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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 Foot-path Way + +Author: Bradford Torrey + +Release Date: November 17, 2008 [EBook #27285] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOOT-PATH WAY *** + + + + +Produced by Robin Monks, Carolyn Bottomley, Joseph Cooper +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="box"> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="noin" style="text-align: left;"> +Author's irregular hyphenation has been kept.<br> +For a complete list of corrections made, please see the <a href="#TN">end of this document</a>.</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontcover.jpg" width="400" height="600" alt="Front Cover."> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/author.jpg" width="400" height="560" alt="Author, Bradford Torrey."> +</div> +<br> +<h1>THE FOOT-PATH WAY</h1> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h3>BRADFORD TORREY</h3> +<h2> </h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><p class="center"> +<span class="i1">Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,</span> +<span class="i2">And merrily hent the stile-a:</span> +<span class="i0">A merry heart goes all the day,</span> +<span class="i2">Your sad tires in a mile-a.</span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">The Winter's Tale</span></span></p> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/riverpress.jpg" width="300" height="380" alt="River Press icon."> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge<br> +1893</p> + + +<p class="center"> +Copyright, 1892,<br> +<span class="smcap">By</span> BRADFORD TORREY.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + +<p class="center">SECOND EDITION.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A.</i><br> +Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. +</p> + +<hr> + +<a name="toc" id="toc"></a><h3>CONTENTS.</h3> + +<table summary="Contents" width="55%" cellpadding="1"> + <tr> + <td class="text"> </td> + <td class="pg"><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#JUNE_IN_FRANCONIA"> + <span class="smcap">June in Franconia.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#DECEMBER_OUT-OF-DOORS"> + <span class="smcap">December Out-of-Doors.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#DYERS_HOLLOW"> + <span class="smcap">Dyer's Hollow.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#FIVE_DAYS_ON_MOUNT_MANSFIELD"> + <span class="smcap">Five Days on Mount Mansfield.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#A_WIDOW_AND_TWINS"> + <span class="smcap">A Widow and Twins.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#THE_MALE_RUBY-THROAT"> + <span class="smcap">The Male Ruby-Throat.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#ROBIN_ROOSTS"> + <span class="smcap">Robin Roosts.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#THE_PASSING_OF_THE_BIRDS"> + <span class="smcap">The Passing of the Birds.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#A_GREAT_BLUE_HERON"> + <span class="smcap">A Great Blue Heron.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#FLOWERS_AND_FOLKS"> + <span class="smcap">Flowers and Folks.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#IN_PRAISE_OF_THE_WEYMOUTH_PINE"> + <span class="smcap">In Praise of the Weymouth Pine.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="text"><a href="#INDEX"> + <span class="smcap">Index.</span></a></td> + <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="pg"> + +<h2>THE FOOT-PATH WAY.</h2> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span> +<h3><a name="JUNE_IN_FRANCONIA" id="JUNE_IN_FRANCONIA"></a>JUNE IN FRANCONIA.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<center><small><span class="i0"> "Herbs, fruits, and flowers,</span> +<span class="i0">Walks, and the melody of birds."</span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> were six of us, and we had the +entire hotel, I may almost say the entire valley, to ourselves. If +the verdict of the villagers could have been taken, we should, +perhaps, have been voted a queer set, familiar as dwellers in +Franconia are with the sight of idle tourists,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">"Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,</span> +<span class="i1">And they were butterflies to wheel about</span> +<span class="i-4">Long as the summer lasted."</span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<p>We were neither "rapid" nor "gay," and it was still only the first week +of June; if we were summer boarders, therefore, we must be of some +unusual early-blooming variety.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +<p>First came a lady, in excellent repute among the savants of +Europe and America as an entomologist, but better known to the +general public as a writer of stories. With her, as companion +and assistant, was a doctor of laws, who is also a newspaper +proprietor, a voluminous author, an art connoisseur, and many +things beside. They had turned their backs thus unseasonably upon +the metropolis, and in this pleasant out-of-the-way corner were +devoting themselves to one absorbing pursuit,—the pursuit +of moths. On their daily drives, two or three insect nets dangled +conspicuously from the carriage,—the footman, thrifty soul, +was never backward to take a hand,—and evening after evening +the hotel piazza was illuminated till midnight with lamps and +lanterns, while these enthusiasts waved the same white nets about, +gathering in geometries, noctuids, sphinges, and Heaven knows +what else, all of them to perish painlessly in numerous "cyanide +bottles," which bestrewed the piazza by night, and (happy +thought!) the closed piano by day. In this noble occupation I +sometimes played at helping; but with only meagre success, my most +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +brilliant catch being nothing more important than a "beautiful Io." The +kind-hearted lepidopterist lingered with gracious emphasis upon the +adjective, and assured me that the specimen would be all the more +valuable because of a finger-mark which my awkwardness had left upon one +of its wings. So—to the credit of human nature be it +spoken—so does amiability sometimes get the better of the feminine +scientific spirit. To the credit of human nature, I say; for, though her +practice of the romancer's art may doubtless have given to this good +lady some peculiar flexibility of mind, some special, individual +facility in subordinating a lower truth to a higher, it surely may be +affirmed, also, of humanity in general, that few things become it better +than its inconsistencies.</p> + +<p>Of the four remaining members of the company, two were botanists, and +two—for the time—ornithologists. But the botanists were +lovers of birds, also, and went nowhere without opera-glasses; while the +ornithologists, in turn, did not hold themselves above some elementary +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +knowledge of plants, and amused themselves with now and then pointing out +some rarity—sedges and willows were the special desiderata—which +the professional collectors seemed in danger of passing without notice. +All in all, we <i>were</i> a queer set. How the Latin and Greek +polysyllables flew about the dining-room, as we recounted our forenoon's +or afternoon's discoveries! Somebody remarked once that the waiters' +heads appeared to be more or less in danger; but if the waiters +trembled at all, it was probably not for their own heads, but for ours. +<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>Our first excursion—I speak of the four who traveled +on foot—was to the Franconia Notch. It could not well +have been otherwise; at all events, there was one of the four +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +whose feet would not willingly have carried him in any other direction. +The mountains drew us, and there was no thought of resisting their +attraction.</p> + +<p>Love and curiosity are different, if not incompatible, sentiments; +and the birds that are dearest to the man are, for that very +reason, not most interesting to the ornithologist. When on a +journey, I am almost without eyes or ears for bluebirds and +robins, song sparrows and chickadees. Now is my opportunity +for extending my acquaintance, and such every-day favorites +must get along for the time as best they can without my attention. +So it was here in Franconia. The <a name="vesper5" id="vesper5">vesper +sparrow</a>, the veery, and a host of other friends were singing +about the hotel and along the roadside, but we heeded them not. +Our case was like the boy's who declined gingerbread, when on a visit: +he had plenty of that at home.</p> + +<p>When we were nearly at the edge of the mountain woods, however, we +heard across the field a few notes that brought all four of us to an +instant standstill. What <a name="tennessee5" id="tennessee5">warbler</a> +could that be? Nobody could tell. In fact, nobody could guess. But, before +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +the youngest of us could surmount the wall, the singer took wing, +flew over our heads far into the woods, and all was silent. It was +too bad; but there would be another day to-morrow. Meantime, we kept +on up the hill, and soon were in the old forest, listening to +<a name="baybreast6" id="baybreast6">bay-breasted warblers</a>, +<a name="blackburn6" id="blackburn6">Blackburnians</a>, +<a name="blackpoll6" id="blackpoll6">black-polls</a>, and so on, +while the noise of the mountain brook on our right, a better singer +than any of them, was never out of our ears. "You are going up," +it said. "I wish you joy. But you see how it is; you will soon +have to come down again."</p> + +<p>I took leave of my companions at Profile Lake, they having planned an +all-day excursion beyond, and started homeward by myself. Slowly, and +with many stops, I sauntered down the long hill, through the forest (the +stops, I need not say, are commonly the major part of a naturalist's +ramble,—the golden beads, as it were, the walk itself being only +the string), till I reached the spot where we had been serenaded in the +morning by our <a name="tennessee6" id="tennessee6">mysterious stranger</a>. +Yes, he was again singing, this time not far from the road, in a +moderately thick growth of small trees, under which the ground was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +carpeted with club-mosses, dog-tooth violets, clintonia, linnæa, and +similar plants. He continued to sing, and I continued to edge my way nearer +and nearer, till finally I was near enough, and went down on my knees. +Then I saw him, facing me, showing white under parts. A Tennessee warbler! +Here was good luck indeed. I ogled him for a long time ("Shoot it," says +Mr. Burroughs, authoritatively, "not ogle it with a glass;" but a man must +follow his own method), impatient to see his back, and especially the top +of his head. What a precious frenzy we fall into at such moments! My +knees were fairly upon nettles. He flew, and I followed. Once more +he was under the glass, but still facing me. How like a vireo he looked! +For one instant I thought, Can it be the Philadelphia vireo? But, though +I had never seen that bird, I knew its song to be as different as possible +from the notes to which I was listening. After a long time the fellow +turned to feeding, and now I obtained a look at his upper parts,—the +back olive, the head ashy, like the Nashville warbler. That was enough. +It was indeed the Tennessee (<i>Helminthophila peregrina</i>), +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +a bird for which I had been ten years on the watch.</p> + +<p>The song, which has not often been described, is more suggestive +of the <a name="nashville8" id="nashville8">Nashville's</a> than +of any other, but so decidedly different as never for a moment +to be confounded with it. "When you hear it," a friend had said +to me several years before, "you will know it for something new." It is +long (I speak comparatively, of course), very sprightly, and peculiarly +staccato, and is made up of two parts, the second quicker in movement +and higher in pitch than the first. I speak of it as in two parts, +though when my companions came to hear it, as they did the next day, +they reported it as in three. We visited the place together afterwards, +and the discrepancy was readily explained. As to pitch, the song <i>is</i> in +three parts, but as to rhythm and character, it is in two; the first +half being composed of double notes, the second of single notes. The +resemblance to the Nashville's song lies entirely in the first part; the +notes of the concluding portion are not run together or jumbled, after +the Nashville's manner, but are quite as distinct as those of the +opening measure.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +<p>As there were at least two pairs of the birds, and they were +unmistakably at home, we naturally had hope of finding one of the nests. +We made several random attempts, and one day I devoted an hour or more +to a really methodical search; but the wily singer gave me not the +slightest clue, behaving as if there were no such thing as a bird's nest +within a thousand miles, and all my endeavors went for nothing.