—certain +fundamental traits, instincts, and blind +gropings.</p> + +<p>Man is a bundle of instincts, impulses, predilections, +race and family affinities, and antagonisms, +supplemented by the gift of reason—a gift +of which he sometimes makes use. The animal is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15" href="#Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +a bundle of instincts, impulses, affinities, appetites, +and race traits, without the extra gift of reason.</p> + +<p>The animal has sensation, perception, and power +of association, and these suffice it. Man has sensation, +perception, memory, comparison, ideality, +judgment, and the like, which suffice him.</p> + +<p>There can be no dispute, I suppose, as to certain +emotions and impulses being exclusively human, +such as awe, veneration, humility, reverence, self-sacrifice, +shame, modesty, and many others that are +characteristic of what we call our moral nature. +Then there are certain others that we share with our +dumb neighbors—curiosity, jealousy, joy, anger, +sex love, the maternal and paternal instinct, the instinct +of fear, of self-preservation, and so forth.</p> + +<p>There is at least one instinct or faculty that the +animals have far more fully developed than we +have—the homing instinct, which seems to imply +a sense of direction that we have not. We have lost +it because we have other faculties to take its place, +just as we have lost that acute sense of smell that +is so marvelously developed in many of the four-footed +creatures. It has long been a contention of +mine that the animals all possess the knowledge +and intelligence which is necessary to their self-preservation +and the perpetuity of the species, and +that is about all. This homing instinct seems to be +one of the special powers that the animals cannot +get along without. If the solitary wasp, for instance,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16" href="#Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +could not find her way back to that minute spot in +the field where her nest is made, a feat quite impossible +to you or me, so indistinguishable to our +eye is that square inch of ground in which her hole +is made; or if the fur seal could not in spring retrace +its course to the islands upon which it breeds, +through a thousand leagues of pathless sea water, +how soon the tribe of each would perish!</p> + +<p>The animal is, like the skater, a marvel of skill in +one field or element, or in certain fixed conditions, +while man's varied but less specialized powers +make him at home in many fields. Some of the animals +outsee man, outsmell him, outhear him, outrun +him, outswim him, because their lives depend +more upon these special powers than his does; but +he can outwit them all because he has the resourcefulness +of reason, and is at home in many different +fields. The condor "houses herself with the sky" +that she may have a high point of observation for +the exercise of that marvelous power of vision. An +object in the landscape beneath that would escape +the human eye is revealed to the soaring buzzard. +It stands these birds in hand to see thus sharply; +their dinner depends upon it. If mine depended +upon such powers of vision, in the course of time +I might come to possess it. I am not certain but +that we have lost another power that I suspect the +lower animals possess—something analogous to, or +identical with, what we call telepathy—power to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17" href="#Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +communicate without words, or signs, or signals. +There are many things in animal life, such as the +precise concert of action among flocks of birds and +fishes and insects, and, at times, the unity of impulse +among land animals, that give support to the +notion that the wild creatures in some way come to +share one another's mental or emotional states to a +degree and in a way that we know little or nothing of. +It seems important to their well-being that they +should have such a gift—something to make good +to them the want of language and mental concepts, +and insure unity of action in the tribe. Their seasonal +migrations from one part of the country to +another are no doubt the promptings of an inborn +instinct called into action in all by the recurrence of +the same outward conditions; but the movements +of the flock or the school seem to imply a common +impulse that is awakened on the instant in each +member of the flock. The animals have no systems +or methods in the sense that we have, but like conditions +with them always awaken like impulses, and +unity of action is reached without outward communication.</p> + +<p>The lower animals seem to have certain of our foibles, +and antagonisms, and unreasoning petulancies. +I was reminded of this in reading the story President +Roosevelt tells of a Colorado bear he once +watched at close quarters. The bear was fussing +around a carcass of a deer, preparatory to burying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18" href="#Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +it. "Once the bear lost his grip and rolled over during +the course of some movement, and this made +him angry and he struck the carcass a savage +whack, just as a pettish child will strike a table +against which it has knocked itself." Who does +not recognize that trait in himself: the disposition +to vent one's anger upon inanimate things—upon +his hat, for instance, when the wind snatches it off +his head and drops it in the mud or leads him a +chase for it across the street; or upon the stick that +tripped him up, or the beam against which he +bumped his head? We do not all carry our anger +so far as did a little three-year-old maiden I heard +of, who, on tripping over the rockers of her chair, +promptly picked herself up, and carrying the chair +to a closet, pushed it in and spitefully shut the +door on it, leaving it alone in the dark to repent its +wrong-doing.</p> + +<p>Our blind, unreasoning animal anger is excited +by whatever opposes or baffles us. Of course, when +we yield to the anger, we do not act as reasonable +beings, but as the unreasoning animals. It is hard +for one to control this feeling when the opposition +comes from some living creature, as a balky +horse or a kicking cow, or a pig that will not be +driven through the open gate. When I was a boy, I +once saw one of my uncles kick a hive of bees off +the stand and halfway across the yard, because the +bees stung him when he was about to "take them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19" href="#Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +up." I confess to a fair share of this petulant, unreasoning +animal or human trait, whichever it may +be, myself. It is difficult for me to refrain from jumping +upon my hat when, in my pursuit of it across +the street, it has escaped me two or three times just +as I was about to put my hand upon it, and as for +a balky horse or a kicking cow, I never could trust +myself to deal reasonably with them. Follow this +feeling back a few thousand years, and we reach the +time when our forbears looked upon all the forces +in nature as in league against them. The anger of +the gods as shown in storms and winds and pestilence +and defeat is a phase of the same feeling. A +wild animal caught in a steel trap vents its wrath +upon the bushes and sticks and trees and rocks +within its reach. Something is to blame, something +baffles it and gives it pain, and its teeth and claws +seek every near object. Of course it is a blind +manifestation of the instinct of self-defense, just +as was my uncle's act when he kicked over his beehive, +or as is the angler's impatience when his line +gets tangled and his hook gets fast. If the Colorado +bear caught his fish with a hook and line, how many +times would he lose his temper during the day!</p> + +<p>I do not think many animals show their kinship +to us by exhibiting the trait I am here discussing. +Probably birds do not show it at all. I have seen a +nest-building robin baffled and delayed, day after +day, by the wind that swept away the straws and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20" href="#Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +rubbish she carried to the top of a timber under my +porch. But she did not seem to lose her temper. +She did not spitefully reclaim the straws and strings +that would persist in falling to the porch floors, +but cheerfully went away in search of more. So I +have seen a wood thrush time after time carrying +the same piece of paper to a branch from which the +breeze dislodged it, without any evidence of impatience. +It is true that when a string or a horsehair +which a bird is carrying to its nest gets caught in +a branch, the bird tugs at it again and again to free +it from entanglement, but I have never seen any +evidence of impatience or spite against branch or +string, as would be pretty sure to be the case did +my string show such a spirit of perversity. Why +your dog bites the stone which you roll for him +when he has found it, or gnaws the stick you throw, +is not quite clear, unless it be from the instinct of +his primitive ancestors to bite and kill the game +run down in the chase. Or is the dog trying to punish +the stick or stone because it will not roll or fly +for him? The dog is often quick to resent a kick, +be it from man or beast, but I have never known +him to show anger at the door that slammed to +and hit him. Probably, if the door held him by his +tail or his limb, it would quickly receive the imprint +of his teeth.</p> + +<p>In reading Bostock on the "Training of Wild +Animals," my attention was arrested by the remark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21" href="#Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +that his performing lions and tigers are liable to +suffer from "stage fright," like ordinary mortals, but +that "once thoroughly accustomed to the stage, they +seem to find in it a sort of intoxication well known +to a species higher in the order of nature;" and +furthermore, that "nearly all trainers assert that +animals are affected by the attitude of an audience, +that they are stimulated by the applause of an enthusiastic +house, and perform indifferently before a +cold audience." If all this is not mere fancy, but is +really a fact capable of verification, it shows another +human trait in animals that one would not expect +to find there. Bears seem to show more human +nature than most other animals. Bostock says that +they evidently love to show off before an audience: +"The conceit and good opinion of themselves, +which some performing bears have, is absolutely +ridiculous." A trainer once trained a young bear +to climb a ladder and set free the American flag, +and so proud did the bear become of his accomplishment, +that whenever any one was looking on he +would go through the whole performance by himself, +"evidently simply for the pleasure of doing it." +Of course there is room for much fancy here on the +part of the spectator, but bears are in so many ways—in +their play, in their boxing, in their walking—such +grotesque parodies of man, that one is induced +to accept the trainer's statements as containing a +measure of truth.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22" href="#Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h2>THE DOWNY WOODPECKER</h2> + + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>It always gives me a little pleasurable emotion +when I see in the autumn woods where the +downy woodpecker has just been excavating his +winter quarters in a dead limb or tree-trunk. I am +walking along a trail or wood-road when I see something +like coarse new sawdust scattered on the +ground. I know at once what carpenter has been at +work in the trees overhead, and I proceed to scrutinize +the trunks and branches. Presently I am sure +to detect a new round hole about an inch and a half +in diameter on the under side of a dead limb, or in a +small tree-trunk. This is Downy's cabin, where he +expects to spend the winter nights, and a part of +the stormy days, too.</p> + +<p>When he excavates it in an upright tree-trunk, he +usually chooses a spot beneath a limb; the limb +forms a sort of rude hood, and prevents the rainwater +from running down into it. It is a snug and +pretty retreat, and a very safe one, I think. I doubt +whether the driving snow ever reaches him, and no +predatory owl could hook him out with its claw. +Near town or in town the English sparrow would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23" href="#Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +probably drive him out; but in the woods, I think, +he is rarely molested, though in one instance I knew +him to be dispossessed by a flying squirrel.</p> + +<p>On stormy days I have known Downy to return +to his chamber in mid-afternoon, and to lie abed +there till ten in the morning.</p> + +<p>I have no knowledge that any other species of our +woodpeckers excavate these winter quarters, but +they probably do. The chickadee has too slender a +beak for such work, and usually spends the winter +nights in natural cavities or in the abandoned holes +of Downy.</p> + + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>As I am writing here in my study these November +days, a downy woodpecker is excavating a chamber +in the top of a chestnut post in the vineyard a few +yards below me, or rather, he is enlarging a chamber +which he or one of his fellows excavated last +fall; he is making it ready for his winter quarters. A +few days ago I saw him enlarging the entrance and +making it a more complete circle. Now he is in the +chamber itself working away like a carpenter. I hear +his muffled hammering as I approach cautiously +on the grass. I make no sound and the hammering +continues till I have stood for a moment beside the +post, then it suddenly stops and Downy's head appears +at the door. He glances at me suspiciously +and then hurries away in much excitement.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24" href="#Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>How did he know there was some one so near? As +birds have no sense of smell it must have been by +some other means. I return to my study and in +about fifteen minutes Downy is back at work. +Again I cautiously and silently approach, but he is +now more alert, and when I am the width of three +grape rows from him he rushes out of his den and +lets off his sharp, metallic cry as he hurries away to +some trees below the hill.</p> + +<p>He does not return to his work again that afternoon. +But I feel certain that he will pass the night +there and every night all winter unless he is disturbed. +So when my son and I are passing along the +path by his post with a lantern about eight o'clock +in the evening, I pause and say, "Let's see if Downy +is at home." A slight tap on the post and we hear +Downy jump out of bed, as it were, and his head +quickly fills the doorway. We pass hurriedly on and +he does not take flight.