</p> + +<p>As might have been foreseen, Franconia proved to be an +excellent place in which to study the difficult family of +flycatchers. All our common eastern Massachusetts species were +present,—the <a name="kingbird9" id="kingbird9">kingbird</a>, +the <a name="phoebe9" id="phoebe9">phœbe</a>, the +<a name="pewee9" id="pewee9">wood pewee</a>, and the <a +name="flyleast" id="flyleast">least flycatcher</a>,—and +with them the <a name="flygreat" id="flygreat">crested flycatcher</a> +(not common), the <a name="flyolive9" id="flyolive9">olive-sided</a>, +the <a name="traill" id="traill">traill</a>, and the <a +name="flyyellow" id="flyyellow">yellow-bellied</a>. The phœbe-like +cry of the traill was to be heard constantly from the hotel piazza. +The yellow-bellied seemed to be confined to deep and rather swampy +woods in the valley, and to the mountain-side forests; being +most numerous on Mount Lafayette, where it ran well up toward +the limit of trees. In his notes, the yellow-belly may be said to take +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +after both the least flycatcher and the wood pewee. His <i>killic</i> +(so written in the books, and I do not know how to improve upon +it) resembles the <i>chebec</i> of the least flycatcher, though +much less emphatic, as well as much less frequently uttered, +while his <i>twee</i>, or <i>tuwee</i>, is quite in the voice and +manner of the wood pewee's clear, plaintive whistle; usually a +monosyllable, but at other times almost or quite dissyllabic. The +<a name="flyolive10" id="flyolive10">olive-sided</a>, on the other hand, +imitates nobody; or, if he does, it must be some bird with which I have +yet to make acquaintance. <i>Que-qúe-o</i> he vociferates, with a +strong emphasis and drawl upon the middle syllable. This is his song, or +what answers to a song, but I have seen him when he would do nothing but +repeat incessantly a quick trisyllabic call, <i>whit, whit, whit</i>; +corresponding, I suppose, to the well-known <i>whit</i> with which the +<a name="phoebe10" id="phoebe10">phœbe</a> sometimes busies himself in a +similar manner.</p> + +<p>Of more interest than any flycatcher—of more interest even than +the Tennessee warbler—was a bird found by the roadside in the +village, after we had been for several days in the place. Three of us were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +walking together, talking by the way, when all at once we +halted, as by a common impulse, at the sound of a vireo song; a +<a name="redeye11" id="redeye11">red-eye's</a> song, as it seemed, with +the faintest touch of something unfamiliar about it. The singer was in a +small butternut-tree close upon the sidewalk, and at once afforded us +perfectly satisfactory observations, perching on a low limb within +fifteen feet of our eyes, and singing again and again, while we +scrutinized every feather through our glasses. As one of my companions +said, it was like having the bird in your hand. There was no room for a +question as to its identity. At last we had before us the rare and +long-desired <a name="phila" id="phila">Philadelphia greenlet</a>. As its song is little known, I here +transcribe my notes about it, made at two different times, between which +there appears to have been some discussion among us as to just how it +should be characterized:—</p> + +<p>"The song is very pretty, and is curiously compounded of the red-eye's +and the <a name="solitary11" id="solitary11">solitary's</a>, both as to +phrase and quality. The measures are all brief; with fewer syllables, that +is to say, than the red-eye commonly uses. Some of them are exactly like +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +red-eye's, while others have the peculiar sweet upward inflection of the +solitary's. To hear some of the measures, you would pass the bird for a +red-eye; to hear others of them, you might pass him for a solitary. At +the same time, he has not the most highly characteristic of the +solitary's phrases. His voice is less sharp and his accent less emphatic +than the red-eye's, and, so far as we heard, he observes decidedly +longer rests between the measures."</p> + +<p>This is under date of June 16th. On the following day I made another +entry:—</p> + +<p>"The song is, I think, less varied than either the solitary's or the +red-eye's, but it grows more distinct from both as it is longer heard. +Acquaintance will probably make it as characteristic and unmistakable as +any of our four other vireo songs. But I do not withdraw what I said +yesterday about its resemblance to the red-eye's and the solitary's. The +bird seems quite fearless, and keeps much of the time in the lower +branches. In this latter respect his habit is in contrast with that of +the warbling vireo."</p> + +<p>On the whole, then, the song of the Philadelphia vireo +comes nearest to the red-eye's,<span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> differing from it mainly +in tone and inflection rather than in form. In these two respects it +suggests the <a name="solitary13" id="solitary13">solitary vireo</a>, +though it never reproduces the indescribably sweet cadence, the real +"dying fall," of that most delightful songster. At the risk of a seeming +contradiction, however, I must mention one curious circumstance. On going +again to Franconia, a year afterwards, and, naturally, keeping my ears +open for <i>Vireo philadelphicus</i>, I discovered that I was never for a +moment in doubt when I heard a red-eye; but once, on listening to a +distant solitary,—catching only part of the strain,—I was for +a little quite uncertain whether he might not be the bird for which I was +looking. How this fact is to be explained I am unable to say; it will be +least surprising to those who know most of such matters, and at all +events I think it worth recording as affording a possible clue to some +future observer. The experience, inconsistent as the assertion may +sound, does not in the least alter my opinion that the Philadelphia's +song is practically certain to be confused with the red-eye's +rather than with the solitary's. Upon that point my companions +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +and I were perfectly agreed while we had the bird before us, and Mr. +Brewster's testimony is abundantly conclusive to the same effect. He was +in the Umbagog forests on a special hunt for Philadelphia vireos (he had +collected specimens there on two previous occasions), and after some +days of fruitless search discovered, almost by accident, that the birds +had all the while been singing close about him, but in every instance +had passed for "nothing but red-eyes."<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"> +</a> <a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<p>For the benefit of the lay reader, I ought, perhaps, to have +explained before this that the Philadelphia vireo is in coloration +an exact copy of the <a name="warbling" id="warbling">warbling vireo</a>. +There is a slight difference in size between the two, but the +most practiced eye could not be depended upon to tell them +apart in a tree. <i>Vireo philadelphicus</i> is in a peculiar +case: it looks like one common bird, and sings like another. +It might have been invented on purpose to circumvent collectors, +as the Almighty has been supposed by some to have created +fossils on purpose to deceive ungodly geologists. It is not +surprising, therefore, that the bird escaped the notice +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +of the older ornithologists. In fact, it was first described,—by +Mr. Cassin,—in 1851, from a specimen taken, nine years before, +near Philadelphia; and its nest remained unknown for more than thirty +years longer, the first one having been discovered, apparently +in Canada, in 1884.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"> +</a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>Day after day, the bare, sharp crest of <a name="lafayette15" id="lafayette15"> +Mount Lafayette</a> silently invited my feet. Then came a +bright, favorable morning, and I set out. I would go alone on this +my first pilgrimage to the noble peak, at which, always from too +far off, I had gazed longingly for ten summers. It is not inconsistent +with a proper regard for one's fellows, I trust, to enjoy now and +then being without their society. It <i>is</i> good, sometimes, +for a man to be alone,—especially on a mountain-top, and more +especially at a first visit. The trip to the summit was some seven or +eight miles in length, and an almost continual ascent, without a dull +step in the whole distance. The Tennessee warbler was singing; but +perhaps the pleasantest incident of the walk to the Profile +House—in front of which the mountain footpath is taken—was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> + +a <a name="blackburn16" id="blackburn16">Blackburnian warbler</a> +perched, as usual, at the very top of a tall spruce, his +orange throat flashing fire as he faced the sun, and his +song, as my notebook expresses it, "sliding up to high <i>Z</i> +at the end" in his quaintest and most characteristic fashion. +I spent nearly three hours in climbing the mountain path, +and during all that time saw and heard only twelve kinds +of birds: <a name="redstart16" id="redstart16">redstarts</a>, +<a name="canadian16" id="canadian16"> Canada warblers</a> (near the base), +<a name="blk_throat_bl16" id="blk_throat_bl16"> black-throated blues</a>, +<a name="blk_throat_gr16" id="blk_throat_gr16"> black-throated greens</a>, +<a name="nashville16" id="nashville16">Nashvilles</a>, <a +name="blackpoll16" id="blackpoll16">black-polls</a>, red-eyed vireos, +snowbirds (no <a name="whitethroat16" id="whitethroat16">white-throated +sparrows</a>!), winter wrens, Swainson and <a name="graythrush16" +id="graythrush16">gray-cheeked thrushes</a>, and yellow-bellied +flycatchers. Black-poll and Nashville warblers were especially +numerous, as they are also upon Mount Washington, and, as +far as I have seen, upon the White Mountains generally. The +feeble, sharp song of the black-poll is a singular affair; +short and slight as it is, it embraces a perfect crescendo and a +perfect decrescendo. Without question I passed plenty of white-throated +sparrows, but by some coincidence not one of them announced himself. The +gray-cheeked thrushes, which sang freely, were not heard till I was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +perhaps halfway between the Eagle Cliff Notch and the Eagle Lakes. This +species, so recently added to our summer fauna, proves to be not +uncommon in the mountainous parts of New England, though apparently +confined to the spruce forests at or near the summits. I found it +abundant on Mount Mansfield, Vermont, in 1885, and in the summer of 1888 +Mr. Walter Faxon surprised us all by shooting a specimen on Mount +Graylock, Massachusetts. Doubtless the bird has been singing its +perfectly distinctive song in the White Mountain woods ever since the +white man first visited them. During the vernal migration, indeed, I +have more than once heard it sing in eastern Massachusetts. My latest +delightful experience of this kind was on the 29th of May last (1889), +while I was hastening to a railway train within the limits of Boston. +Preoccupied as I was, and faintly as the notes came to me, I +recognized them instantly; for while the gray-cheek's song bears +an evident resemblance to the <a name="veery17" id="veery17">veery's</a> +(which I had heard within five minutes), the two are so unlike in +pitch and rhythm that no reasonably nice ear ought ever to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +confound them. The bird was just over the high, close, inhospitable +fence, on the top of which I rested my chin and watched and listened. He +sat with his back toward me, in full view, on a level with my eye, and +sang and sang and sang, in a most deliciously soft, far-away voice, +keeping his wings all the while a little raised and quivering, as in a +kind of musical ecstasy. It does seem a thing to be regretted—yes, +a thing to be ashamed of—that a bird so beautiful, so musical, so +romantic in its choice of a dwelling-place, and withal so characteristic +of New England should be known, at a liberal estimate, to not more than +one or two hundred New Englanders! But if a bird wishes general +recognition, he should do as the robin does, and the bluebird, and the +oriole,—dress like none of his neighbors, and show himself freely +in the vicinity of men's houses. How can one expect to be famous unless +he takes a little pains to keep himself before the public?</p> + +<p>From the time I left my hotel until I was fairly above +the dwarf spruces below the summit of Lafayette, I was never +for many minutes together out of the hearing of thrush +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +music. Four of our five summer representatives of the genus <i>Turdus</i> +took turns, as it were, in the serenade. The <a name="veery19" +id="veery19">veeries—Wilson's thrushes</a>—greeted +me before I stepped off the piazza. As I neared the Profile House +farm, the <a name="hermit19" id="hermit19">hermits</a> were in tune +on either hand. The moment the road entered the ancient forest, the +<a name="swainson19" id="swainson19">olive-backs</a> began to make +themselves heard, and halfway up the mountain path the <a +name="graythrush19" id="graythrush19">gray-cheeks</a> took up the +strain and carried it on to its heavenly conclusion. A noble +processional! Even a lame man might have climbed to such music. If the +wood thrush had been here, the chorus would have been complete,—a +chorus not to be excelled, according to my untraveled belief, in any +quarter of the world.</p> + +<p>To-day, however, my first thoughts were not of birds, but +of the mountain. The weather was all that could be asked,—the +temperature perfect, and the atmosphere so transparent as to +be of itself a kind of lens; so that in the evening, when I +rejoined my companions at the hotel, I found to my astonishment that +I had been plainly visible while at the summit, the beholders having +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +no other help than an opera-glass! It was almost past belief. I had felt +some dilation of soul, it was true, but had been quite unconscious of +any corresponding physical transformation. What would our aboriginal +forerunners have said could they have stood in the valley and seen a +human form moving from point to point along yonder sharp, serrated +ridge? I should certainly have passed for a god! Let us be thankful that +all such superstitious fancies have had their day. The Indian, poor +child of nature,</p> + +<p class="center"><small>"A pagan suckled in a creed outworn,"</small></p> + +<p>stood afar off and worshiped toward these holy hills; but +the white man clambers gayly up their sides, guide-book in hand, +and leaves his sardine box and eggshells—and likely enough +his business card—at the top. Let us be thankful, I repeat, +for the light vouchsafed to us; ours is a goodly heritage; but +there are moods—such creatures of hereditary influence are +we—wherein I would gladly exchange both the guide-book and the +sardine box for a vision, never so indistinct and transient, of +Kitche Manitoo. Alas! what a long time it is since any of us +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +have been able to see the invisible. "In the mountains," says +Wordsworth, "did he feel his faith." But the poet was speaking then of a +very old-fashioned young fellow, who, even when he grew up, made nothing +but a peddler. Had he lived in our day, he would have felt not his +faith, but his own importance; especially if he had put himself out of +breath, as most likely he would have done, in accomplishing in an hour +and forty minutes what, according to the guide-book, should have taken a +full hour and three quarters. The modern excursionist (how Wordsworth +would have loved that word!) has learned wisdom of a certain wise fowl +who once taught St. Peter a lesson, and who never finds himself in a +high place without an impulse to flap his wings and crow.</p> + +<p>For my own part, though I spent nearly three hours on the +less than four miles of mountain path, as I have already acknowledged, +I was nevertheless somewhat short-winded at the end. So long as +I was in the woods, it was easy enough to loiter; but no sooner +did I leave the last low spruces behind me than I was seized +with an importunate desire to stand upon the peak, so near +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"> [Pg 22]</a></span> +at hand just above me. I hope my readers are none of them too old to +sympathize with the boyish feeling. At all events, I quickened my pace. +The distance could not be more than half a mile, I thought. But it was +wonderful how that perverse trail among the boulders did unwind itself, +as if it never would come to an end; and I was not surprised, on +consulting a guide-book afterwards, to find that my half mile had really +been a mile and a half. One's sensations in such a case I have sometimes +compared with those of an essay-writer when he is getting near the end +of his task. He dallied with it in the beginning, and was half ready to +throw it up in the middle; but now the fever is on him, and he cannot +drive the pen fast enough. Two days ago he doubted whether or not to +burn the thing; now it is certain to be his masterpiece, and he must sit +up till morning, if need be, to finish it. What would life be worth +without its occasional enthusiasm, laughable in the retrospect, perhaps, +but in itself pleasurable almost to the point of painfulness?</p> + +<p>It was a glorious day. I enjoyed the climb, the lessening +forest, the <a name="lafayette22" id="lafayette22">alpine</a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +plants (the <a name="diapensia23" id="diapensia23">diapensia</a> +was in full flower, with its upright snowy goblets, while the +<a name="geum23" id="geum23">geum</a> and the <a name="sandwort23" +id="sandwort23"> Greenland sandwort</a> were just beginning to blossom), +the magnificent prospect, the stimulating air, and, most of all, the +mountain itself. I sympathized then, as I have often done at other +times, with a remark once made to me by a Vermont farmer's wife. I had +sought a night's lodging at her house, and during the evening we fell +into conversation about Mount Mansfield, from the top of which I had +just come, and directly at the base of which the farmhouse stood. When +she went up "the mounting," she said, she liked to look off, of course; +but somehow what she cared most about was "the mounting itself."</p> + +<p>The woman had probably never read a line of Wordsworth, +unless possibly, "We are Seven" was in the old school reader; +but I am sure the poet would have liked this saying, especially +as coming from such a source. <i>I</i> liked it, at any rate, +and am seldom on a mountain-top without recalling it. Her lot +had been narrow and prosaic,—bitterly so, the visitor was +likely to think; she was little used to expressing herself, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +no doubt would have wondered what Mr. Pater could mean by his talk about +natural objects as possessing "more or less of a moral or spiritual +life," as "capable of a companionship with man, full of expression, of +inexplicable affinities and delicacies of intercourse." From such +refinements and subtleties her mind would have taken refuge in thoughts +of her baking and ironing. But she enjoyed the mountain; I think she had +some feeling for it, as for a friend; and who knows but she, too, was +one of "the poets that are sown by Nature"?</p> + +<p>I spent two happy hours and a half at the summit of <a +name="lafayette24" id="lafayette24">Lafayette</a>. The ancient peak must +have had many a worthier guest, but it could never have entertained one +more hospitably. With what softly temperate breezes did it fan me! I +wish I were there now! But kind as was its welcome, it did not urge me +to remain. The word of the brook came true again,—as Nature's +words always do, if we hear them aright. Having gone as high as my feet +could carry me, there was nothing left but to go down again. "Which +things," as Paul said to the Galatians, "are an allegory."</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +<p>I was not asked to stay, but I was invited to come again; and +the next season, also in June, I twice accepted the invitation. +On the first of these occasions, although I was eight days +later than I had been the year before (June 19th instead of +June 11th), the <a name="diapensia25" id="diapensia25">diapensia</a> +was just coming into somewhat free bloom, while the <a name="sandwort25" +id="sandwort25">sandwort</a> showed only here and there a +stray flower, and the <a name="geum25" id="geum25">geum</a> +was only in bud. The dwarf paper birch (trees of no one knows +what age, matting the ground) was in blossom, with large, +handsome catkins, while Cutler's willow was already in fruit, and +the crowberry likewise. The willow, like the birch, has learned that the +only way to live in such a place is to lie flat upon the ground and let +the wind blow over you. The other flowers noted at the summit were one +of the blueberries (<i>Vaccinium uliginosum</i>), Bigelow's sedge, +and the fragrant alpine <a name="holy" id="holy">holy-grass +(<i>Hierochloa alpina</i>)</a>. Why should this sacred grass, +which Christians sprinkle in front of their church doors on +feast-days, be scattered thus upon our higher mountain-tops, unless +these places are indeed, as the Indian and the ancient Hebrew +believed, the special abode of the Great Spirit?</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +<p>But the principal interest of this my second ascent of Mount +Lafayette was to be not botanical, but ornithological. We had seen +nothing noteworthy on the way up (I was not alone this time, though I +have so far been rude enough to ignore my companion); but while at the +Eagle Lakes, on our return, we had an experience that threw me into a +nine days' fever. The other man—one of the botanists of last +year's crew—was engaged in collecting viburnum specimens, when all +at once I caught sight of something red in a dead spruce on the +mountain-side just across the tiny lake. I leveled my glass, and saw +with perfect distinctness, as I thought, two <a name="grosbeak" +id="grosbeak">pine grosbeaks</a> in bright male costume,—birds +I had never seen before except in winter. Presently a third one, +in dull plumage, came into view, having been hidden till now +behind the bole. The trio remained in sight for some time, +and then dropped into the living spruces underneath, and +disappeared. I lingered about, while my companion and the black +flies were busy, and was on the point of turning away for good, +when up flew two red birds and alighted in a tree close by the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +one out of which the grosbeaks had dropped. But a single glance +showed that they were not grosbeaks, but <a name="crossbill" +id="crossbill">white-winged crossbills</a>! And soon they, too, were +joined by a third bird, in female garb. Here was a pretty piece of +confusion! I was delighted to see the crossbills, having never before +had the first glimpse of them, summer or winter; but what was I to +think about the grosbeaks? "Your determination is worthless," said my +scientific friend, consolingly; and there was no gainsaying his verdict. +Yet by what possibility could I have been so deceived? The birds, though +none too near, had given me an excellent observation, and as long as +they were in sight I had felt no uncertainty whatever as to their +identity. The bill alone, of which I had taken particular note, ought in +all reason to be held conclusive. So much for one side of the case. On +the other hand, however, the second trio were unmistakably crossbills. +(They had been joined on the wing by several others, as I ought to have +mentioned, and with their characteristic chattering cry had swept out of +sight up the mountain). It was certainly a curious coincidence: three +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +grosbeaks—two males and a female—had dropped out of +a tree into the undergrowth; and then, five minutes later, three +crossbills—two males and a female—had risen out of the same +undergrowth, and taken almost the very perch which the others had +quitted! Had this strange thing happened? Or had my eyes deceived me? +This was my dilemma, on the sharp horns of which I tried alternately for +the next eight days to make myself comfortable.</p> + +<p>During all that time, the weather rendered mountain climbing +impracticable. But the morning of the 28th was clear and cold, and I set +out forthwith for the Eagle Lakes. If the grosbeaks were there, I meant +to see them, though I should have to spend all day in the attempt. My +botanist had returned home, leaving me quite alone at the hotel; but, as +good fortune would have it, before I reached the Profile House, I was +overtaken unexpectedly by a young ornithological friend, who needed +no urging to try the Lafayette path. We were creeping laboriously +up the long, steep shoulder beyond the Eagle Cliff gorge, and +drawing near the lakes, when all at once a peculiarly sweet, flowing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +warble fell upon our ears. "A pine grosbeak!" said I, in a tone of full +assurance, although this was my first hearing of the song. The younger man +plunged into the forest, in the direction of the voice, while I, knowing +pretty well how the land lay, hastened on toward the lakes, in hopes to +find the singer visible from that point. Just as I ran down the little +incline into the open, a bird flew past me across the water, and alighted +in a dead spruce (it might have been the very tree of nine days before), +where it sat in full sight, and at once broke into song,—"like the +purple finch's," says my notebook; "less fluent, but, as it seemed to me, +sweeter and more expressive. I think it was not louder." Before many +minutes, my comrade came running down the path in high glee, calling, +"Pine grosbeaks!" He had got directly under a tree in which two of them +were sitting. So the momentous question was settled, and I commenced +feeling once more a degree of confidence in my own eyesight. The loss of +such confidence is a serious discomfort; but strange as it may seem to +people in general, I suspect that few field ornithologists, except +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +beginners, ever succeed in retaining it undisturbed for any long time +together. As a class, they have learned to take the familiar maxim, +"Seeing is believing," with several grains of allowance. With most of +them, it would be nearer the mark to say, Shooting is believing.