</p> + +<p>A few days later, just at sundown, as I am walking +on the terrace above, I see Downy come sweeping +swiftly down through the air on that long galloping +flight of his, and alight on the big maple on the +brink of the hill above his retreat. He sits perfectly +still for a few moments, surveying the surroundings, +and, seeing that the coast is clear, drops quickly and +silently down and disappears in the interior of his +chestnut lodge. He will do this all winter long, coming +home, when the days are stormy, by four o'clock,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25" href="#Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +and not stirring out in the morning till nine or ten +o'clock. Some very cold, blustering days he will +probably not leave his retreat at all.</p> + +<p>He has no mate or fellow lodger, though there is +room in his cabin for three birds at least. Where the +female is I can only conjecture; maybe she is occupying +a discarded last year's lodge, as I notice there +are a good many new holes drilled in the trees every +fall, though many of the old ones still seem intact.</p> + +<p>During the inclement season Downy is anything +but chivalrous or even generous. He will not even +share with the female the marrow bone or bit of +suet that I fasten on the maple in front of my window, +but drives her away rudely. Sometimes the +hairy woodpecker, a much larger bird, routs Downy +out and wrecks his house. Sometimes the English +sparrows mob him and dispossess him. In the +woods the flying squirrels often turn him out of +doors and furnish his chamber cavity to suit themselves.</p> + + +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>I am always content if I can bring home from my +walks the least bit of live natural history, as when, +the other day, I saw a red-headed woodpecker having +a tilt with a red squirrel on the trunk of a tree.</p> + +<p>Doubtless the woodpecker had a nest near by, and +had had some experience with this squirrel as a nest-robber. +When I first saw them, the bird was chasing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26" href="#Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +the squirrel around the trunk of an oak-tree, his +bright colors of black and white and red making his +every movement conspicuous. The squirrel avoided +him by darting quickly to the other side of the tree.</p> + +<p>Then the woodpecker took up his stand on the +trunk of a tree a few yards distant, and every time +the squirrel ventured timidly around where he could +be seen the woodpecker would swoop down at him, +making another loop of bright color. The squirrel +seemed to enjoy the fun and to tempt the bird to +make this ineffectual swoop. Time and again he +would poke his head round the tree and draw the +fire of his red-headed enemy. Occasionally the bird +made it pretty hot for him, and pressed him closely, +but he could escape because he had the inside ring, +and was so artful a dodger. As often as he showed +himself on the woodpecker's side, the bird would +make a vicious pass at him; and there would follow +a moment of lively skurrying around the trunk +of the old oak; then all would be quiet again.</p> + +<p>Finally the squirrel seemed to get tired of the +sport, and ran swiftly to the top and off through the +branches into the neighboring trees. As this was +probably all the woodpecker was fighting for, he +did not give chase.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27" href="#Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<h2>V</h2> + +<h2>A BARN-DOOR OUTLOOK</h2> + + +<p>I have a barn-door outlook because I have a +hay-barn study, and I chose a hay-barn study +because I wanted a barn-door outlook—a wide, +near view into fields and woods and orchards where +I could be on intimate terms with the wild life +about me, and with free, open-air nature.</p> + +<p>Usually there is nothing small or stingy about a +barn door, and a farmer's hay-barn puts only a very +thin partition between you and the outside world. +Therefore, what could be a more fit place to thresh +out dry philosophical subjects than a barn floor? I +have a few such subjects to thresh out, and I thresh +them here, turning them over as many times as we +used to turn over the oat and rye sheaves in the old +days when I wielded the hickory flail with my +brothers on this same barn floor.</p> + +<p>What a pleasure it is to look back to those +autumn days, generally in September or early October, +when we used to thresh out a few bushels of the +new crop of rye to be taken to the grist-mill for a +fresh supply of flour! How often we paused in our +work to munch apples that had been mellowing in +the haymow by our side, and look out through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28" href="#Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +big doorway upon the sunlit meadows and hill-slopes! +The sound of the flail is heard in the old +barn no more, but in its stead the scratching of a +pen and the uneasy stirring of a man seated there +behind a big box, threshing out a harvest for a loaf +of much less general value.</p> + +<p>As I sit here day after day, bending over my +work, I get many glimpses of the little rills of wild +life that circulate about me. The feature of it that +impresses me most is the life of fear that most of the +wild creatures lead. They are as alert and cautious +as are the picket-lines of opposing armies. Just +over the line of stone wall in the orchard a woodchuck +comes hesitatingly out of his hole and goes +nibbling in the grass not fifty feet away. How alert +and watchful he is! Every few moments he sits +upright and takes an observation, then resumes his +feeding. When I make a slight noise he rushes to the +cover of the stone wall. Then, as no danger appears, +he climbs to the top of it and looks in my direction. +As I move as if to get up, he drops back quietly to +his hole.</p> + +<p>A chipmunk comes along on the stone wall, hurrying +somewhere on an important errand, but +changing his course every moment. He runs on the +top of the wall, then along its side, then into it and +through it and out on the other side, pausing every +few seconds and looking and listening, careful not +to expose himself long in any one position, really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29" href="#Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +skulking and hiding all along his journey. His enemies +are keen and watchful and likely to appear at +any moment, and he knows it, not so much by +experience as by instinct. His young are timid and +watchful the first time they emerge from the den +into the light of day.</p> + +<p>Then a red squirrel comes spinning along. By +jerks and nervous, spasmodic spurts he rushes +along from cover to cover like a soldier dodging the +enemy's bullets. When he discovers me, he pauses, +and with one paw on his heart appears to press a +button, that lets off a flood of snickering, explosive +sounds that seem like ridicule of me and my work. +Failing to get any response from me, he presently +turns, and, springing from the wall to the bending +branch of a near apple-tree, he rushes up and disappears +amid the foliage. Presently I see him on the +end of a branch, where he seizes a green apple not +yet a third grown, and, darting down to a large +horizontal branch, sits up with the apple in his +paws and proceeds to chip it up for the pale, unripe +seeds at its core, all the time keenly alive to possible +dangers that may surround him. What a nervous, +hustling, highstrung creature he is—a live wire at +all times and places! That pert curl of the end of his +tail, as he sits chipping the apple or cutting through +the shell of a nut, is expressive of his character. +What a contrast his nervous and explosive activity +presents to the more sedate and dignified life of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30" href="#Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +gray squirrel! One of these passed us only a few +yards away on our walk in the woods the other day—a +long, undulating line of soft gray, silent as a +spirit and graceful as a wave on the beach.</p> + +<p>A little later, in the fine, slow-falling rain, a +rabbit suddenly emerges into my field of vision +fifty feet away. How timid and scared she looks! +She pauses a moment amid the weeds, then hops a +yard or two and pauses again, then passes under +the bars and hesitates on the edge of a more open +and exposed place immediately in front of me. Here +she works her nose, feeling of every current of air, +analyzing every scent to see if danger is near. Apparently +detecting something suspicious in the currents +that drift from my direction, she turns back, +pauses again, works her nose as before, then hurries +out of my sight.</p> + +<p>Yesterday I saw a rat stealing green peas from +my garden in the open day. He darted out of the +stone wall six or eight feet away to the row of peas, +rushed about nervously among the vines; then, +before I could seize my rifle, darted back to the +cover of the wall. Once I cautiously approached his +hiding-place in the wall and waited. Presently his +head emerged from the line of weeds by the fence, +his nose began working anxiously, he sifted and +resifted the air with it, and then quickly withdrew; +his nose had detected me, but his eye had not. The +touchstone of most animals is the nose, and not the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31" href="#Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +eye. The eye quickly detects objects in motion, but +not those at rest; this is the function of the nose.</p> + +<p>A highhole alights on the ground in full view in +the orchard twenty yards away, and, spying my +motionless figure, pauses and regards me long and +intently. His eye serves him, and not his nose. +Finally concluding that I am not dangerous, he +stoops to the turf for his beloved ants and other +insects, but lifts his head every few seconds to see +that no danger is imminent. Not one moment is he +off his guard. A hawk may suddenly swoop from +the air above, or a four-footed foe approach from +any side. I have seen a sharp-shinned hawk pick up +a highhole from the turf in a twinkling under just +such conditions. What a contrast between the +anxious behavior of these wild creatures and the +ease and indifference of the grazing cattle!</p> + +<p>All the wild creatures evidently regard me with +mingled feelings of curiosity and distrust. A song +sparrow hops and flirts and attitudinizes and peers +at me from the door-sill, wondering if there is any +harm in me. A phœbe-bird comes in and flits about, +disturbed by my presence. For the third or fourth +time this season, I think, she is planning a nest. In +June she began one over a window on the porch +where I sleep in the open air. She had the foundation +laid when I appeared, and was not a little disturbed +by my presence, especially in the early +morning, when I wanted to sleep and she wanted to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32" href="#Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +work. She let fall some of her mortar upon me, but +at least I had no fear of a falling brick. She gradually +got used to me, and her work was progressing +into the moss stage when two women appeared and +made their beds upon the porch, and in the morning +went to and fro with brooms, of course. Then +Phœbe seemed to say to herself, "This is too much," +and she left her unfinished nest and resorted to the +empty hay-barn. Here she built a nest on one of the +bark-covered end timbers halfway up the big mow, +not being quite as used to barns and the exigencies +of haying-times as swallows are, who build their +mud nests against the rafters in the peak. She had +deposited her eggs, when the haymakers began +pitching hay into the space beneath her; sweating, +hurrying haymakers do not see or regard the rights +or wants of little birds. Like a rising tide the fragrant +hay rose and covered the timber and the nest, +and crept on up toward the swallow's unfledged +family in the peak, but did not quite reach it.</p> + +<p>Phœbe and her mate hung about the barn disconsolate +for days, and now, ten days later, she is hovering +about my open door on the floor below, evidently +prospecting for another building-site. I hope +she will find me so quiet and my air so friendly that +she will choose a niche on the hewn timber over my +head. Just this moment I saw her snap up a flying +"miller" in the orchard a few rods away. She was +compelled to swoop four times before she inter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33" href="#Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>cepted +that little moth in its unsteady, zigzagging +flight. She is an expert at this sort of thing; it is her +business to take her game on the wing; but the +moths are experts in zigzag flying, and Phœbe +missed her mark three times. I heard the snap of +her beak at each swoop. It is almost impossible for +any insectivorous bird except a flycatcher to take a +moth or a butterfly on the wing.</p> + +<p>Last year in August the junco, or common snowbird, +came into the big barn and built her nest in the +side of the haymow, only a few feet from me. The +clean, fragrant hay attracted her as it had attracted +me. One would have thought that in a haymow she +had nesting material near at hand. But no; her +nest-building instincts had to take the old rut; she +must bring her own material from without; the +haymow was only the mossy bank or the wood-side +turf where her species had hidden their nests for +untold generations. She did not weave one spear of +the farmer's hay into her nest, but brought in the +usual bits of dry grass and weeds and horsehair and +shaped the fabric after the old pattern, tucking it +well in under the drooping locks of hay. As I sat +morning after morning weaving my thoughts together +and looking out of the great barn doorway +into sunlit fields, the junco wove her straws and +horsehairs, and deposited there on three successive +days her three exquisite eggs.</p> + +<p>Why the bird departed so widely from the usual<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34" href="#Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +habits of nest-building of her species, who can tell? +I had never before seen a junco's nest except on the +ground in remote fields, or in mossy banks by the +side of mountain roads. This nest is the finest to +be found upon the ground, its usual lining of +horsehair makes its interior especially smooth and +shapely, and the nest in the haymow showed only a +little falling-off, as is usually the case in the second +nest of the season. The songs of the birds, the construction +of their nests, and the number of their eggs +taper off as the season wanes.</p> + +<p>The junco impresses me as a fidgety, emphatic, +feather-edged sort of bird; the two white quills in +its tail which flash out so suddenly on every movement +seem to stamp in this impression. My junco +was a little nervous at first and showed her white +quills, but she soon grew used to my presence, and +would alight upon the chair which I kept for callers, +and upon my hammock-ropes.