</p> + +<p>My special errand at the lakes being thus quickly disposed of, +there was no reason why I should not accompany my friend to the +summit. Lafayette gave us a cold reception. We might have addressed +him as Daniel Webster, according to the time-worn story, once addressed +Mount Washington; but neither of us felt oratorically inclined. In truth, +after the outrageous heats of the past few days, it seemed good to be +thrashing our arms and crouching behind a boulder, while we devoured our +luncheon, and between times studied the landscape. For my own part, I +experienced a feeling of something like wicked satisfaction; as if I had +been wronged, and all at once had found a way of balancing the score. +The <a name="diapensia30" id="diapensia30">diapensia</a> was +already quite out of bloom, although only nine days before we had +thought it hardly at its best. It is one of the prettiest and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +most striking of our strictly alpine plants, but is seldom +seen by the ordinary summer tourist, as it finishes its course +long before he arrives. The same may be said of the splendid +<a name="azalea" id="azalea">Lapland azalea</a>, which I do +not remember to have found on Mount Lafayette, it is true, +but which is to be seen in all its glory upon the Mount +Washington range, in middle or late June; so early that one +may have to travel over snow-banks to reach it. The two flowers +oftenest noticed by the chance comer to these parts are the +<a name="sandwort31" id="sandwort31">Greenland sandwort</a> (the +"mountain daisy"!) and the pretty <a name="geum31" id="geum31">geum</a>, +with its handsome crinkled leaves and its bright yellow blossoms, +like buttercups.</p> + +<p>My sketch will hardly fulfill the promise of its title; for our June in +Franconia included a thousand things of which I have left myself no room +to speak: strolls in the Landaff Valley and to Sugar Hill; a walk to +Mount Agassiz; numerous visits—by the way, and in uncertain +weather—to Bald Mountain; several jaunts to Lonesome Lake; and +wanderings here and there in the pathless valley woods. We were none of +us of that unhappy class who cannot enjoy doing the same thing twice.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +<p>I wished, also, to say something of sundry minor enjoyments: +of the cinnamon roses, for example, with the fragrance of +which we were continually greeted, and which have left such +a sweetness in the memory that I would have called this essay +"June in the Valley of Cinnamon Roses," had I not despaired of +holding myself up to so poetic a title. And with the roses the +<a name="strawberry32" id="strawberry32">wild strawberries</a> present +themselves. <a name="rose32" id="rose32">Roses</a> and strawberries! It is +the very poetry of science that these should be classified together. The +berries, like the flowers, are of a generous turn (it is a family trait, +I think), loving no place better than the roadside, as if they would fain +be of refreshment to beings less happy than themselves, who cannot be +still and blossom and bear fruit, but are driven by the Fates to go +trudging up and down in dusty highways. For myself, if I were a dweller +in this vale, I am sure my finger-tips would never be of their natural +color so long as the season of strawberries lasted. On one of my solitary +rambles I found a retired sunny field, full of them. To judge from +appearances, not a soul had been near it. But I noticed that, while the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +almost ripe fruit was abundant, there was scarce any that +had taken on the final tinge and flavor. Then I began to be +aware of faint, sibilant noises about me, and, glancing up, I +saw that the ground was already "preëmpted" by a company of +<a name="cedar" id="cedar">cedar-birds</a>, who, naturally enough, +were not a little indignant at my poaching thus on their preserves. They +showed so much concern (and had gathered the ripest of the berries so +thoroughly) that I actually came away the sooner on their account. I +began to feel ashamed of myself, and for once in my life was literally +hissed off the stage.</p> + +<p>Even on my last page I must be permitted a word in praise of +<a name="cannon" id="cannon">Mount Cannon</a>, of which I made +three ascents. It has nothing like the celebrity of Mount Willard, +with which, from its position, it is natural to compare it; but +to my thinking it is little, if at all, less worthy. Its outlook +upon Mount Lafayette is certainly grander than anything Mount Willard +can offer, while the prospect of the Pemigewasset Valley, fading +away to the horizon, if less striking than that of the White Mountain +Notch, has some elements of beauty which must of necessity be lacking +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +in any more narrowly circumscribed scene, no matter how romantic.</p> + +<p>In venturing upon a comparison of this kind, however, one is bound +always to allow for differences of mood. When I am in tune for such +things, I can be happier on an ordinary Massachusetts hilltop than at +another time I should be on any New Hampshire mountain, though it were +Moosilauke itself. And, truly, Fortune did smile upon our first visit to +Mount Cannon. Weather conditions, outward and inward, were right. We had +come mainly to look at Lafayette from this point of vantage; but, while +we suffered no disappointment in that direction, we found ourselves +still more taken with the valley prospect. We lay upon the rocks by the +hour, gazing at it. Scattered clouds dappled the whole vast landscape +with shadows; the river, winding down the middle of the scene, drew the +whole into harmony, as it were, making it in some nobly literal sense +picturesque; while the distance was of such an exquisite blue as I think +I never saw before.</p> + +<p>How good life is at its best! And in such</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i4">"charmëd days,</span> +<span class="i0">When the genius of God doth flow,"</span> +</small></center></div></div> + +<p>what care we for science or the objects of science,—for grosbeak +or crossbill (may the birds forgive me!), or the latest novelty in +willows? I am often where fine music is played, and never without being +interested; as men say, I am pleased. But at the twentieth time, it may +be, something touches my ears, and I hear the music within the music; +and, for the hour, I am at heaven's gate. So it is with our appreciation +of natural beauty. We are always in its presence, but only on rare +occasions are our eyes anointed to see it. Such ecstasies, it seems, are +not for every day. Sometimes I fear they grow less frequent as we grow +older.</p> + +<p>We will hope for better things; but, should the gloomy prognostication +fall true, we will but betake ourselves the more assiduously to lesser +pleasures,—to warblers and willows, roses and strawberries. +Science will never fail us. If worse comes to worst, we will not despise +the moths.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h6>FOOTNOTES:</h6> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> +Just how far the cause of science was advanced by all this activity +I am not prepared to say. The first ornithologist of the party published +some time ago (in <i>The Auk</i>, vol. v. p. 151) a list of our Franconia +birds, and the results of the botanists' researches among the willows +have appeared, in part at least, in different numbers of the <i>Bulletin +of the Torrey Botanical Club</i>. As for the lepidopterist, I have an +indistinct recollection that she once wrote to me of having +made some highly interesting discoveries among her Franconia +collections,—several undescribed species, as well as I can now +remember; but she added that it would be useless to go into particulars +with a correspondent entomologically so ignorant.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> +<i>Bulletin of the Nuttall Ornithological Club</i>, vol. v. p. 3.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> +E. E. T. Seton, in <i>The Auk</i>, vol. ii. p. 305.</p></div></div> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +<h3><a name="DECEMBER_OUT-OF-DOORS" id="DECEMBER_OUT-OF-DOORS"></a> +DECEMBER OUT-OF-DOORS.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<p class="center"><small>"December's as pleasant as May."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><i>Old Hymn.</i></span></small> +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> a month so almost universally spoken +against, <a name="nov_flowers" id="nov_flowers">November</a> commonly +brings more than its full proportion of fair days; and last year (1888) +this proportion was, I think, even greater than usual. On the 1st +and 5th I heard the peeping of <a name="hyla36" id="hyla36">hylas</a>; +Sunday, the 4th, was enlivened by a farewell visitation +of bluebirds; during the first week, at least four sorts of +<a name="butterfly36" id="butterfly36">butterflies</a>—Disippus, +Philodice, Antiopa, and Comma—were on the wing, and +a single Philodice (our common yellow butterfly) was flying +as late as the 16th. Wild flowers of many kinds—not +less than a hundred, certainly—were in bloom; among them +the exquisite little pimpernel, or poor man's weather-glass. +My daily notes are full of complimentary allusions to the weather. +Once in a while it rained, and under date of the 6th I find this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +record,—"Everybody complaining of the heat;" but as terrestrial +matters go, the month was remarkably propitious up to the 25th. Then, +all without warning,—unless possibly from the pimpernel, which +nobody heeded,—a violent snow-storm descended upon us. Railway +travel and telegraphic communication were seriously interrupted, while +from up and down the coast came stories of shipwreck and loss of life. +Winter was here in earnest; for the next three months good walking days +would be few.</p> + +<p>December opened with a mild gray morning. The snow had already +disappeared, leaving only the remains of a drift here and there in the +lee of a stone-wall; the ground was saturated with water; every meadow +was like a lake; and but for the greenness of the fields in a few +favored spots, the season might have been late March instead of early +December. Of course such hours were never meant to be wasted within +doors. So I started out, singing as I went,—</p> + +<p class="center"><small>"While God invites, how blest the day!"</small></p> + +<p>But the next morning was pleasant likewise; and the next; and still +the next; and so the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"> +[Pg 38]</a></span> story went on, till in the end, omitting five days +of greater or less inclemency, I had spent nearly the entire month in +the open air. I could hardly have done better had I been in Florida.</p> + +<p>All my neighbors pronounced this state of things highly exceptional; +many were sure they had never known the like. At the time I fully agreed +with them. Now, however, looking back over my previous year's notes, I +come upon such entries as these: "December 3d. The day has been warm. +Found chickweed and knawel in bloom, and an old garden was full of +fresh-looking pansies." "4th. A calm, warm morning." "5th. Warm and +rainy." "6th. Mild and bright." "7th. A most beautiful winter day, mild +and calm." "8th. Even milder and more beautiful than yesterday." "11th. +Weather very mild since last entry. Pickering hylas peeping to-day." +"12th. Still very warm; <a name="hyla38" id="hyla38">hylas</a> peeping +in several places." "13th. Warm and bright." "14th. If possible, a +more beautiful day than yesterday."</p> + +<p>So much for December, 1887. Its unexpected good behavior would seem to +have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +made a profound impression upon me; no doubt I promised never to +forget it; yet twelve months later traditionary notions had resumed +their customary sway, and every pleasant morning took me by surprise.</p> + +<p>The winter of 1888-89 will long be famous in the ornithological +annals of New England as the winter of <a name="killdeer39" +id="killdeer39">killdeer plovers</a>. I have mentioned the +great storm of November 25th-27th. On the first pleasant morning +afterwards—on the 28th, that is—my out-of-door comrade +and I made an excursion to Nahant. The land-breeze had already +beaten down the surf, and the turmoil of the waters was in +great part stilled; but the beach was strewn with sea-weeds +and eel-grass, and withal presented quite a holiday appearance. +From one motive and another, a considerable proportion of +the inhabitants of the city had turned out. The principal +attraction, as far as we could perceive, was a certain big +clam, of which great numbers had been cast up by the tide. +Baskets and wagons were being filled; some of the men carried +off shells and all, while others, with a celerity which must +have been the result of much practice, were cutting out +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +the plump dark bodies, leaving the shells in heaps upon the sand. The +collectors of these molluscan dainties knew them as quahaugs, and +esteemed them accordingly; but my companion, a connoisseur in such +matters, pronounced them not the true quahaug (<i>Venus +mercenaria</i>,—what a profanely ill-sorted name, even for a +bivalve!) but the larger and coarser <i>Cyprina islandica</i>. The man to +whom we imparted this precious bit of esoteric lore received it like a +gentleman, if I cannot add like a scholar. "We <i>call</i> them quahaugs," +he answered, with an accent of polite deprecation, as if it were not +in the least to be wondered at that he should be found in the wrong. +It was evident, at the same time, that the question of a name did not +strike him as of any vital consequence. <i>Venus mercenaria</i> or +<i>Cyprina islandica</i>, the savoriness of the chowder was not likely +to be seriously affected.