</p> + +<p>When an artist came to paint my portrait amid +such rustic surroundings, the bird only eyed her a +little suspiciously at first, and then went forward +with her own affairs. One night the wind blew the +easel with its canvas over against the haymow where +the nest was placed, but the bird was there on her +eggs in the morning. Her wild instincts did not +desert her in one respect, at least: when I would +flush her from the nest she would drop down to the +floor and with spread plumage and fluttering move<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35" href="#Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>ments +seek for a moment to decoy me away from +the nest, after the habit of most ground-builders. +The male came about the barn frequently with +three or four other juncos, which I suspect were the +first or June brood of the pair, now able to take care +of themselves, but still held together by the family +instinct, as often happens in the case of some other +birds, such as bluebirds and chickadees.</p> + +<p>My little mascot hatched all her eggs, and all +went well with mother and young until, during my +absence of three or four days, some night-prowler, +probably a rat, plundered the nest, and the little +summer idyl in the heart of the old barn abruptly +ended. I saw the juncos no more.</p> + +<p>While I was so closely associated with the junco +in the old barn I had a good chance to observe her +incubating habits. I was surprised at the frequent +and long recesses that she took during school-hours. +Every hour during the warmest days she was off +from ten to twelve minutes, either to take the air or +to take a bite, or to let up on the temperature of her +eggs, or to have a word with her other family; I am +at a loss to know which. Toward the end of her +term, which was twelve days, and as the days grew +cooler, she was not gadding out and in so often, but +kept her place three or four hours at a time.</p> + +<p>When the young were hatched they seemed +mainly fed with insects—spiders or flies gathered +off the timbers and clapboards of the inside of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36" href="#Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +barn. It was a pretty sight to see the mother-bird +making the rounds of the barn, running along the +timbers, jumping up here and there, and seizing +some invisible object, showing the while her white +petticoats—as a French girl called that display of +white tail-feathers.</p> + +<p>Day after day and week after week as I look +through the big, open barn door I see a marsh +hawk beating about low over the fields. He, or +rather she (for I see by the greater size and browner +color that it is the female), moves very slowly and +deliberately on level, flexible wing, now over the +meadow, now over the oat or millet field, then +above the pasture and the swamp, tacking and turning, +her eye bent upon the ground, and no doubt +sending fear or panic through the heart of many a +nibbling mouse or sitting bird. She occasionally +hesitates or stops in her flight and drops upon the +ground, as if seeking insects or frogs or snakes. I +have never yet seen her swoop or strike after the +manner of other hawks. It is a pleasure to watch her +through the glass and see her make these circuits of +the fields on effortless wing, day after day, and +strike no bird or other living thing, as if in quest of +something she never finds. I never see the male. +She has perhaps assigned him other territory to hunt +over. He is smaller, with more blue in his plumage. +One day she had a scrap or a game of some kind +with three or four crows on the side of a rocky hill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37" href="#Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +I think the crows teased and annoyed her. I heard +their cawing and saw them pursuing the hawk, and +then saw her swoop upon them or turn over in the +air beneath them, as if to show them what feats she +could do on the wing that were beyond their powers. +The crows often made a peculiar guttural cawing +and cackling as if they enjoyed the sport, but they +were clumsy and awkward enough on the wing +compared to the hawk. Time after time she came +down upon them from a point high in the air, like a +thunderbolt, but never seemed to touch them. +Twice I saw her swoop upon them as they sat upon +the ground, and the crows called out in half +sportive, half protesting tones, as if saying, "That +was a little too close; beware, beware!" It was like a +skillful swordsman flourishing his weapon about the +head of a peasant; but not a feather was touched so +far as I could see. It is the only time I ever saw this +hawk in a sportive or aggressive mood. I have seen +jays tease the sharp-shinned hawk in this way, and +escape his retaliating blows by darting into a cedar-tree. +All the crow tribe, I think, love to badger and +mock some of their neighbors.</p> + +<p>How much business the crows seem to have apart +from hunting their living! I hear their voices in the +morning before sun-up, sounding out from different +points of the fields and woods, as if every one of +them were giving or receiving orders for the day: +"Here, Jim, you do this; here, Corvus, you go there,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38" href="#Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +and put that thing through"; and Jim caws back a +response, and Corvus says, "I'm off this minute." +I get the impression that it is convention day or general +training day with them. There are voices in all +keys of masculinity and femininity. Here and there +seems to be one in authority who calls at intervals, +"Haw-ah, haw, haw-ah!" Others utter a strident +"Haw!" still others a rapid, feminine call. Some +seem hurrying, others seem at rest, but the landscape +is apparently alive with crows carrying out some +plan of concerted action. How fond they must be of +one another! What boon companions they are! In +constant communication, saluting one another +from the trees, the ground, the air, watchful of one +another's safety, sharing their plunder, uniting +against a common enemy, noisy, sportive, predacious, +and open and aboveboard in all their ways +and doings—how much character our ebony friend +possesses, in how many ways he challenges our admiration!</p> + +<p>What a contrast the crow presents to the silent, +solitary hawk! The hawks have but two occupations—hunting +and soaring; they have no social or +tribal relations, and make no show of business as +does the crow. The crow does not hide; he seems to +crave the utmost publicity; his goings and comings +are advertised with all the effectiveness of his +strident voice; but all our hawks are silent and +stealthy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39" href="#Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>Let me return to the red squirrel, because he returns +to me hourly. He is the most frisky, diverting, +and altogether impish of all our wild creatures. He +is a veritable Puck. All the other wild folk that cross +my field of vision, or look in upon me here in my +fragrant hay-barn study, seem to have but one feeling +about me: "What is it? Is it dangerous? Has it +any designs upon me?" But my appearance seems +to awaken other feelings in the red squirrel. He +pauses on the fence or on the rail before me, and goes +through a series of antics and poses and hilarious +gestures, giving out the while a stream of snickering, +staccato sounds that suggest unmistakably that I +am a source of mirth and ridicule to him. His gestures +and attitudes are all those of mingled mirth, +curiosity, defiance, and contempt—seldom those of +fear. He comes spinning along on the stone wall in +front of me, with those abrupt, nervous pauses every +few yards that characterize all his movements. On +seeing me he checks his speed, and with depressed +tail impels himself along, a few inches at a time, in a +series of spasmodic starts and sallies; the hind part of +his body flattened, and his legs spread, his head erect +and alert, his tail full of kinks and quirks. How +that tail undulates! Now its end curls, now it is +flattened to the stone, now it springs straight up as +if part of a trap, hind feet the while keeping time +in a sort of nervous dance with the shrill, strident +cackling and snickering. The next moment he is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40" href="#Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +sitting erect with fore paws pressed against his +white chest, his tail rippling out behind him or up +his back, and his shrill, nasal tones still pouring out. +He hops to the next stone, he assumes a new position, +his tail palpitates and jerks more lively than +ever; now he is on all fours, with curved back; now +he sits up at an angle, his tail all the time charged +with mingled suspicion and mirth. Then he springs +to a rail that runs out at right angles from the wall +toward me, and with hectoring snickers and shrill +trebles, pointed straight at me, keeps up his performance. +What an actor he is! What a furry embodiment +of quick, nervous energy and impertinence! +Surely he has a sense of something like +humor; surely he is teasing and mocking me and +telling me, both by gesture and by word of mouth, +that I present a very ridiculous appearance.</p> + +<p>A chipmunk comes hurrying along with stuffed +cheek-pouches, traveling more on the side of the wall +than on the top, stopping every few yards to see that +the way is clear, but giving little heed to me or to the +performing squirrel. In comparison the chipmunk +is a demure, preoccupied, pretty little busybody who +often watches you curiously, but never mocks you +or pokes fun at you; while the gray squirrel has the +manners of the best-bred wood-folk, and he goes +his way without fuss or bluster, a picture of sylvan +grace and buoyancy.</p> + +<p>All the movements of the red squirrel are quick,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41" href="#Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +sharp, jerky, machine-like. He does nothing slowly +or gently; everything with a snap and a jerk. His +progression is a series of interrupted sallies. When +he pauses on the stone wall he faces this way and +that with a sudden jerk; he turns round in two or +three quick leaps. So abrupt and automatic in his +movements, so stiff and angular in behavior, yet he +is charged and overflowing with life and energy. One +thinks of him as a bundle of steel wires and needles +and coiled springs, all electrically charged. One of +his sounds or calls is like the buzz of a reel or +the whirr of an alarm-clock. Something seems to +touch a spring there in the old apple-tree, and +out leaps this strident sound as of spinning brass +wheels.</p> + +<p>When I speak sharply to him, in the midst of his +antics, he pauses a moment with uplifted paw, +watching me intently, and then with a snicker +springs upon a branch of an apple-tree that hangs +down near the wall, and disappears amid the foliage. +The red squirrel is always actively saucy, aggressively +impudent. He peeps in at me through a +broken pane in the window and snickers; he strikes +up a jig on the stone underpinning twenty feet away +and mocks; he darts in and out among the timbers +and chatters and giggles; he climbs up over the door, +pokes his head in, and lets off a volley; he moves by +jerks along the sill a few feet from my head and +chirps derisively; he eyes me from points on the wall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42" href="#Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +in front, or from some coign of vantage in the barn, +and flings his anger or his contempt upon me.</p> + +<p>No other of our wood-folk has such a facile, emotional +tail as the red squirrel. It seems as if an electric +current were running through it most of the +time; it vibrates, it ripples, it curls, it jerks, it arches, +it flattens; now it is like a plume in his cap; now it is +a cloak around his shoulders; then it is an instrument +to point and emphasize his states of emotional +excitement; every movement of his body is seconded +or reflected in his tail. There seems to be some automatic +adjustment between his tail and his vocal +machinery.</p> + +<p>The tail of the gray squirrel shows to best advantage +when he is running over the ground in the woods—and +a long, graceful, undulating line of soft silver +gray the creature makes! In my part of the country +the gray squirrel is more strictly a wood-dweller +than the red, and has the grace and elusiveness +that belong more especially to the sylvan creatures.</p> + +<p>The red squirrel can play a tune and accompany +himself. Underneath his strident, nasal snicker you +may hear a note in another key, much finer and +shriller. Or it is as if the volume of sound was split +up into two strains, one proceeding from his throat +and the other from his mouth.</p> + +<p>If the red squirrels do not have an actual game of +tag, they have something so near it that I cannot +tell the difference. Just now I see one in hot pursuit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43" href="#Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +of another on the stone wall; both are apparently +going at the top of their speed. They make a red +streak over the dark-gray stones. When the pursuer +seems to overtake the pursued and becomes "It," +the race is reversed, and away they go on the back +track with the same fleetness of the hunter and the +hunted, till things are reversed again. I have seen +them engaged in the same game in tree-tops, each +one having his innings by turn.</p> + +<p>The gray squirrel comes and goes, but the red +squirrel we have always with us. He will live where +the gray will starve. He is a true American; he has +nearly all the national traits—nervous energy, +quickness, resourcefulness, pertness, not to say impudence +and conceit. He is not altogether lovely or +blameless. He makes war on the chipmunk, he is a +robber of birds' nests, and is destructive of the orchard +fruits. Nearly every man's hand is against +him, yet he thrives, and long may he continue to +do so!</p> + +<p>One day I placed some over-ripe plums on the wall +in front of me to see what he would do with them. At +first he fell eagerly to releasing the pit, and then to +cutting his way to the kernel in the pit. After one of +them had been disposed of in this way, he proceeded +to carry off the others and place them here and there +amid the branches of a plum-tree from which he had +stolen every plum long before they were ripe. A day +or two later I noted that they had all been removed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44" href="#Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +from this tree, and I found some of them in the forks +of an apple-tree not far off.