</p> + +<p>It was good, I thought, to see so many people out-of-doors. +Most of them had employment in the shops, probably, and on grounds of +simple economy, so called, would have been wiser to have stuck +to their lasts. But man, after all that civilization has done +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +for him (and against him), remains at heart a child of nature. His +ancestors may have been shoemakers for fifty generations, but none the +less he feels an impulse now and then to quit his bench and go hunting, +though it be only for a mess of clams.</p> + +<p>Leaving the crowd, we kept on our way across the beach to +Little Nahant, the cliffs of which offer an excellent position +from which to sweep the bay in search of loons, old-squaws, and other +sea-fowl. Here we presently met two gunners. They had been more +successful than most of the sportsmen that one falls in with on such +trips; between them they had a guillemot, two horned larks, and a brace +of <a name="killdeer41" id="killdeer41">large plovers</a>, of some +species unknown to us, but noticeable for their bright cinnamon-colored +rumps. "Why couldn't <i>we</i> have found those plovers, instead +of that fellow?" said my companion, as we crossed the second beach. +I fear he was envious at the prosperity of the wicked. But it was +only a passing cloud; for on reaching the main peninsula we were +speedily arrested by loud cries from a piece of marsh, and after +considerable wading and a clamber over a detestable barbed-wire +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +fence, such as no rambler ever encountered without at least a temptation +to profanity, we caught sight of a flock of about a dozen of the same +unknown plovers. This was good fortune indeed. We had no firearms, nor +even a pinch of salt, and coming shortly to a ditch, too wide for +leaping and too deep for cold-weather fording, we were obliged to +content ourselves with opera-glass inspection. Six of the birds were +grouped in a little plot of grass, standing motionless, like so many +robins. Their novelty and their striking appearance, with two +conspicuous black bands across the breast, their loud cries, and their +curious movements and attitudes were enough to drive a pair of +enthusiasts half crazy. We looked and looked, and then reluctantly +turned away. On getting home we had no difficulty in determining their +identity, and each at once sent off to the other the same +verdict,—"killdeer plover."</p> + +<p>This, as I say, was on the 28th of November. On the 3d of December we +were again at Nahant, eating our luncheon upon the veranda of some rich +man's deserted cottage, and at the same time enjoying the sunshine and +the beautiful scene.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +<p>It was a summery spot; moths were flitting about us, and two +grasshoppers leaped out of our way as we crossed the lawn. They showed +something less than summer liveliness, it is true; it was only +afterwards, and by way of contrast, that I recalled Leigh Hunt's</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">"Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,</span> +<span class="i1-5">Catching his heart up at the feel of June."</span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<p>But they had done well, surely, to weather the recent snow-storm and +the low temperature; for the mercury had been down to 10° within +a fortnight, and a large snow-bank was still in sight against the +wall. Suddenly a close flock of eight or ten birds flew past us and +disappeared behind the hill. "Pigeons?" said my companion. I thought +not; they were sea-birds of some kind. Soon we heard killdeer cries from +the beach, and, looking up, saw the birds, three of them, alighting on +the sand. We started down the hill in haste, but just at that moment an +old woman, a miserable gatherer of drift rubbish, walked directly upon +them, and they made off. Then we saw that our "pigeons," or "sea-birds," +had been nothing but killdeer plovers, which, like other long-winged +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +birds, look much larger in the air than when at rest. Returning +towards Lynn, later in the afternoon, we came upon the same three birds +again; this time feeding among the boulders at the end of the beach. We +remarked once more their curious, silly-looking custom of standing +stock-still with heads indrawn. But our own attitudes, as we also stood +stock-still with glasses raised, may have looked, in their eyes, even +more singular and meaningless. As we turned away—after flushing +them two or three times to get a view of their pretty cinnamon +rump-feathers—a sportsman came up, and proved to be the very man +on whose belt we had seen our first killdeers, a week before. We left +him doing his best to bag these three also. He will never read what I +write, and I need not scruple to confess that, seeing his approach, we +purposely startled the birds as badly as possible, hoping to see them +make off over the hill, out of harm's way. But the foolish creatures +could not take the hint, and alighted again within a few rods, at +the same time calling loudly enough to attract the attention of +the gunner, who up to this moment had not been aware of their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +presence. He fired twice before we got out of sight, but, to judge from +his motions, without success. A man's happiness is perhaps of more value +than a plover's, though I do not see how we are to prove it; but my +sympathies, then as always, were with the birds.</p> + +<p>Within a week or so I received a letter from Mrs. Celia Thaxter, +together with a wing, a foot, and one cinnamon feather. "By this wing +which I send you," she began, "can you tell me the name of the bird that +owned it?" Then after some description of the plumage, she continued: +"In the late tremendous tempest myriads of these birds settled on the +Isles of Shoals, filling the air with a harsh, shrill, incessant cry, +and not to be driven away by guns or any of man's inhospitable +treatment. Their number was so great as to be amazing, and they had +never been seen before by any of the present inhabitants of the Shoals. +They are plovers of some kind, I should judge, but I do not know." On +the 16th she wrote again: "All sorts of strange things were cast up by +the storm, and the plovers were busy devouring everything they could find; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +always running, chasing each other, very quarrelsome, fighting all the +time. They were in poor condition, so lean that the men did not shoot +them after the first day, a fact which gives your correspondent great +satisfaction. They are still there! My brother came from the Shoals +yesterday, and says that the place is alive with them, all the seven +islands."</p> + +<p>Similar facts were reported—as I began in one way +and another to learn—from different points along the +coast; especially from Cape Elizabeth, Maine, where hundreds +of the birds were seen on the 28th and 29th of November. +The reporter of this item <a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> pertinently adds: "Such +a flight of killdeer in Maine—where the bird is well known +to be rare—has probably not occurred before within the memory +of living sportsmen." Here, as at the Isles of Shoals, the visitors +were at first easily shot (they are not counted among game birds +where they are known, on account of their habitual leanness, I suppose); +but they had landed upon inhospitable shores, and were not long in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +becoming aware of their misfortune. In the middle of December one +of our Cambridge ornithologists went to Cape Cod on purpose to find +them. He saw about sixty birds, but by this time they were so wild +that he succeeded in getting only a single specimen. "Poor fellows!" +he wrote me; "they looked unhappy enough, that cold Friday, with the +mercury at 12° and everything frozen stiff. Most of them were on +hillsides and in the hollows of pastures; a few were in the salt marshes, +and one or two on the beach." Nobody expected them to remain hereabouts, +as they normally winter in the West Indies and in Central and +South America; <a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> but every little +while Mrs. Thaxter wrote, "The killdeers are still here!" and on the +21st of December, as I approached Marblehead Neck, I saw a bird skimming +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +over the ice that covered the small pond back of the beach. I put up my +glass and said to myself, "A killdeer plover!" There proved to be two +birds. They would not suffer me within gunshot,—though I carried +no gun,—but flew off into some ploughed ground, with their usual +loud vociferations. (The killdeer is aptly named <i>Ægialitis +vocifera</i>.)</p> + +<p>During the month with the history of which we are now especially +concerned, I saw nothing more of them; but by way of completing the +story I may add that on the 28th of January, in the same spot, I found a +flock of seven, and there they remained. I visited them four times in +February and once in March, and found them invariably in the same place. +Evidently they had no idea of making another attempt to reach the West +Indies for <i>this</i> season; and if they were to remain in our +latitude, they could hardly have selected a more desirable location. +The marsh, or meadow, was sheltered and sunny, while the best protected +corner was at the same time one of those peculiarly springy spots in +which the grass keeps green the winter through. Here, then, these seven +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +wayfarers stayed week after week. Whenever I stole up cautiously and +peeped over the bank into their verdant hiding-place, I was sure to hear +the familiar cry; and directly one bird, and then another, and another, +would start up before me, disclosing the characteristic brown feathers +of the lower back. They commonly assembled in the middle of the marsh +upon the snow or ice, where they stood for a little, bobbing their heads +in mutual conference, and then flew off over the house and over the +orchard, calling as they flew.</p> + +<p>Throughout December, and indeed throughout the winter, +<a name="creeper49" id="creeper49">brown creepers</a> and +<a name="nuthatch49" id="nuthatch49">red-bellied nuthatches</a> +were surprisingly abundant. Every pine wood seemed to have +its colony of them. Whether the extraordinary mildness of +the season had anything to do with this I cannot say; but +their presence was welcome, whatever the reason for it. Like the +<a name="chickadee49" id="chickadee49">chickadee</a>, with whom they +have the good taste to be fond of associating, they are always busy +and cheerful, appearing not to mind either snow-storm or low temperature. +No reasonable observer would ever tax them with effeminacy, though +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +the creeper, it must be owned, cannot speak without lisping.</p> + +<p>Following my usual practice, I began a catalogue of the month's birds, +and at the end of a fortnight discovered, to my astonishment, that the +name of the <a name="downy" id="downy">downy woodpecker</a> was missing. +He had been common during November, and is well known as one of our +familiar winter residents. I began forthwith to keep a sharp lookout for +him, particularly whenever I went near any apple orchard. A little +later, I actually commenced making excursions on purpose to find him. +But the fates were against me, and go where I would, he was not there. +At last I gave him up. Then, on the 27th, as I sat at my desk, a +chickadee chirped outside. Of course I looked out to see him; and there, +exploring the branches of an old apple-tree, directly under my window, +was the black-and-white woodpecker for whom I had been searching in vain +through five or six townships. The saucy fellow! He rapped smartly three +or four times; then he straightened himself back, as woodpeckers do, and +said: "Good-morning, sir! Where have you been so long? If you wish to see +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +<i>me</i>, you had better stay at home." He might have spoken a little +less pertly; for after all, if a man would know what is going on, whether +in summer or winter, he must not keep too much in his own door-yard. Of +the thirty birds in my December list, I should have seen perhaps ten if +I had sat all the time at my window, and possibly twice that number had +I confined my walks within the limits of my own town.