</p> + +<p>A small butternut-tree standing near the wall had +only a score or so of butternuts upon it this year; the +squirrels might be seen almost any hour in the day +darting about the branches of that tree, hunting the +green nuts, and in early September the last nut +was taken. They carried them away and placed +them, one here and one there, in the forks of the +apple-trees. I noticed that they did not depend upon +the eye to find the nuts; they did not look the +branches over from some lower branch as you and I +would have done; they explored the branches one by +one, running out to the end, and, if the nut was there, +seized it and came swiftly down. I think the red +squirrel rarely lays up any considerable store, but +hides his nuts here and there in the trees and upon +the ground. This habit makes him the planter of future +trees, of oaks, hickories, chestnuts, and butternuts. +These heavy nuts get widely scattered by this +agency.</p> + +<p>One morning I saw a chipmunk catch a flying +grasshopper on the wing. Little Striped-Back sat +on the wall with stuffed pockets, waiting for something, +when along came the big grasshopper in a +hesitating, uncertain manner of flight. As it hovered +above the chipmunk, the latter by a quick, dexterous +movement sprang or reached up and caught +it, and in less than one half-minute its fanlike wings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45" href="#Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +were opening out in front of the captor's mouth and +its body was being eagerly devoured. This same +chipmunk, I think it is, has his den under the barn +near me. Often he comes from the stone wall with +distended cheek-pouches, and pauses fifteen feet +away, close by cover, and looks to see if any danger +is impending. To reach his hole he has to cross an +open space a rod or more wide, and the thought of +it evidently agitates him a little. I am sitting there +looking over my desk upon him, and he is skeptical +about my being as harmless as I look. "Dare I cross +that ten feet of open there in front of him?" he seems +to say. He sits up with fore paws pressed so prettily +to his white breast. He is so near I can see the +rapid throbbing of his chest as he sniffs the air. A +moment he sits and looks and sniffs, then in hurried +movements crosses the open, his cheek-pockets showing +full as he darts by me. He is like a baseball runner +trying to steal a base: danger lurks on all sides; +he must not leave the cover of one base till he sees +the way is clear, and then—off with a rush! Pray +don't work yourself up to such a pitch, my little +neighbor; you shall make a home-run without the +slightest show of opposition from me.</p> + +<p>One day a gray squirrel came along on the stone +wall beside the road. In front of the house he +crossed an open barway, and then paused to observe +two men at work in full view near the house. +The men were a sculptor, pottering with clay, and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46" href="#Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +model. The squirrel sprang up a near-by butternut-tree, +sat down on a limb, and had a good, long look. +"Very suspicious," he seemed to think; "maybe +they are fixing a trap for me"; and he deliberately +came down the tree and returned the way he had +come, spinning along the top of the wall, his long, +fine tail outlined by a narrow band of silver as he +sped off toward the woods.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47" href="#Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<h2>VI</h2> + +<h2>WILD LIFE IN WINTER</h2> + + +<p>To many forms of life of our northern lands, +winter means a long sleep; to others it means +what it means to many fortunate human beings—travels +in warm climes; to still others, who again +have their human prototypes, it means a struggle, +more or less fierce, to keep soul and body together; +while to many insect forms it means death.</p> + +<p>Most of the flies and beetles, wasps and hornets, +moths, butterflies, and bumblebees die. The grasshoppers +all die, with eggs for next season's crop +deposited in the ground. Some of the butterflies +winter over. The mourning cloak, the first butterfly +to be seen in spring, has passed the winter in my +"Slabsides." The monarch migrates, probably the +only one of our butterflies that does. It is a great +flyer. I have seen it in the fall sailing serenely along +over the inferno of New York streets. It has crossed +the ocean and is spreading over the world. The +yellow and black hornets lose heart as autumn +comes on, desert their paper nests and die—all but +the queen or mother hornet; she hunts out a retreat +in the ground and passes the winter beyond the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48" href="#Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +reach of frost. In the spring she comes forth and +begins life anew, starting a little cone-shaped paper +nest, building a few paper cells, laying an egg in +each, and thus starting the new colony.</p> + +<p>The same is true of the bumblebees; they are the +creatures of a summer. In August, when the +flowers fail, the colony breaks up, they desert the +nest and pick up a precarious subsistence on asters +and thistles till the frosts of October cut them off. +You may often see, in late September or early October, +these tramp bees passing the night or a cold +rain-storm on the lee side of a thistle-head. The +queen bee alone survives. You never see her playing +the vagabond in the fall. At least I never have. She +hunts out a retreat in the ground and passes the +winter there, doubtless in a torpid state, as she +stores no food against the inclement season. Emerson +has put this fact into his poem on "The Humble-Bee":—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When the fierce northwestern blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cools sea and land so far and fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou already slumberest deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woe and want thou canst outsleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Want and woe, which torture us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy sleep makes ridiculous."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In early August of the past year I saw a queen bumblebee +quickly enter a small hole on the edge of the +road where there was no nest. It was probably her +winter quarters.</p> + +<p>If one could take the cover off the ground in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49" href="#Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +fields and woods in winter, or have some magic +ointment put upon his eyes that would enable him +to see through opaque substances, how many curious +and interesting forms of life he would behold in +the ground beneath his feet as he took his winter +walk—life with the fires banked, so to speak, and +just keeping till spring. He would see the field crickets +in their galleries in the ground in a dormant +state, all their machinery of life brought to a standstill +by the cold. He would see the ants in their hills +and in their tunnels in decaying trees and logs, as +inert as the soil or the wood they inhabit. I have +chopped many a handful of the big black ants out +of a log upon my woodpile in winter, stiff, but not +dead, with the frost, and brought them in by the +fire to see their vital forces set going again by the +heat. I have brought in the grubs of borers and the +big fat grubs of beetles, turned out of their winter +beds in old logs by my axe and frozen like ice-cream, +and have seen the spark of life rekindle in them on +the hearth.</p> + +<p>With this added visual power, one would see the +wood frogs and the hylas in their winter beds but a +few inches beneath the moss and leaf-mould, one +here and one there, cold, inert, biding their time. I +dug a wood frog out one December and found him +not frozen, though the soil around him was full of +frost; he was alive but not frisky. A friend of mine +once found one in the woods sitting upon the snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50" href="#Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +one day in early winter. She carried him home with +her, and he burrowed in the soil of her flower-pot +and came out all right in the spring. What brought +him out upon the snow in December one would like +to know.</p> + +<p>One would see the tree-frogs in the cavities of old +trees, wrapped in their winter sleep—which is yet +not a sleep, but suspended animation. When the +day is warm, or the January thaw comes, I fancy the +little frog feels it and stirs in his bed. One would +see the warty toads squatted in the soil two or three +feet below the surface, in the same way. Probably +not till April will the spell which the winter has put +upon them be broken. I have seen a toad go into +the ground in late fall. He literally elbows his way +into it, going down backwards.</p> + +<p>Beneath rocks or in cavities at the end of some +small hole in the ground, one would see a ball or +tangle of garter snakes, or black snakes, or copperheads—dozens +of individual snakes of that locality +entwined in one many-headed mass, conserving in +this united way their animal heat against the cold of +winter. One spring my neighbor in the woods discovered +such a winter retreat of the copperheads, +and, visiting the place many times during the warm +April days, he killed about forty snakes, and since +that slaughter, the copperheads have been at a premium +in our neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Here and there, near the fences and along the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51" href="#Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +borders of the wood, these X-ray eyes would see the +chipmunk at the end of his deep burrow with his +store of nuts or grains, sleeping fitfully but not dormant. +The frost does not reach him and his stores +are at hand. One which we dug out in late October +had nearly four quarts of weed-seeds and cherry-pits. +He will hardly be out before March, and then, +like his big brother rodent the woodchuck, and other +winter sleepers, his fancy will quickly "turn to +thoughts of love."</p> + +<p>One would see the woodchuck asleep in his burrow, +snugly rolled up and living on his own fat. All +the hibernating animals that keep up respiration, +must have sustenance of some sort—either a store +of food at hand or a store of fat in their own bodies. +The woodchuck, the bear, the coon, the skunk, the +'possum, lay up a store of fuel in their own bodies, +and they come out in the spring lean and hungry. +The squirrels are lean the year through, and hence +must have a store of food in their dens, as does the +chipmunk, or else be more or less active in their +search all winter, as is the case with the red and +gray squirrels. The fox puts on more or less fat +in the fall, because he will need it before spring. His +food-supply is very precarious; he may go many +days without a morsel. I have known him to be so +hungry that he would eat frozen apples and corn +which he could not digest. The hare and the rabbit, +on the other hand, do not store up fat against a time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52" href="#Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +of need; their food-supply of bark and twigs is constant, +no matter how deep the snows. The birds of +prey that pass the winter in the north take on a coat +of fat in the fall, because their food-supply is so uncertain; +the coat of fat is also a protection against +the cold.</p> + +<p>Of course, all the wild creatures are in better +condition in the fall than in the spring, but in many +cases the fat is distinctly a substitute for food.</p> + +<p>The skunk is in his den also from December till +February, living on his own fat. Several of them +often occupy the same den and conserve their animal +heat in that way. The coon, also, is in his den in +the rocks for a part of the winter, keeping warm on +home-made fuel. The same is true of the bear in +our climate. The bats are hibernating in the rocks +or about buildings. The muskrats are leading hidden +lives in the upper chambers of their snow-covered +houses in the marshes and ponds or in the +banks of streams, feeding on lily-roots and mussels +which they get under the ice.</p> + +<p>The lean, bloodthirsty minks and weasels are on +the hunt all winter. Our native mice are also active. +That pretty stitching upon the coverlet of the winter +snow in the woods is made by our white-footed +mouse and by the little shrew mouse. The former +often has large stores of nuts hidden in some cavity +in a tree; what supply of food the latter has, if +any, I do not know. In the winter the short-tailed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53" href="#Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +meadow or field mice come out of their retreat in the +ground and beneath stones and lead gay, fearless +lives beneath the snow-drifts. Their little villages, +with their runways and abandoned nests, may be +seen when the snow disappears in the spring. Their +winter life beneath the snow, where no wicked eye +or murderous claw can reach them, is in sharp contrast +to their life in summer, when cats and hawks, +owls and foxes, pounce upon them day and night. It +is only in times of deep snows that they bark our +fruit-trees.</p> + +<p>We have in this latitude but one species of hibernating +mouse—the long-tailed jumping mouse, or +kangaroo mouse, as it is sometimes called from its +mode of locomotion. Late one fall, while making a +road near "Slabsides," we dug one out from its +hibernation about two feet below the surface of the +ground. It was like a little ball of fur tied with a +string. In my hand it seemed as cold as if dead. +Close scrutiny showed that it breathed at intervals, +very slowly. The embers of life were there, but +slumbering beneath the ashes. I put it in my pocket +and went about my work. After a little time, remembering +my mouse, I put my hand into my +pocket and touched something very warm and +lively. The ember had been fanned into a flame, so +to speak. I kept my captive in a cage a day or two +and then returned it to the woods, where I trust it +found a safe retreat against the cold.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54" href="#Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<h2>VII</h2> + +<h2>BIRD LIFE IN WINTER</h2> + + +<p>The distribution of our birds over the country in +summer is like that of the people, quite uniform. +Every wood and field has its quota, and no +place so barren but it has some bird to visit it. One +knows where to look for sparrows and thrushes and +bobolinks and warblers and flycatchers. But the +occupation of the country by our winter residents +is like the Indian occupation of the land. They are +found in little bands, a few here and there, with +large tracts quite untenanted.</p> + +<p>One may walk for hours through the winter woods +and not see or hear a bird. Then he may come +upon a troop of chickadees, with a nuthatch or two +in their wake, and maybe a downy woodpecker. +Birds not of a feather flock together at this inclement +season. The question of food is always an urgent +one. Evidently the nuthatch thinks there must be +food where the chickadees flit and call so cheerily, +and the woodpecker is probably drawn to the nuthatch +for a similar reason.</p> + +<p>Together they make a pretty thorough search,—fine, +finer, finest. The chickadee explores the twigs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55" href="#Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +and smaller branches; what he gets is on the surface, +and so fine as to be almost microscopic. The nuthatch +explores the trunks and larger branches of the +trees; he goes a little deeper, into crevices of the bark +and under lichens. Then comes Downy, who goes +deeper still. He bores for larger game through the +bark, and into the trunks and branches themselves.</p> + +<p>In late fall this band is often joined by the golden-crowned +kinglet and the brown creeper. The kinglet +is finer-eyed and finer-billed than even the chickadee, +and no doubt gathers what the latter overlooks, +while the brown creeper, with his long, slender, +curved bill, takes what both the nuthatch and the +woodpecker miss. Working together, it seems as if +they must make a pretty clean sweep. But the trees +are numerous and large, and the birds are few. Only +a mere fraction of tree surface is searched over at +any one time. In large forests probably only a mere +fraction of the trees are visited at all.</p> + +<p>One cold day in midwinter, when I was walking +through the snowless woods, I saw chickadees, nuthatches, +and woodpeckers upon the ground, and +upon roots and fallen branches. They were looking +for the game that had fallen, as a boy looks for +apples under the tree.</p> + +<p>The winter wren is so called because he sometimes +braves our northern winters, but it is rarely that one +sees him at this season. I think I have seen him only +two or three times in winter in my life. The event<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56" href="#Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +of one long walk, recently, in February, was seeing +one of these birds. As I followed a byroad, beside +a little creek in the edge of a wood, my eye caught a +glimpse of a small brown bird darting under a stone +bridge. I thought to myself no bird but a wren +would take refuge under so small a bridge as that. +I stepped down upon it and expected to see the bird +dart out at the upper end. As it did not appear, I +scrutinized the bank of the little run, covered with +logs and brush, a few rods farther up.</p> + +<p>Presently I saw the wren curtsying and gesticulating +beneath an old log. As I approached he disappeared +beneath some loose stones in the bank, then +came out again and took another peep at me, then +fidgeted about for a moment and disappeared again, +running in and out of the holes and recesses and beneath +the rubbish like a mouse or a chipmunk. The +winter wren may always be known by these squatting, +bobbing-out-and-in habits.</p> + +<p>As I sought a still closer view of him, he flitted +stealthily a few yards up the run and disappeared +beneath a small plank bridge near a house.</p> + +<p>I wondered what he could feed upon at such a +time. There was a light skim of snow upon the +ground, and the weather was cold. The wren, so far +as I know, is entirely an insect-feeder, and where can +he find insects in midwinter in our climate? Probably +by searching under bridges, under brush heaps, in +holes and cavities in banks where the sun falls warm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57" href="#Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +In such places he may find dormant spiders and flies +and other hibernating insects or their larvæ. We +have a tiny, mosquito-like creature that comes forth +in March or in midwinter, as soon as the temperature +is a little above freezing. One may see them +performing their fantastic air-dances when the air +is so chilly that one buttons his overcoat about him +in his walk. They are darker than the mosquito,—a +sort of dark water-color,—and are very frail to +the touch. Maybe the wren knows the hiding-place +of these insects.</p> + +<p>With food in abundance, no doubt many more of +our birds would brave the rigors of our winters. I +have known a pair of bluebirds to brave them on +such poor rations as are afforded by the hardhack +or sugarberry,—a drupe the size of a small pea, with +a thin, sweet skin. Probably hardly one per cent. of +the drupe is digestible food. Bluebirds in December +will also eat the berries of the poison ivy, as will the +downy woodpecker.</p> + +<p>Robins will pass the winter with us when the cover +of a pine or hemlock forest can be had near a supply +of red cedar berries. The cedar-bird probably finds +little other food in the valley of the Hudson and in +New England, yet I see occasional flocks of them +every winter month.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the chickadees and nuthatches, hunting +through the winter woods, make a discovery that +brings every bird within hearing to the spot,—they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58" href="#Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +spy out the screech owl hiding in the thick of a hemlock-tree. +What an event it is in the day's experience! +It sets the whole clan agog.</p> + +<p>While I was walking in the December woods, one +day, my attention was attracted by a great hue and +cry among these birds. I found them in and about +a hemlock-tree,—eight or ten chickadees and four +or five red-bellied nuthatches. Such a chiding chorus +of tiny voices I had not heard for a long time. The +tone was not that of alarm so much as it was that +of trouble and displeasure.</p> + +<p>I gazed long and long up into the dark, dense +green mass of the tree to make out the cause of all +this excitement. The chickadees were clinging to the +ends of the sprays, as usual, apparently very busy +looking for food, and all the time uttering their shrill +plaint. The nuthatches perched about upon the +branches or ran up and down the tree trunks, incessantly +piping their displeasure. At last I made out +the cause of the disturbance,—a little owl on a limb, +looking down in wide-eyed intentness upon me. +How annoyed he must have felt at all this hullabaloo, +this lover of privacy and quiet, to have his name +cried from the treetops, and his retreat advertised +to every passer-by!</p> + +<p>I have never known woodpeckers to show any +excitement at the presence of hawk or owl, probably +because they are rarely preyed upon by these marauders. +In their nests and in their winter quarters,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59" href="#Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +deeply excavated in trunk or branch of tree, woodpeckers +are beyond the reach of both beak and claw.</p> + +<p>The day I saw the winter wren I saw two golden-crowned +kinglets fly from one sycamore to another +in an open field, uttering their fine call-notes. That +so small a body can brave the giant cold of our winters +seems remarkable enough. These are mainly +birds of the evergreens, although at times they frequent +the groves and the orchards.</p> + +<p>How does the ruby-crowned kinglet know he has +a brilliant bit of color on his crown which he can +uncover at will, and that this has great charms for +the female? During the rivalries of the males in +the mating season, and in the autumn also, they +flash this brilliant ruby at each other. I witnessed +what seemed to be a competitive display of this +kind one evening in November. I was walking along +the road, when my ear was attracted by the fine, +shrill lisping and piping of a small band of these +birds in an apple-tree. I paused to see what was the +occasion of so much noise and bluster among these +tiny bodies. There were four or five of them, all +more or less excited, and two of them especially so. +I think the excitement of the others was only a +reflection of that of these two. These were hopping +around each other, apparently peering down upon +something beneath them. I suspected a cat concealed +behind the wall, and so looked over, but +there was nothing there. Observing them more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60" href="#Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +closely, I saw that the two birds were entirely occupied +with each other.</p> + +<p>They behaved exactly as if they were comparing +crowns, and each extolling his own. Their heads +were bent forward, the red crown patch uncovered +and showing as a large, brilliant cap, their tails +were spread, and the side feathers below the wings +were fluffed out. They did not come to blows, but +followed each other about amid the branches, uttering +their thin, shrill notes and displaying their +ruby crowns to the utmost. Evidently it was some +sort of strife or dispute or rivalry that centred about +this brilliant patch.</p> + +<p>Few persons seem aware that the goldfinch is also +a winter bird,—it is so brilliant and familiar in summer +and so neutral and withdrawn in winter. The +call-note and manner of flight do not change, but the +color of the males and their habits are very different +from their color and habits in summer. In winter +they congregate in small, loose flocks, both sexes of +a dusky yellowish brown, and feed upon the seeds +of grasses and weeds that stand above the snow in +fields and along fences.</p> + +<p>Day after day I have observed a band of five +or six of them feeding amid the dry stalks of the +evening primrose by the roadside. They are adepts +in extracting the seed from the pods. How pretty +their call to each other at such times,—<i>paisley</i> or +<i>peasely</i>, with the rising inflection!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61" href="#Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>The only one of our winter birds that really seems +a part of the winter, that seems to be born of the +whirling snow, and to be happiest when storms drive +thickest and coldest, is the snow bunting, the real +snowbird, with plumage copied from the fields where +the drifts hide all but the tops of the tallest weeds,—large +spaces of pure white touched here and there +with black and gray and brown. Its twittering call +and chirrup coming out of the white obscurity is the +sweetest and happiest of all winter bird sounds. It +is like the laughter of children. The fox-hunter +hears it on the snowy hills, the farmer hears it when +he goes to fodder his cattle from the distant stack, +the country schoolboy hears it as he breaks his way +through the drifts toward the school. It is ever a +voice of good cheer and contentment.</p> + +<p>One March, during a deep snow, a large flock of +buntings stayed about my vineyards for several days, +feeding upon the seeds of redroot and other weeds +that stood above the snow. What boyhood associations +their soft and cheery calls brought up! How +plump and well-fed and hardy they looked, and how +alert and suspicious they were! They evidently had +had experiences with hawks and shrikes. Every +minute or two they would all spring into the air as +one bird, circle about for a moment, then alight upon +the snow again. Occasionally one would perch upon +a wire or grapevine, as if to keep watch and ward.</p> + +<p>Presently, while I stood in front of my study look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62" href="#Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>ing +at them, a larger and darker bird came swiftly +by me, flying low and straight toward the buntings. +He shot beneath the trellises, and evidently hoped +to surprise the birds. It was a shrike, thirsting for +blood or brains. But the buntings were on the alert, +and were up in the air before the feathered assassin +reached them. As the flock wheeled about, he joined +them and flew along with them for some distance, +but made no attempt to strike that I could see.</p> + +<p>Presently he left them and perched upon the top of +a near maple. The birds did not seem to fear him +now, but swept past the treetop where he sat as if +to challenge him to a race, and then went their way. +I have seen it stated that these birds, when suddenly +surprised by a hawk, will dive beneath the snow to +escape him. They doubtless roost upon the ground, +as do most ground-builders, and hence must often be +covered by the falling snow.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63" href="#Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<h2>VIII</h2> + +<h2>A BIRDS' FREE LUNCH</h2> + + +<p>One winter, during four or five weeks of severe +weather, several of our winter birds were +pensioners upon my bounty,—three blue jays, +two downy woodpeckers, three chickadees, and +one kinglet,—and later a snowbird—junco—appeared.</p> + +<p>I fastened pieces of suet and marrow-bones upon +the tree in front of my window, then, as I sat at my +desk, watched the birds at their free lunch. The jays +bossed the woodpeckers, the woodpeckers bossed the +chickadees, and the chickadees bossed the kinglet.</p> + +<p>Sometimes in my absence a crow would swoop +down and boss the whole crew and carry off the +meat. The kinglet was the least of all,—a sort of +"hop-o'-my-thumb" bird. He became quite tame, +and one day alighted upon my arm as I stood leaning +against the tree. I could have put my hand +upon him several times. I wonder where the midget +roosted. He was all alone. He liked the fare so well +that he seemed disposed to stop till spring. During +one terrible night of wind and snow and zero +temperature I feared he would be swept away. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64" href="#Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +thought of him in the middle of the night, when the +violence of the storm kept me from sleep. Imagine +this solitary atom in feathers drifting about in the +great arctic out-of-doors and managing to survive. +I fancied him in one of my thick spruces, his head +under his tiny wing, buffeted by wind and snow, his +little black feet clinging to the perch, and wishing +that morning would come.</p> + +<p>The fat meat is fuel for him; it keeps up the +supply of animal heat. None of the birds will eat +lean meat; they want the clear fat. The jays alight +upon it and peck away with great vigor, almost +standing on tiptoe to get the proper sweep. The +woodpecker uses his head alone in pecking, but +the jay's action involves the whole body. Yet his +blows are softer, not so sharp and abrupt as those +of the woodpecker. Pecking is not exactly his business.</p> + +<p>He swallows the morsel eagerly, watching all +the time lest some enemy surprise him in the act. +Indeed, one noticeable thing about all the birds +is their nervousness while eating. The chickadee +turns that bead-like eye of his in all directions incessantly, +lest something seize him while he is not looking. +He is not off his guard for a moment. It is +almost painful to observe the state of fear in which +he lives. He will not keep his place upon the bone +longer than a few seconds at a time lest he become +a mark for some enemy,—a hawk, a shrike, or a cat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65" href="#Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +One would not think the food would digest when +taken in such haste and trepidation.