</p> + +<p>While the migration is going on, to be sure, one may find birds in the +most unexpected places. Last May I glanced up from my book and espied an +<a name="swainson51" id="swainson51">olive-backed thrush</a> in the back +yard, foraging among the currant-bushes. Raising a window quietly, I +whistled something like an imitation of his inimitable song; and the +little traveler—always an easy dupe—pricked up his ears, +and presently responded with a strain which carried me straight into the +depths of a White Mountain forest. But in December, with some exceptions, +of course, birds must be sought after rather than waited for. The 15th, +for example, was a most uncomfortable day,—so uncomfortable +that I stayed indoors,—the mercury only two or three +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +degrees above zero, and a strong wind blowing. Such weather +would drive the birds under shelter. The next forenoon, therefore, +I betook myself to a hill covered thickly with pines and cedars. Here +I soon ran upon several robins, feeding upon the savin berries, and in +a moment more was surprised by a <i>tseep</i> so loud and emphatic +that I thought at once of a fox sparrow. Then I looked for a song +sparrow,—badly startled, perhaps,—but found to my delight a +<a name="whitethroat52" id="whitethroat52">white-throat</a>. He was on the +ground, but at my approach flew into a cedar. Here he drew in his head and +sat perfectly still, the picture of discouragement. I could not blame him, +but was glad, an hour later, to find him again on the ground, picking up +his dinner. I leveled my glass at him and whistled his Peabody song (the +simplest of all bird songs to imitate), but he moved not a feather. +Apparently he had never heard it before! He was still there in the +afternoon, and I had hopes of his remaining through the winter; but I +never could find him afterwards. Ten days prior to this I had gone to +Longwood on a special hunt for this same sparrow, remembering a certain +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +peculiarly cozy hollow where, six or eight years before, a little company +of <a name="songspar53" id="songspar53">song sparrows</a> and +white-throats had passed a rather severe winter. The song sparrows were +there again, as I had expected, but no white-throats. The song sparrows, +by the way, treated me shabbily this season. A year ago several of them +took up their quarters in a roadside garden patch, where I could look in +upon them almost daily. This year there were none to be discovered +anywhere in this neighborhood. They figure in my December list on four +days only, and were found in four different towns,—Brookline +(Longwood), Marblehead, Nahant, and Cohasset. Like some others of our land +birds (notably the <a name="flicker53" id="flicker53">golden-winged +woodpecker</a> and the <a name="meadow53" id="meadow53">meadow lark</a>), +they seem to have learned that winter loses a little of its rigor along +the sea-board.</p> + +<p>Three kinds of land birds were met with at Nahant Beach, and nowhere +else: the <a name="ipswich53" id="ipswich53">Ipswich sparrow</a>,—on +the 3d and 26th,—the <a name="snowbunting" id="snowbunting">snow +bunting</a>, and the <a name="horned" id="horned">horned lark</a>. +Of the last two species, both of them rather common in November, +I saw but one individual each. They were feeding side by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +side, and, after a short separation,—under the fright into which my +sudden appearance put them,—one called to the other, and they flew +off in company towards Lynn. It was a pleasing display of sociability, but +nothing new; for in <a name="dec_birds" id="dec_birds">winter</a>, as +every observer knows, birds not of a feather flock together. The +<a name="ipswich54" id="ipswich54">Ipswich sparrow</a>, a very retiring +but not peculiarly timid creature, I have now seen at Nahant in every one +of our seven colder months,—from October to April,—though it +is unquestionably rare upon the Massachusetts coast between the fall and +spring migrations. Besides the species already named, my monthly list +included the following: herring gull, great black-backed gull, ruffed +grouse, hairy woodpecker, flicker, goldfinch, tree sparrow, snowbird, +blue jay, crow, shrike, white-bellied nuthatch (only two or three birds), +golden-crowned kinglet, and one small hawk.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" +id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> + +<p>The only birds that sang during the month—unless +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +we include the <a name="nuthatch55" id="nuthatch55">red-bellied +nuthatches</a>, whose frequent quaint twitterings should, perhaps, +come under this head—were the <a name="chickadee55" +id="chickadee55">chickadees</a> and a single <a name="robin55" +id="robin55">robin</a>. The former I have down as uttering +their sweet phœbe whistle—which I take to be certainly their +song, as distinguished from all their multifarious calls—on seven +of the thirty-one days. They were more tuneful in January, and still +more so in February; so that the titmouse, as becomes a creature so full +of good humor and high spirits, may fairly be said to sing all winter +long. The robin's music was a pleasure quite unexpected. I was out on +Sunday, the 30th, for a few minutes' stroll before breakfast, when the +obliging stranger (I had not seen a robin for a fortnight, and did not +see another for nearly two months) broke into song from a hill-top +covered with pitch-pines. He was in excellent voice, and sang again and +again. The morning invited music,—warm and cloudless, like an +unusually fine morning in early April.</p> + +<p>For an entire week, indeed, the weather had seemed to be +trying to outdo itself. I remember in particular the day before +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +Christmas. I rose long before daylight, crossed the Mystic River marshes +as the dawn was beginning to break, and shortly after sunrise was on my +way down the South Shore. Leaving the cars at Cohasset, I sauntered +over the Jerusalem Road to Nantasket, spent a little while on the +beach, and brought up at North Cohasset, where I was attracted by a +lonesome-looking road running into the woods all by itself, with a +guide-board marked "Turkey Hill." Why not accept the pleasing +invitation, which seemed meant on purpose for just such an idle +pedestrian as myself? As for Turkey Hill, I had never heard of +it, and presumed it to be some uninteresting outlying hamlet. +My concern, as a saunterer's ought always to be, was with +the road itself, not with what might lie at the end of it. +I did not discover my mistake till I had gone half a mile, +more or less, when the road all at once turned sharply to +the right and commenced ascending. Then it dawned upon me +that Turkey Hill must be no other than the long, gradual, +grassy slope at which I had already been looking from the +railway station. The prospect of sea and land was beautiful; all +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +the more so, perhaps, because of a thick autumnal haze. It might be +called excellent Christmas weather, I said to myself, when a naturally +prudent man, no longer young, could sit perched upon a fence rail at the +top of a hill, drinking in the beauties of the landscape.</p> + +<p>At the station, after my descent, I met a young man of the +neighborhood. "Do you know why they call that Turkey Hill?" said I. +"No, sir, I don't," he answered. I suggested that probably somebody +had killed a wild turkey up there at some time or other. He looked +politely incredulous. "I don't <i>think</i> there are any wild +turkeys up there," said he; "<i>I</i> never saw any." He was not +more than twenty-five years old, and the last Massachusetts turkey +was killed on Mount Tom in 1847, so that I had no doubt he spoke the +truth. Probably he took me for a simple-minded fellow, while I thought +nothing worse of him than that he was one of those people, so numerous +and at the same time so much to be pitied, who have never studied +ornithology.</p> + +<p>The 25th was warmer even than the 24th; and it, likewise, I spent upon +the South <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a> +</span>Shore, though at a point somewhat farther inland, and +in a town where I was not likely to lose myself, least of all in any +out-of-the-way woodland road. In short, I spent Christmas on my native +heath,—a not inappropriate word, by the bye, for a region so +largely grown up to huckleberry bushes. "Holbrook's meadows," and +"Norton pasture!"—the names are not to be found on any map, and +will convey no meaning to my readers; but in my ears they awaken +memories of many and many a sunny hour. On this holiday I revisited them +both. Warm as it was, boys and girls were skating on the meadows (in +spite of their name, these have been nothing but a pond for as long as I +can remember), and I stood awhile by the old Ross cellar, watching their +evolutions. How bright and cheery it was in the little sheltered +clearing, with nothing in sight but the leafless woods and the +ice-covered pond! "Shan't I take your coat?" the sun seemed to be +asking. At my elbow stood a bunch of lilac bushes ("laylocks" they were +probably called by the man who set them out <a name="FNanchor_7_7" +id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>) +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +that had blossomed freely in the summer. The house has been gone for +these thirty years or more (alas! my sun must be rapidly declining when +memory casts so long a shadow), but the bushes seem likely to hold their +own for at least a century. They might have prompted a wise man to some +wise reflections; but for myself, it must be acknowledged, I fell +instead to thinking how many half days I had fished—and caught +nothing, or next to nothing—along this same pleasant, +willow-bordered shore.</p> + +<p>In Norton pasture, an hour or two later, I made myself young again by +putting a few checkerberries into my mouth; and in a small new clearing +just over the brook ("Dyer's Run," this used to be called, but I fear +the name is falling into forgetfulness) I stumbled upon a patch of some +handsome evergreen shrub, which I saw at once to be a novelty. I took it +for a member of the heath family, but it proved to belong with the +hollies,—<i>Ilex glabra</i>, or ink-berry, a plant not to be found +in the county where it is my present lot to botanize. So, even on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a> +</span>my native heath, I had discovered something new.</p> + +<p>The <a name="dec_flowers" id="dec_flowers">flora</a> of a +Massachusetts December is of necessity limited. Even in the month +under review, singularly favorable as it was, I found but sixteen +sorts of wild blossoms; a small number, surely, though perhaps larger +by sixteen than the average reader would have guessed. The names of +these hardy adventurers must by no means go unrecorded: shepherd's purse, +wild pepper-grass, pansy, common chickweed (<i>Stellaria media</i>), +mouse-ear chickweed (<i>Cerastium viscosum</i>), knawel, common mallow, +witch-hazel, cinque-foil (<i>Potentilla Norvegica</i>,—not +<i>argentea</i>, as I should certainly have expected), many-flowered +aster, cone-flower, yarrow, two kinds of groundsel, fall dandelion, +and jointweed. Six of these—mallow, cinque-foil, aster, +cone-flower, fall dandelion, and jointweed—were noticed +only at Nahant; and it is further to be said that the jointweed +was found by a friend, not by myself, while the cone-flower was not +in strictness a blossom; that is to say, its rays were well opened, +making what in common parlance is called a flower, but the true +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a> +</span>florets were not yet perfected. Such <a name="witch61" +id="witch61">witch-hazel</a> blossoms as can be gathered in December +are of course nothing but belated specimens. I remarked a few on the 2d, +and again on the 10th; and on the afternoon of Christmas, happening to +look into a hamamelis-tree, I saw what looked like a flower near the +top. The tree was too small for climbing and almost too large for +bending, but I managed to get it down; and sure enough, the bit of +yellow was indeed a perfectly fresh blossom. How did it know I was to +pass that way on Christmas afternoon, and by what sort of freemasonry +did it attract my attention? I loved it and left it on the stalk, in the +true Emersonian spirit, and here I do my little best to embalm its +memory.