</p> + +<p>While the jays are feeding, swallowing morsel +after morsel very rapidly, the chickadees flit about in +an anxious, peevish manner, lest there be none left +for themselves.</p> + +<p>I suspect the jays carry the food off and hide it, +as they certainly do corn when I put it out for the +hens. The jay has a capacious throat; he will lodge +half a dozen or more kernels of corn in it, stretching +his neck up as he takes them, to give them room, and +then fly away to an old bird's-nest or a caterpillar's +nest and deposit them in it. But in this respect the +little kettle cannot call the big pot black. The chickadee +also will carry away what it cannot eat. One +day I dug a dozen or more white grubs—the larvæ +of some beetle—out of a decayed maple on my +woodpile and placed them upon my window-sill. +The chickadees soon discovered them, and fell to +carrying them off as fast as ever they could, distributing +them among the branches of the Norway +spruces. Among the grubs was one large white +one half the size of one's little finger. One of the +chickadees seized this; it was all he could carry, +but he made off with it. The mate to this grub +I found rolled up in a smooth cell in a mass of +decayed wood at the heart of the old maple referred +to; it was full of frost. I carried it in by the +fire, and the next day it was alive and apparently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66" href="#Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +wanted to know what had brought spring so suddenly.</p> + +<p>How rapidly birds live! Their demand for food is +almost incessant. This colony of mine appear to +feed every eight or ten minutes. Their little mills +grind their grist very rapidly. Once in my walk upon +the sea beach I encountered two small beach birds +running up and down in the edge of the surf, keeping +just in the thin, lace-like edging of the waves, +and feeding upon the white, cricket-like hoppers +that quickly buried themselves in the sand as the +waters retreated. I kept company with the birds +till they ceased to be afraid of me. They would feed +eagerly for a few minutes and then stop, stand on +one leg and put their heads under their wings for +two or three minutes, and then resume their feeding, +so rapidly did they digest their food. But all birds +digest very rapidly.</p> + +<p>My two woodpeckers seldom leave the tree upon +which the food is placed. One is a male, as is shown +by his red plume, and the other a female. There is +not a bit of kindness or amity between them. Indeed, +there is open hostility. The male will not allow the +female even to look at the meat while he is feeding. +She will sidle around toward it, edging nearer and +nearer, when he will suddenly dart at her, and +often pursue her till she leaves the tree. Every hour +in the day I see him trying to drive her from the +neighborhood. She stands in perpetual dread of him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67" href="#Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +and gives way the instant he approaches. He is +a tyrant and a bully. They both pass the night +in snug chambers which they have excavated in +the decayed branch of an old apple-tree, but not +together.</p> + +<p>But in the spring what a change will come over +the male. He will protest to the female that he was +only in fun, that she took him far too seriously, +that he had always cherished a liking for her. Last +April I saw a male trying his blandishments upon a +female in this way. It may have been the same pair +I am now observing. The female was extremely shy +and reluctant; evidently she was skeptical of the sincerity +of so sudden a change on the part of the male. +I saw him pursue her from tree to tree with the most +flattering attention. The flight of the woodpecker +is at all times undulating, but on such occasions +this feature is so enhanced and the whole action so +affected and studied on the part of the male that +the scene becomes highly amusing. The female flew +down upon a low stump in the currant-patch and was +very busy about her own affairs; the male followed, +alighted on something several rods distant, and appeared +to be equally busy about his affairs. Presently +the female made quite a long flight to a tree by the +roadside. I could not tell how the male knew she had +flown and what course she had taken, as he was hidden +from her amid the thick currant-bushes; but +he did know, and soon followed after in his curious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68" href="#Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +exaggerated undulatory manner of flight. I have +little doubt that his suit was finally successful.</p> + +<p>I watch these woodpeckers daily to see if I can +solve the mystery as to how they hop up and down +the trunks and branches without falling away from +them when they let go their hold. They come down +a limb or trunk backward by a series of little hops, +moving both feet together. If the limb is at an angle +to the tree and they are on the under side of it, they +do not fall away from it to get a new hold an inch or +half inch farther down. They are held to it as steel +to a magnet. Both tail and head are involved in +the feat. At the instant of making the hop the head +is thrown in and the tail thrown out, but the exact +mechanics of it I cannot penetrate. Philosophers +do not yet know how a backward-falling cat turns +in the air, but turn she does. It may be that the +woodpecker never quite relaxes his hold, though to +my eye he appears to do so.</p> + +<p>Birds nearly always pass the night in such places +as they select for their nests,—ground-builders upon +the ground, tree-builders upon trees. I have seen +an oriole ensconce himself for the night amid the +thick cluster of leaves on the end of a maple branch, +where soon after his mate built her nest.</p> + +<p>My chickadees, true to this rule, pass the arctic +winter nights in little cavities in the trunks of trees +like the woodpeckers. One cold day, about four +o'clock, while it was snowing and blowing, I heard,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69" href="#Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +as I was unharnessing my horse near the old apple-tree, +the sharp, chiding note of a chickadee. On looking +for the bird I failed to see him. Suspecting the +true cause of his sudden disappearance, I took a pole +and touched a limb that had an opening in its end +where the wrens had the past season had a nest. As +I did so, out came the chickadee and scolded sharply. +The storm and the cold had driven him early to his +chamber. The snow buntings are said to plunge +into the snow-banks and pass the night there. We +know the ruffed grouse does this.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70" href="#Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<h2>IX</h2> + +<h2>BIRD-NESTING TIME</h2> + + +<p>The other day I sat for an hour watching a pair +of wood thrushes engaged in building their nest +near "Slabsides." I say a pair, though the female +really did all the work. The male hung around and +was evidently an interested spectator of the proceeding. +The mother bird was very busy bringing and +placing the material, consisting mainly of dry maple +leaves which the winter had made thin and soft, and +which were strewn over the ground all about. How +pretty she looked, running over the ground, now in +shade, now in sunshine, searching for the leaves that +were just to her fancy! Sometimes she would seize +two or more and with a quick, soft flight bear them +to the fork of the little maple sapling. Every five or +six minutes during her absence, the male would +come and inspect her work. He would look it over, +arrange a leaf or two with his beak, and then go his +way. Twice he sat down in the nest and worked his +feet and pressed it with his breast, as if shaping it. +When the female found him there on her return, he +quickly got out of her way.</p> + +<p>But he brought no material, he did no needful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71" href="#Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +thing, he was a bird of leisure. The female did all +the drudgery, and with what an air of grace and ease +she did it! So soft of wing, so trim of form, so pretty +of pose, and so gentle in every movement! It was +evidently no drudgery to her; the material was +handy, and the task one of love. All the behavior of +the wood thrush affects one like music; it is melody +to the eye as the song is to the ear; it is visible harmony. +This bird cannot do an ungraceful thing. It +has the bearing of a bird of fine breeding. Its cousin +the robin is much more masculine and plebeian, +harsher in voice, and ruder in manners. The wood +thrush is urban and suggests sylvan halls and +courtly companions. Softness, gentleness, composure, +characterize every movement. In only a few +instances among our birds does the male assist in +nest-building. He is usually only a gratuitous superintendent +of the work. The male oriole visits +the half-finished structure of his mate, looks it over, +tugs at the strings now and then as if to try them, +and, I suppose, has his own opinion about the work, +but I have never seen him actually lend a hand and +bring a string or a hair. If I belonged to our sentimental +school of nature writers I might say that he +is too proud, that it is against the traditions of his +race and family; but probably the truth is that he +doesn't know how; that the nest-building instinct +is less active in him than in his mate; that he is not +impelled by the same necessity. It is easy to be seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72" href="#Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +how important it is that the nesting instinct should +be strong in the female, whether it is or not in the +male. The male may be cut off and yet the nest be +built and the family reared. Among the rodents I +fancy the nest is always built by the female.</p> + +<p>Whatever the explanation, the mother bird is +really the head of the family; she is the most active +in nest-building, and in most cases in the care of the +young; and among birds of prey, as among insects, +the female is the larger and the more powerful.</p> + +<p>The wood thrush whose nest-building I have just +described, laid only one egg, and an abnormal-looking +egg at that—very long and both ends of the +same size. But to my surprise out of the abnormal-looking +egg came in due time a normal-looking chick +which grew to birdhood without any mishaps. The +late, cold season and the consequent scarcity of food +was undoubtedly the cause of so small a family.</p> + +<p>Another pair of wood thrushes built a nest on the +low branch of a maple by the roadside, where I had +it under daily observation. This nest presently held +three eggs, two of which hatched in due time, and +for a few days the young seemed to prosper. Then +one morning, I noticed the mother bird sitting in a +silent, meditative way on the edge of the nest. As +she made no move during the minute or two while I +watched her, I drew near to see what was the matter. +I found one of the young birds in a state of utter +collapse; it was cold and all but lifeless. The next<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73" href="#Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +morning I found the bird again sitting motionless on +the rim of the nest and gazing into it. I found one +of the birds dead and the other nearly so. What had +brought about the disaster I could not tell; no cause +was apparent. I at first suspected vermin, but could +detect none. The silent, baffled look of the mother +bird I shall not soon forget. There was no demonstration +of grief or alarm; only a brooding, puzzled +look.</p> + +<p>I once witnessed similar behavior on the part of +a pair of bluebirds that were rearing a brood in a box +on a grape post near my study. One day I chanced +to observe one of the parent birds at the entrance of +the nest, gazing long and intently in. In the course +of the day I saw this act several times, and in no case +did the bird enter the box with food as it had been +doing. Then I investigated and found the nearly +fledged birds all dead. On removing them I found +the nest infested with many dark, tough-skinned, +very active worms or grubs nearly an inch long, that +had apparently sucked the blood out of the bodies +of the fledglings. They were probably the larvæ of +some species of beetle unknown to me. The parent +birds had looked on and seen their young destroyed, +and made no effort to free the nest of their enemy. +Or probably they had not suspected what was going +on, or did not understand it if they beheld it. Their +instincts were not on the alert for an enemy so +subtle, and one springing up in the nest itself. Any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74" href="#Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +visible danger from without alarmed them instantly, +but here was a new foe that doubtless they +had never before had to cope with.</p> + +<p>The oriole in her nest-building seems more fickle +than most other birds. I have known orioles several +times to begin a nest and then leave it and go elsewhere. +Last year one started a nest in an oak near +my study, then after a few days of hesitating labor +left it and selected the traditional site of her race, +the pendent branch of an elm by the roadside. +This time she behaved like a wise bird and came +back for some of the material of the abandoned +nest. She had attached a single piece of twine to +the oak branch, and this she could not leave behind; +twine was too useful and too hard to get. So I saw +her tugging at this string till she loosened it, then +flew toward the elm with it trailing in the air behind +her. I could but smile at her thrift. The second +nest she completed and occupied and doubtless +found her pendent-nest instinct fully satisfied by +the high swaying elm branch.</p> + +<p>One of our prettiest nest-builders is the junco or +snowbird; in fact, it builds the prettiest nest to be +found upon the ground, I think—more massive +and finely moulded and finished than that of the +song sparrow. I find it only in the Catskills, or +on their borders, often in a mossy bank by the roadside, +in the woods, or on their threshold. With what +delicate and consummate art it is insinuated into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75" href="#Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +the wild scene, like some shy thing that grew there, +visible, yet hidden by its perfect fitness and harmony +with its surroundings. The mother bird darts +out but a few yards from you as you drive or walk +along, but your eye is baffled for some moments +before you have her secret. Such a keen, feather-edged, +not to say spiteful little body, with the emphasis +of those two pairs of white quills in her tail +given to every movement, and yet, a less crabbed, +less hasty nest, softer and more suggestive of shy +sylvan ways, than is hers, would be hard to find.</p> + +<p>One day I was walking along the grassy borders +of a beech and maple wood with a friend when, as +we came to a little low mound of moss and grass, +scarcely a foot high, I said, "This is just the spot +for a junco's nest," and as I stooped down to examine +it, out flew the bird. I had divined better than I +knew. What a pretty secret that little footstool of +moss and grass-covered earth held! How exquisite +the nest, how exquisite the place, how choice and +harmonious the whole scene! How could these eggs +long escape the prowling foxes, skunks, coons, the +sharp-eyed crows, the searching mice and squirrels? +They did not escape; in a day or two they were +gone.</p> + +<p>Another junco's nest beside a Catskill trout +stream sticks in my memory. It was in an open +grassy place amid the trees and bushes near the +highway. There were ladies in our trouting party<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76" href="#Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +and I called them to come and see the treasure I had +found.</p> + +<p>"Where is it?" one of them said, as she stopped +and looked around a few paces from me.</p> + +<p>"It is within six feet of you," I replied. She +looked about, incredulous, as it seemed an unlikely +place for a nest of any sort, so open was it, and so +easily swept by the first glance.</p> + +<p>As she stepped along, perplexed, I said, "Now it +is within one yard of you." She thought I was joking; +but stooping down, determined not to be baffled, +she espied it sheltered by a thin, mossy stone that +stood up seven or eight inches above the turf, tilted +at an angle of about that of one side of a house-roof. +Under this the nest was tucked, sheltered from the +sun and rain, and hidden from all but the sharpest +eye.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77" href="#Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<h2>X</h2> + +<h2>A BREATH OF APRIL</h2> + + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>It would not be easy to say which is our finest +or most beautiful wild flower, but certainly the +most poetic and the best beloved is the arbutus. So +early, so lowly, so secretive there in the moss and +dry leaves, so fragrant, tinged with the hues of +youth and health, so hardy and homelike, it touches +the heart as no other does.</p> + +<p>April's flower offers the first honey to the bee +and the first fragrance to the breeze. Modest, +exquisite, loving the evergreens, loving the rocks, +untamable, it is the very spirit and breath of the +woods. Trailing, creeping over the ground, hiding +its beauty under withered leaves, stiff and hard in +foliage, but in flower like the cheek of a maiden.</p> + +<p>One may brush away the April snow and find +this finer snow beneath it. Oh, the arbutus days, +what memories and longings they awaken! In this +latitude they can hardly be looked for before April, +and some seasons not till the latter days of the +month. The first real warmth, the first tender +skies, the first fragrant showers—the woods are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78" href="#Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +flooded with sunlight, and the dry leaves and the leaf-mould +emit a pleasant odor. One kneels down or lies +down beside a patch of the trailing vine, he brushes +away the leaves, he lifts up the blossoming sprays +and examines and admires them at leisure; some +are white, some are white and pink, a few are deep +pink. It is enough to bask there in the sunlight +on the ground beside them, drinking in their odor, +feasting the eye on their tints and forms, hearing the +April breezes sigh and murmur in the pines or hemlocks +near you, living in a present fragrant with the +memory of other days. Lying there, half dreaming, +half observing, if you are not in communion with +the very soul of spring, then there is a want of soul +in you. You may hear the first swallow twittering +from the sky above you, or the first mellow drum of +the grouse come up from the woods below or from +the ridge opposite. The bee is abroad in the air, +finding her first honey in the flower by your side +and her first pollen in the pussy-willows by the +watercourses below you. The tender, plaintive +love-note of the chickadee is heard here and there +in the woods. He utters it while busy on the catkins +of the poplars, from which he seems to be extracting +some kind of food. Hawks are screaming high in +the air above the woods; the plow is just tasting +the first earth in the rye or corn stubble (and it +tastes good). The earth looks good, it smells good, +it is good. By the creek in the woods you hear the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79" href="#Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +first water-thrush—a short, bright, ringing, hurried +song. If you approach, the bird flies swiftly up or +down the creek, uttering an emphatic "chip, chip."</p> + +<p>In wild, delicate beauty we have flowers that far +surpass the arbutus: the columbine, for instance, +jetting out of a seam in a gray ledge of rock, its +many crimson and flame-colored flowers shaking in +the breeze; but it is mostly for the eye. The spring-beauty, +the painted trillium, the fringed polygala, +the showy lady's-slipper, are all more striking to +look upon, but they do not quite touch the heart; +they lack the soul that perfume suggests. Their +charms do not abide with you as do those of the +arbutus.</p> + + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>These still, hazy, brooding mid-April mornings, +when the farmer first starts afield with his plow, +when his boys gather the buckets in the sugar-bush, +when the high-hole calls long and loud through the +hazy distance, when the meadowlark sends up her +clear, silvery shaft of sound from the meadow, +when the bush sparrow trills in the orchard, when +the soft maples look red against the wood, or their +fallen bloom flecks the drying mud in the road,—such +mornings are about the most exciting and suggestive +of the whole year. How good the fields +look, how good the freshly turned earth looks!—one +could almost eat it as does the horse;—the +stable manure just being drawn out and scattered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80" href="#Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +looks good and smells good; every farmer's house +and barn looks inviting; the children on the way +to school with their dinner-pails in their hands—how +they open a door into the past for you! Sometimes +they have sprays of arbutus in their buttonholes, +or bunches of hepatica. The partridge is +drumming in the woods, and the woodpeckers are +drumming on dry limbs.</p> + +<p>The day is veiled, but we catch such glimpses +through the veil. The bees are getting pollen from +the pussy-willows and soft maples, and the first +honey from the arbutus.</p> + +<p>It is at this time that the fruit and seed catalogues +are interesting reading, and that the cuts of farm +implements have a new fascination. The soil calls +to one. All over the country, people are responding +to the call, and are buying farms and moving upon +them. My father and mother moved upon their +farm in the spring of 1828; I moved here upon +mine in March, 1874.</p> + +<p>I see the farmers, now going along their stone +fences and replacing the stones that the frost or the +sheep and cattle have thrown off, and here and +there laying up a bit of wall that has tumbled down.</p> + +<p>There is rare music now in the unmusical call of +the phœbe-bird—it is so suggestive.</p> + +<p>The drying road appeals to one as it never does +at any other season. When I was a farm-boy, it +was about this time that I used to get out of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81" href="#Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +boots for half an hour and let my bare feet feel the +ground beneath them once more. There was a +smooth, dry, level place in the road near home, +and along this I used to run, and exult in that sense +of lightfootedness which is so keen at such times. +What a feeling of freedom, of emancipation, and of +joy in the returning spring I used to experience in +those warm April twilights!</p> + +<p>I think every man whose youth was spent on the +farm, whatever his life since, must have moments +at this season when he longs to go back to the soil. +How its sounds, its odors, its occupations, its associations, +come back to him! Would he not like to +return again to help rake up the litter of straw and +stalks about the barn, or about the stack on the +hill where the grass is starting? Would he not like +to help pick the stone from the meadow, or mend +the brush fence on the mountain where the sheep +roam, or hunt up old Brindle's calf in the woods, +or gather oven-wood for his mother to start again +the big brick oven with its dozen loaves of rye +bread, or see the plow crowding the lingering snow-banks +on the side-hill, or help his father break and +swingle and hatchel the flax in the barnyard?</p> + +<p>When I see a farm advertised for rent or for sale +in the spring, I want to go at once and look it over. +All the particulars interest me—so many acres of +meadow-land, so many of woodland, so many of +pasture—the garden, the orchard, the outbuild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82" href="#Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>ings, +the springs, the creek—I see them all, and +am already half in possession.</p> + +<p>Even Thoreau felt this attraction, and recorded +in his Journal: "I know of no more pleasing employment +than to ride about the country with a +companion very early in the spring, looking at +farms with a view to purchasing, if not paying for +them."</p> + +<p>Blessed is the man who loves the soil!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83" href="#Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<h2>XI</h2> + +<h2>THE WOODCOCK'S EVENING HYMN</h2> + + +<p>The twilight flight song of the woodcock is one +of the most curious and tantalizing yet interesting +bird songs we have. I fancy that the persons who +hear and recognize it in the April or May twilight +are few and far between. I myself have heard it only +on three occasions—one season in late March, one +season in April, and the last time in the middle of +May. It is a voice of ecstatic song coming down +from the upper air and through the mist and the +darkness—the spirit of the swamp and the marsh +climbing heavenward and pouring out its joy in a +wild burst of lyric melody; a haunter of the muck +and a prober of the mud suddenly transformed into +a bird that soars and circles and warbles like a lark +hidden or half hidden in the depths of the twilight +sky. The passion of the spring has few more pleasing +exemplars. The madness of the season, the +abandon of the mating instinct, is in every move +and note. Ordinarily the woodcock is a very dull, +stupid bird, with a look almost idiotic, and is seldom +seen except by the sportsman or the tramper along +marshy brooks. But for a brief season in his life he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84" href="#Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +is an inspired creature, a winged song that baffles +the eye and thrills the ear from the mystic regions of +the upper air.</p> + +<p>When I last heard it, I was with a companion, +and our attention was arrested, as we were skirting +the edge of a sloping, rather marshy, bowlder-strewn +field, by the "zeep," "zeep," which the bird +utters on the ground, preliminary to its lark-like +flight. We paused and listened. The light of day +was fast failing; a faint murmur went up from the +fields below us that defined itself now and then in +the good-night song of some bird. Now it was the +lullaby of the song sparrow or the swamp sparrow. +Once the tender, ringing, infantile voice of the bush +sparrow stood out vividly for a moment on that +great background of silence. "Zeep," "zeep," came +out of the dimness six or eight rods away. Presently +there was a faint, rapid whistling of wings, and my +companion said: "There, he is up." The ear could +trace his flight, but not the eye. In less than a +minute the straining ear failed to catch any sound, +and we knew he had reached his climax and was +circling. Once we distinctly saw him whirling far +above us. Then he was lost in the obscurity, and in +a few seconds there rained down upon us the notes +of his ecstatic song—a novel kind of hurried, chirping, +smacking warble. It was very brief, and when +it ceased, we knew the bird was dropping plummet-like +to the earth. In half a minute or less his "zeep,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85" href="#Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +"zeep," came up again from the ground. In two +or three minutes he repeated his flight and song, +and thus kept it up during the half-hour or more +that we remained to listen: now a harsh plaint out +of the obscurity upon the ground; then a jubilant +strain from out the obscurity of the air above. His +mate was probably somewhere within earshot, and +we wondered just how much interest she took in +the performance. Was it all for her benefit, or inspired +by her presence? I think, rather, it was inspired +by the May night, by the springing grass, by +the unfolding leaves, by the apple bloom, by the +passion of joy and love that thrills through nature +at this season. An hour or two before, we had seen +the bobolinks in the meadow beating the air with +the same excited wing and overflowing with the +same ecstasy of song, but their demure, retiring, and +indifferent mates were nowhere to be seen. It would +seem as if the male bird sang, not to win his mate, +but to celebrate the winning, to invoke the young +who are not yet born, and to express the joy of love +which is at the heart of Nature.</p> + +<p>When I reached home, I went over the fourteen +volumes of Thoreau's Journal to see if he had made +any record of having heard the "woodcock's evening +hymn," as Emerson calls it. He had not. Evidently +he never heard it, which is the more surprising as he +was abroad in the fields and marshes and woods at +almost all hours in the twenty-four and in all sea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86" href="#Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>sons +and weathers, making it the business of his life +to see and record what was going on in nature.</p> + +<p>Thoreau's eye was much more reliable than his +ear. He saw straight, but did not always hear +straight. For instance, he seems always to have +confounded the song of the hermit thrush with that +of the wood thrush. He records having heard the +latter even in April, but never the former. In the +Maine woods and on Monadnock it is always the +wood thrush which he hears, and never the hermit.