</p> + +<p>One of the <a name="groundsel" id="groundsel">groundsels</a> +(<i>Senecio viscosus</i>) is a recent immigrant from Europe, +but has been thoroughly established in the Back Bay lands of +Boston—where I now found it, in perfect condition, December +4th—for at least half a dozen years. In Gray's "Flora +of North America" it is said to grow there and in the vicinity +of Providence; but since that account was written it has made its +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +appearance in Lowell, and probably in other places. It is a +coarse-looking little plant, delighting to grow in pure gravel; but its +blossoms are pretty, and now, with not another flower of any sort near +it, it looked, as the homely phrase is, "as handsome as a picture." Its +more generally distributed congener, <i>Senecio vulgaris</i>,—also a +foreigner—is, next to the common chickweed, I should say, our very +hardiest bloomer. At the beginning of the month it was in flower in an +old garden in Melrose; and at Marblehead Neck a considerable patch of it +was fairly yellow with blossoms all through December and January, and I +know not how much longer. I saw no shepherd's purse after December 27th, +but knawel was in flower as late as January 18th. The golden-rods, it +will be observed, are absent altogether from my list; and the same would +have been true of the <a name="aster62" id="aster62">asters</a>, but for +a single plant. This, curiously enough, still bore five heads of +tolerably fresh blossoms, after all its numberless companions, growing +upon the same hillside, had succumbed to the frost.</p> + +<p>Of my sixteen plants, exactly one half are <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> species that have +been introduced from Europe; six are members of the composite family; +and if we omit the cone-flower, all but three of the entire number are +simple whites and yellows. Two red flowers, the clover and the +pimpernel, disappointed my search; but the blue hepatica would almost +certainly have been found, had it come in my way to look for it.</p> + +<p>Prettier even than the flowers, however, was the December greenness, +especially of the humbler sorts: St. John's-wort, five-finger, the +creeping <a name="blackberry63" id="blackberry63">blackberries</a>,—whose +modest winter loveliness was never half appreciated,—herb-robert, +corydalis, partridge-berry, checkerberry, wintergreen, +rattlesnake-plantain, veronica, and linnæa, to say nothing of the +ferns and mosses. Most refreshing of all, perhaps, was an occasional +patch of bright green grass, like the one already spoken of, at +Marblehead, or like one even brighter and prettier, which I visited more +than once in Swampscott.</p> + +<p>As I review what I have written, I am tempted to exclaim with +Tennyson:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">"And was the day of my delight</span> +<span class="i0">As pure and perfect as I say?"</span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +<p>But I answer, in all good conscience, yes. The motto with which I began +states the truth somewhat strongly, perhaps (it must be remembered where +I got it), but aside from that one bit of harmless borrowed hyperbole, I +have delivered a plain, unvarnished tale. For all that, however, I do +not expect my industrious fellow-citizens to fall in at once with my +opinion that winter is a pleasant season at the seashore (it would be +too bad they should, as far as my own enjoyment is concerned), and +December a month propitious for leisurely all-day rambles. How foreign +such notions are to people in general I have lately had several forcible +reminders. On one of my jaunts from Marblehead to Swampscott, for example, +I had finally taken to the railway, and was in the narrow, tortuous cut +through the ledges, when, looking back, I saw a young gentleman coming +along after me. He was in full skating rig, fur cap and all, with a +green bag in one hand and a big hockey stick in the other. I stopped +every few minutes to listen for any bird that might chance to be in the +woods on either hand, and he could not well avoid overtaking me, though he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +seemed little desirous of doing so. The spot was lonesome, and as he +went by, and until he was some rods in advance, he kept his head partly +turned. There was no mistaking the significance of that furtive, +sidelong glance; he had read the newspapers, and didn't intend to be +attacked from behind unawares! If he should ever cast his eye over these +pages (and whatever he may have thought of my appearance, I am bound to +say of him that he looked like a man who might appreciate good +literature), he will doubtless remember the incident, especially if I +mention the field-glass which I carried slung over one shoulder. +Evidently the world sees no reason why a man with anything better to do +should be wandering aimlessly about the country in midwinter. Nor do I +quarrel with the world's opinion. The majority is wiser than the +minority, of course; otherwise, what becomes of its divine and +inalienable right to lay down the law? The truth with me was +that I <i>had</i> nothing better to do. I confess it without +shame. Surely there is no lack of shoemakers. Why, then, should +not here and there a man take up the business of walking, of wearing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +out shoes? Everything is related to everything else, and the self-same +power that brought the killdeers to Marblehead sent me there to see them +and do them honor. Should it please the gods to order it so, I shall +gladly be kept running on such errands for a score or two of winters.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h6>FOOTNOTES:</h6> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> +Mr. N. C. Brown, in <i>The Auk</i>, January, 1889, page 69.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> +It seems probable that the birds started from some point in the +Southern States for a long southward flight, or perhaps for the West +Indies, on the evening of November 24th, and on getting out to sea were +caught by the great gale, which whirled them northward over the +Atlantic, landing them—such of them, that is, as were not drowned +on the way—upon the coast of New England. The grounds for such an +opinion are set forth by Dr. Arthur P. Chadbourne in <i>The Auk</i> for +July, 1889, page 255.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> +To this list my ornithological comrade before mentioned added seven +species, namely: white-winged scoter, barred owl, cowbird, purple finch, +white-winged crossbill, fox sparrow, and winter wren. Between us, as far +as land birds went, we did pretty well.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> +So they were called, too, by that lover of flowers, Walter Savage +Landor, who, as his biographer says, followed a pronunciation +"traditional in many old English families."</p></div></div> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +<h3><a name="DYERS_HOLLOW" id="DYERS_HOLLOW"></a>DYER'S HOLLOW.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i8">"Quiet hours</span> +<span class="i1-5">Pass'd among these heaths of ours</span> +<span class="i-2">By the grey Atlantic sea."</span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></span> +</small></center></div></div> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">lived</span> for three weeks at the "Castle," +though, unhappily, I did not become aware of my romantic good fortune till +near the close of my stay. There was no trace of battlement or turret, +nothing in the least suggestive of Warwick or Windsor, or of Sir Walter +Scott. In fact, the Castle was not a building of any kind, but a hamlet; a +small collection of houses—a somewhat scattered collection, it must +be owned,—such as, on the bleaker and sandier parts of Cape Cod, is +distinguished by the name of village. On one side flowed the river, +doubling its course through green meadows with almost imperceptible +motion. As I watched the tide come in, I found myself saying,—</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">"Here twice a day the Pamet fills,</span> +<span class="i3">The salt sea-water passes by."</span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<p>But the rising flood could make no "silence in the hills;" for the +Pamet, as I saw it, is far too sedate a stream ever to be caught +"babbling." It has only some three miles to run, and seems to know +perfectly well that it need not run fast.</p> + +<p>My room would have made an ideal study for a lazy man, I +thought, the two windows facing straight into a sand-bank, above +which rose a steep hill, or perhaps I should rather say the steep +wall of a plateau, on whose treeless top, all by themselves, or +with only a graveyard for company, stood the Town Hall and the +two village churches. Perched thus upon the roof of the Cape, +as it were, and surmounted by cupola and belfry, the hall and +the "orthodox" church made invaluable beacons, visible from +far and near in every direction. For three weeks I steered +my hungry course by them twice a day, having all the while +a pleasing consciousness that, however I might skip the +Sunday sermon, I was by no means neglecting my religious +privileges. The second and smaller meeting-house belonged to a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +Methodist society. On its front were the scars of several small holes +which had been stopped and covered with tin. A resident of the Castle +assured me that the mischief had been done by pigeon +woodpeckers,—<a name="flicker69" id="flicker69">flickers</a>,—a +statement at which I inwardly rejoiced. Long ago I had announced my +belief that these enthusiastic shouters must be of the Wesleyan +persuasion, and here was the proof! Otherwise, why had they never sought +admission to the more imposing and, as I take it, more fashionable +orthodox sanctuary? Yes, the case was clear. I could understand now how +Darwin and men like him must have felt when some great hypothesis of +theirs received sudden confirmation from an unexpected quarter. At the +same time I was pained to see that the flickers' attempts at +church-going had met with such indifferent encouragement. Probably the +minister and the class leaders would have justified their exclusiveness +by an appeal to that saying about those who enter "not by the door into +the sheepfold;" while the woodpeckers, on their part, might have +retorted that just when they had most need to go in the door was shut.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +<p>One of my favorite jaunts was to climb this hill, or plateau, +the "Hill of Storms" (I am still ignorant whether the storms in question +were political, ecclesiastical, or atmospheric, but I approve the name), +and go down on the other side into a narrow valley whose meanderings led +me to the ocean beach. This valley, or, to speak in the local dialect, +this hollow, like the parallel one in which I lived,—the valley of +the Pamet,—runs quite across the Cape, from ocean to bay, a +distance of two miles and a half, more or less.</p> + +<p>At my very first sight of Dyer's Hollow I fell in love with it, and +now that I have left it behind me, perhaps forever, I foresee that my +memories of it are likely to be even fairer and brighter than was the +place itself. I call it Dyer's Hollow upon the authority of the town +historian, who told me, if I understood him correctly, that this was its +name among sailors, to whom it is a landmark. By the residents of the +town I commonly heard it spoken of as Longnook or Pike's Hollow, but for +reasons of my own I choose to remember it by its nautical designation, +though myself as far as possible from being a nautical man.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +<p>To see Dyer's Hollow at its best, the visitor should enter it at +the western end, and follow its windings till he stands upon the bluff +looking out upon the Atlantic. If his sensations at all resemble mine, +he will feel, long before the last curve is rounded, as if he were +ascending a mountain; and an odd feeling it is, the road being level, or +substantially so, for the whole distance. At the outset he is in a green, +well-watered valley on the banks of what was formerly Little Harbor. The +building of the railway embankment has shut out the tide, and what used +to be an arm of the bay is now a body of fresh water. Luxuriant cat-tail +flags fringe its banks, and cattle are feeding near by. Up from the +reeds a <a name="bittern" id="bittern">bittern</a> will now and then +start. I should like to be here once in May, to hear the blows of his +stake-driver's mallet echoing and reëchoing among the close hills. +At that season, too, all the uplands would be green. So we were told, at +any rate, though the pleasing story was almost impossible of belief. In +August, as soon as we left the immediate vicinity of Little Harbor, the +very bottom of the valley itself was parched and brown; and the look +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +of barrenness and drought increased as we advanced, till toward +the end, as the last houses were passed, the total appearance of +things became subalpine: stunted, weather-beaten trees, and broad +patches of <a name="bearberry72" id="bearberry72">bearberry</a> +showing at a little distance like beds of mountain cranberry.