</p> + +<p>But if Thoreau's ear was sometimes at fault, I +do not recall that his eye ever was, while his mind +was always honest. He had an instinct for the truth, +and while we may admit that the truth he was in +quest of in nature was not always scientific truth, or +the truth of natural history, but was often the truth +of the poet and the mystic, yet he was very careful +about his facts; he liked to be able to make an exact +statement, to clinch his observations by going +again and again to the spot. He never taxes your +credulity. He had never been bitten by the mad +dog of sensationalism that has bitten certain of our +later nature writers.</p> + +<p>Thoreau made no effort to humanize the animals. +What he aimed mainly to do was to invest his account +of them with literary charm, not by imputing +to them impossible things, but by describing them +in a way impossible to a less poetic nature. The +novel and the surprising are not in the act of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87" href="#Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +bird or beast itself, but in Thoreau's way of telling +what it did. To draw upon your imagination for +your facts is one thing; to draw upon your imagination +in describing what you see is quite another. +The new school of nature writers will afford many +samples of the former method; read Thoreau's description +of the wood thrush's song or the bobolink's +song, or his account of wild apples, or of his life at +Walden Pond, or almost any other bit of his writing, +for a sample of the latter. In his best work +he uses language in the imaginative way of the +poet.</p> + +<p>Literature and science do not differ in matters +of fact, but in spirit and method. There is no live +literature without a play of personality, and there is +no exact science without the clear, white light of the +understanding. What we want, and have a right +to expect, of the literary naturalist is that his statement +shall have both truth and charm, but we do +not want the charm at the expense of the truth. I +may invest the commonest fact I observe in the +fields or by the roadside with the air of romance, if I +can, but I am not to put the romance in place of the +fact. If you romance about the animals, you must +do so unequivocally, as Kipling does and as Æsop +did; the fiction must declare itself at once, or the +work is vicious. To make literature out of natural +history observation is not to pervert or distort the +facts, or to draw the long bow at all; it is to see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88" href="#Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +facts in their true relations and proportions and +with honest emotion.</p> + +<p>Truth of seeing and truth of feeling are the main +requisite: add truth of style, and the thing is done.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89" href="#Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<h2>XII</h2> + +<h2>THE COMING OF SUMMER</h2> + + +<p>Who shall say when one season ends and +another begins? Only the almanac-makers +can fix these dates. It is like saying when babyhood +ends and childhood begins, or when childhood ends +and youth begins. To me spring begins when the +catkins on the alders and the pussy-willows begin +to swell; when the ice breaks up on the river and the +first sea-gulls come prospecting northward. Whatever +the date—the first or the middle or the last of +March—when these signs appear, then I know +spring is at hand. Her first birds—the bluebird, +the song sparrow, the robin, the red-shouldered +starling—are here or soon will be. The crows +have a more confident caw, the sap begins to start +in the sugar maple, the tiny boom of the first bee +is heard, the downy woodpecker begins his resonant +tat, tat, tat, on the dry limbs, and the cattle in the +barnyard low long and loud with wistful looks +toward the fields.</p> + +<p>The first hint of summer comes when the trees +are fully fledged and the nymph Shadow is born. +See her cool circles again beneath the trees in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90" href="#Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +field, or her deeper and cooler retreats in the woods. +On the slopes, on the opposite side of the river, +there have been for months under the morning and +noon sun only slight shadow tracings, a fretwork of +shadow lines; but some morning in May I look +across and see solid masses of shade falling from the +trees athwart the sloping turf. How the eye revels +in them! The trees are again clothed and in their +right minds; myriad leaves rustle in promise of +the coming festival. Now the trees are sentient +beings; they have thoughts and fancies; they stir +with emotion; they converse together; they whisper +or dream in the twilight; they struggle and wrestle +with the storm.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Caught and cuff'd by the gale,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Tennyson says.</p> + +<p>Summer always comes in the person of June, +with a bunch of daisies on her breast and clover +blossoms in her hands. A new chapter in the season +is opened when these flowers appear. One says to +himself, "Well, I have lived to see the daisies again +and to smell the red clover." One plucks the first +blossoms tenderly and caressingly. What memories +are stirred in the mind by the fragrance of the one +and the youthful face of the other! There is nothing +else like that smell of the clover: it is the maidenly +breath of summer; it suggests all fresh, buxom, +rural things. A field of ruddy, blooming clover,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91" href="#Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +dashed or sprinkled here and there with the snow-white +of the daisies; its breath drifts into the road +when you are passing; you hear the boom of bees, +the voice of bobolinks, the twitter of swallows, the +whistle of woodchucks; you smell wild strawberries; +you see the cattle upon the hills; you see your youth, +the youth of a happy farm-boy, rise before you. In +Kentucky I once saw two fields, of one hundred +acres each, all ruddy with blooming clover—perfume +for a whole county.</p> + +<p>The blooming orchards are the glory of May, +the blooming clover-fields the distinction of June. +Other characteristic June perfumes come from the +honey-locusts and the blooming grapevines. At +times and in certain localities the air at night and +morning is heavy with the breath of the former, +and along the lanes and roadsides we inhale the +delicate fragrance of the wild grape. The early +grasses, too, with their frostlike bloom, contribute +something very welcome to the breath of June.</p> + +<p>Nearly every season I note what I call the bridal +day of summer—a white, lucid, shining day, with +a delicate veil of mist softening all outlines. How +the river dances and sparkles; how the new leaves +of all the trees shine under the sun; the air has a +soft lustre; there is a haze, it is not blue, but a kind +of shining, diffused nimbus. No clouds, the sky a +bluish white, very soft and delicate. It is the nuptial +day of the season; the sun fairly takes the earth to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92" href="#Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +be his own, for better or for worse, on such a day, and +what marriages there are going on all about us: the +marriages of the flowers, of the bees, of the birds. +Everything suggests life, love, fruition. These +bridal days are often repeated; the serenity and +equipoise of the elements combine. They were such +days as these that the poet Lowell had in mind when +he exclaimed, "What is so rare as a day in June?" +Here is the record of such a day, June 1, 1883: +"Day perfect in temper, in mood, in everything. +Foliage all out except on button-balls and celtis, +and putting on its dark green summer color, solid +shadows under the trees, and stretching down the +slopes. A few indolent summer clouds here and +there. A day of gently rustling and curtsying +leaves, when the breeze almost seems to blow upward. +The fields of full-grown, nodding rye slowly +stir and sway like vast assemblages of people. How +the chimney swallows chipper as they sweep past! +The vireo's cheerful warble echoes in the leafy +maples; the branches of the Norway spruce and the +hemlocks have gotten themselves new light green +tips; the dandelion's spheres of ethereal down rise +above the grass: and now and then one of them +suddenly goes down: the little chippy, or social +sparrow, has thrown itself upon the frail stalk and +brought it to the ground, to feed upon its seeds; +here it gets the first fruits of the season. The first +red and white clover heads have just opened, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93" href="#Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +yellow rock-rose and the sweet viburnum are in +bloom; the bird chorus is still full and animated; +the keys of the red maple strew the ground, and the +cotton of the early everlasting drifts upon the air." +For several days there was but little change. "Getting +toward the high tide of summer. The air well +warmed up, Nature in her jocund mood, still, all +leaf and sap. The days are idyllic. I lie on my +back on the grass in the shade of the house, and +look up to the soft, slowly moving clouds, and to +the chimney swallows disporting themselves up +there in the breezy depths. No hardening in vegetation +yet. The moist, hot, fragrant breath of the +fields—mingled odor of blossoming grasses, clover, +daisies, rye—the locust blossoms, dropping. What +a humming about the hives; what freshness in the +shade of every tree; what contentment in the flocks +and herds! The springs are yet full and cold; the +shaded watercourses and pond margins begin to +draw one." Go to the top of the hill on such a +morning, say by nine o'clock, and see how unspeakably +fresh and full the world looks. The morning +shadows yet linger everywhere, even in the sunshine; +a kind of blue coolness and freshness, the +vapor of dew tinting the air.</p> + +<p>Heat and moisture, the father and mother of all +that lives, when June has plenty of these, the increase +is sure.</p> + +<p>Early in June the rye and wheat heads begin to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94" href="#Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +nod; the motionless stalks have a reflective, meditative +air. A little while ago, when their heads were +empty or filled only with chaff and sap, how straight +up they held them! Now that the grain is forming, +they have a sober, thoughtful look. It is one of the +most pleasing spectacles of June, a field of rye +gently shaken by the wind. How the breezes are +defined upon its surface—a surface as sensitive +as that of water; how they trip along, little breezes +and big breezes together! Just as this glaucous +green surface of the rye-field bends beneath the light +tread of the winds, so, we are told, the crust of the +earth itself bends beneath the giant strides of the +great atmospheric waves.</p> + +<p>There is one bird I seldom hear till June, and that +is the cuckoo. Sometimes the last days of May +bring him, but oftener it is June before I hear his +note. The cuckoo is the true recluse among our +birds. I doubt if there is any joy in his soul. "Rain-crow," +he is called in some parts of the country. +His call is supposed to bode rain. Why do other +birds, the robin for instance, often make war upon +the cuckoo, chasing it from the vicinity of their +nests? There seems to be something about the +cuckoo that makes its position among the birds +rather anomalous. Is it at times a parasitical bird, +dropping its eggs into other birds' nests? Or is +there some suggestion of the hawk about our species +as well as about the European? I do not know. I +only know that it seems to be regarded with a suspicious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95" href="#Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +eye by other birds, and that it wanders about +at night in a way that no respectable bird should. +The birds that come in March, as the bluebird, the +robin, the song sparrow, the starling, build in +April; the April birds, such as the brown thrasher, +the barn swallow, the chewink, the water-thrush, +the oven-bird, the chippy, the high-hole, the +meadowlark, build in May, while the May birds, +the kingbird, the wood thrush, the oriole, the orchard +starling, and the warblers, build in June. The +April nests are exposed to the most dangers: the +storms, the crows, the squirrels, are all liable to cut +them off. The midsummer nests, like that of the +goldfinch and the waxwing, or cedar-bird, are the +safest of all.</p> + +<p>In March the door of the seasons first stands ajar +a little; in April it is opened much wider; in May +the windows go up also; and in June the walls are +fairly taken down and the genial currents have free +play everywhere. The event of March in the country +is the first good sap day, when the maples thrill +with the kindling warmth; the event of April is the +new furrow and the first seeding;—how ruddy and +warm the soil looks just opened to the sun!—the +event of May is the week of orchard bloom; with +what sweet, pensive gladness one walks beneath the +pink-white masses, while long, long thoughts descend +upon him! See the impetuous orioles chase +one another amid the branches, shaking down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96" href="#Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +fragrant snow. Here the rose-breasted grosbeak is +in the blooming cherry tree, snipping off the blossoms +with that heavy beak of his—a spot of crimson +and black half hidden in masses of white petals. +This orchard bloom travels like a wave. In March +it is in the Carolinas; by the middle of April its +crest has reached the Potomac; a week or ten days +later it is in New Jersey; then in May it sweeps +through New York and New England; and early in +June it is breaking upon the orchards in Canada. +Finally, the event of June is the fields ruddy with +clover and milk-white with daisies.</p> + + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="1" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="2" summary="Transcriber's Notes"> +<tr><td align='left'><h3>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES</h3> + +<p>Title page: Changed typo "Cambridg" to "Cambridge."</p> + +<p>Table of Contents/Chapter VIII: Retained punctuation error in chapter title.</p> + +<p>Page 18: Added missing period to sentence: "The bear was fussing ... to burying it."</p> + +<p>Page 30: Changed typo "sudddenly" to "suddenly."</p> + +<p>Pages 31, 79, 95: Retained inconsistent spellings of highhole/high-hole.</p> + +<p>Pages 32 & 58: Retained inconsistent spellings of treetops/tree-tops.</p> + +<p>Page 38: Changed single quote to double quote in sentence: "Here, Jim, you do this ... thing through".</p> + +<p>Chapter XII: Changed typo "IIX" to "XII."</p> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wit of a Duck and Other Papers, by +John Burroughs + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WIT OF A DUCK AND OTHER PAPERS *** + +***** This file should be named 20448-h.htm or 20448-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/4/4/20448/ + +Produced by Joseph R. 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