</p> + +<p>All in all, Dyer's Hollow did not impress me as a promising +farming country. Acres and acres of horseweed, pinweed, stone +clover, <a name="poverty72" id="poverty72">poverty grass,</a> +<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" +class="fnanchor">[8]</a> reindeer moss, mouse-ear everlasting, and +bearberry! No wonder such fields do not pay for fencing-stuff. No +wonder, either, that the dwellers here should be mariculturalists +rather than agriculturalists. And still, although their best garden is +the bay, they have their gardens on land also,—the bottoms of +the deepest hollows being selected for the purpose,—and by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +hook or by crook manage to coax a kind of return out of the +poverty-stricken soil. Even on Cape Cod there must be some +potatoes to go with the fish. Vegetables raised under such +difficulties are naturally sweet to the taste, and I was not so much +surprised, therefore, on a certain state occasion at the Castle, to +see a mighty dish of string beans ladled into soup-plates and exalted +to the dignity of a separate course. Here, too,—but this was in +Dyer's Hollow,—I found in successful operation one of the latest, +and, if I may venture an unprofessional opinion, one of the most +valuable, improvements in the art of husbandry. An old man, an ancient +mariner, no doubt, was seated on a camp-stool and plying a hoe among his +cabbages. He was bent nearly double with age ("triple" is the word in my +notebook, but that may have been an exaggeration), and had learned +wisdom with years. I regretted afterward that I had not got over the +fence and accosted him. I could hardly have missed hearing something +rememberable. Yet I may have done wisely to keep the road. Industry +like his ought never to be intruded upon lightly. Some, I dare say, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +would have called the sight pathetic. To me it was rather inspiring. +Only a day or two before, in another part of the township, I had seen a +man sitting in a chair among his bean-poles picking beans. Those heavy, +sandy roads and steep hills must be hard upon the legs, and probably the +dwellers thereabout (unlike the Lombardy poplars, which there, as +elsewhere, were decaying at the top) begin to die at the lower +extremities. It was not many miles from Dyer's Hollow that Thoreau fell +in with the old wrecker, "a regular Cape Cod man," of whom he says that +"he looked as if he sometimes saw a doughnut, but never descended to +comfort." Quite otherwise was it with my wise-hearted agricultural +economists; and quite otherwise shall it be with me, also, who mean to +profit by their example. If I am compelled to dig when I get old (to beg +may I ever be ashamed!), I am determined not to forget the camp-stool. +The Cape Cod motto shall be mine,—He that hoeth cabbages, let him +do it with assiduity.</p> + +<p>This aged cultivator, not so much "on his last legs" as beyond +them, was evidently a native of the soil, but several of the few +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +houses standing along the valley road were occupied by Western +Islanders. I was crossing a field belonging to one of them when +the owner greeted me; a milkman, as it turned out, proud of his +cows and of his boy, his only child. "How old do you think he is?" +he asked, pointing to the young fellow. It would have been +inexcusable to disappoint his fatherly expectations, and I +guessed accordingly: "Seventeen or eighteen." "Sixteen," he +rejoined,—"sixteen!" and his face shone till I wished I had +set the figure a little higher. The additional years would have +cost me nothing, and there is no telling how much happiness they +might have conferred. "Who lives there?" I inquired, turning +to a large and well-kept house in the direction of the bay. +"My nephew." "Did he come over when you did?" "No, I sent for +him." He himself left the Azores as a cabin boy, landed +here on Cape Cod, and settled down. Since then he had been +to California, where he worked in the mines. "Ah! that was where +you got rich, was it?" said I. "Rich!"—this in a tone of +sarcasm. But he added, "Well, I made something." His praise of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +his nearest neighbor—whose name proclaimed his Cape Cod +nativity—made me think well not only of his neighbor, but of him. +There were forty-two Portuguese families in Truro, he said. "There are +more than that in Provincetown?" I suggested. He shrugged his shoulders. +"Yes, about half the people." And pretty good people they are, if such +as I saw were fair representatives. One boy of fourteen (unlike the +milkman's heir, he was very small for his years, as he told me with +engaging simplicity) walked by my side for a mile or two, and quite won +my heart. A true Nathanael he seemed, in whom was no guile. He should +never go to sea, he said; nor was he ever going to get married so long +as his father lived. He loved his father so much, and he was the only +boy, and his father couldn't spare him. "But didn't your father go to +sea?" "Oh, yes; both my fathers went to sea." That was a puzzle; but +presently it came out that his two fathers were his father and his +grandfather. He looked troubled for a moment when I inquired the +whereabouts of the poorhouse, in the direction of which we happened to be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +going. He entertained a very decided opinion that he shouldn't like to +live there; a wholesome aversion, I am bound to maintain, dear Uncle +Venner to the contrary notwithstanding.</p> + +<p>A stranger was not an every-day sight in Dyer's Hollow, I imagine, and +as I went up and down the road a good many times in the course of my visit, +I came to be pretty well known. So it happened that a Western Islands +woman came to her front door once, broom in hand and the sweetest of +smiles on her face, and said, "Thank you for that five cents you gave my +little boy the other day." "Put that in your pocket," I had said, and the +obedient little man did as he was bidden, without so much as a side glance +at the denomination of the coin. But he forgot one thing, and when his +mother asked him, as of course she did, for mothers are all alike, "Did +you thank the gentleman?" he could do nothing but hang his head. Hence +the woman's smile and "thank you," which made me so ashamed of the +paltriness of the gift (Thackeray never saw a boy without wanting to give +him a <i>sovereign</i>!) that my mention of the matter here, so far from +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +indicating an ostentatious spirit, ought rather to be taken as a mark +of humility.</p> + +<p>All things considered, I should hardly choose to settle for life in +Dyer's Hollow; but with every recollection of the place I somehow feel +as if its score or two of inhabitants were favored above other men. Why +is it that people living thus by themselves, and known thus transiently +and from the outside as it were, always seem in memory like dwellers in +some land of romance? I cannot tell, but so it is; and whoever has such +a picture on the wall of his mind will do well, perhaps, never to put +the original beside it. Yet I do not mean to speak quite thus of Dyer's +Hollow. Once more, at least, I hope to walk the length of that +straggling road. As I think of it now, I behold again those beds of +shining <a name="bearberry78" id="bearberry78">bearberry</a> +("resplendent" would be none too fine a word; there is no plant for +which the sunlight does more), loaded with a wealth of handsome red +fruit. The beach-plum crop was a failure; plum wine, of the goodness +of which I heard enthusiastic reports, would be scarce; but one needed +only to look at the bearberry patches to perceive that Cape Cod sand was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +not wanting in fertility after a manner of its own. If its +energies in the present instance happened to be devoted to ornament +rather than utility, it was not for an untaxed and disinterested +outsider to make complaint; least of all a man who was never a +wine-bibber, and who believes, or thinks he believes, in "art for art's +sake." Within the woods the ground was carpeted with trailing arbutus +and a profusion of checkerberry vines, the latter yielding a few fat +berries, almost or quite a year old, but still sound and spicy, still +tasting "like tooth-powder," as the benighted city boy expressed it. It +was an especial pleasure to eat them here in Dyer's Hollow, I had so +many times done the same in another place, on the banks of Dyer's Run. +<a name="slipper79" id="slipper79">Lady's-slippers</a> likewise +(nothing but leaves) looked homelike and friendly, and the wild lily of +the valley, too, and the pipsissewa. Across the road from the old house +nearest the ocean stood a still more ancient-seeming barn, long disused, +to all appearance, but with old maid's pinks, catnip, and tall, stout +pokeberry weeds yet flourishing beside it. Old maid's pinks and catnip! +Could that combination have been fortuitous?</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +<p>No botanist, nor even a semi-scientific lover of growing things, +like myself, can ever walk in new fields without an eye for new +plants. While coming down the <a name="cape_cod" id="cape_cod">Cape</a> +in the train I had seen, at short intervals, clusters of some strange +flower,—like yellow asters, I thought. At every station I +jumped off the car and looked hurriedly for specimens, till, after +three or four attempts, I found what I was seeking,—the +<a name="gold_aster" id="gold_aster">golden aster</a>, <i>Chrysopsis +falcata</i>. Here in Truro it was growing everywhere, and +of course in Dyer's Hollow. Another novelty was the <a name="glauca" +id="glauca">pale greenbrier, <i>Smilax glauca</i></a>, which +I saw first on the hill at Provincetown, and afterward discovered +in Longnook. It was not abundant in either place, and in +my eyes had less of beauty than its familiar relatives, +the common greenbrier (cat-brier, horse-brier, Indian-brier) +of my boyhood, and the carrion flower. This glaucous smilax +was one of the plants that attracted Thoreau's attention, if I +remember right, though I cannot now put my finger upon his reference +to it. Equally new to me, and much more beautiful, as well as more +characteristic of the place, were the broom-crowberry and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +greener kind of <a name="poverty81" id="poverty81">poverty grass +(<i>Hudsonia ericoides</i>)</a>, inviting pillows or cushions +of which, looking very much alike at a little distance, were +scattered freely over the grayish hills. These huddling, low-lying +plants were among the things which bestowed upon Longnook its +pleasing and remarkable mountain-top aspect. The rest of the +vegetation was more or less familiar, I believe: the obtuse-leaved +milkweed, of which I had never seen so much before; three sorts of +<a name="goldrod81" id="goldrod81">goldenrod</a>, including abundance +of the fragrant <i>odora</i>; two kinds of yellow gerardia, and, +in the lower lands at the western end of the valley, the dainty +<a name="gerardia81" id="gerardia81">rose gerardia</a>, just now +coming into bloom; the pretty <i>Polygala polygama</i>,—pretty, +but not in the same class with the rose gerardia; ladies' +tresses; bayberry; sweet fern; crisp-leaved tansy; beach +grass; huckleberry bushes, for whose liberality I had frequent +occasion to be thankful; bear oak; chinquapin; chokeberry; a +single vine of the Virginia creeper; wild carrot; wild cherry; +the common brake,—these and doubtless many more were +there, for I made no attempt at a full catalogue. There +must have been wild <a name="rose81" id="rose81">roses</a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +along the roadside and on the edge of the thickets, I should think, yet +I cannot recollect them, nor does the name appear in my penciled +memoranda. Had the month been June instead of August, notebook and +memory would record a very different story, I can hardly doubt; but out +of flower is out of mind.</p> + +<p>In the course of my many visits to Dyer's Hollow I saw thirty-three +kinds of birds, of the eighty-four species in my full Truro list. The +number of individuals was small, however, and, except at its lower end, +the valley was, or appeared to be, nearly destitute of feathered life. A +few song sparrows, a cat-bird or two, a chewink or two, a field sparrow, +and perhaps a Maryland yellow-throat might be seen above the last +houses, but as a general thing the bushes and trees were deserted. +Walking here, I could for the time almost forget that I had ever owned a +hobby-horse. But farther down the hollow there was one really "birdy" +spot, to borrow a word—useful enough to claim lexicographical +standing—from one of my companions: a tiny grove of stunted +oaks, by the roadside, just at the point where I naturally +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +struck the valley when I approached it by way of the Hill of Storms. Here +I happened upon my only Cape Cod <a name="cowbird"id="cowbird">cowbird</a>, +a full-grown youngster, who was being ministered unto in the most +devoted manner by a <a name="redeye83" id="redeye83">red-eyed +vireo</a>,—such a sight as always fills me with mingled amusement, +astonishment, admiration, and disgust. That any bird should be so +befooled and imposed upon! Here, too, I saw at different times an adult +male blue yellow-backed warbler, and a bird of the same species in +immature plumage. It seemed highly probable, to say the least, that the +young fellow had been reared not far off, the more so as the neighboring +Wellfleet woods were spectral with hanging lichens, of the sort which +this exquisite especially affects. At first I wondered why this particular +little grove, by no means peculiarly inviting in appearance, should be the +favorite resort of so many birds,—robins, orioles, wood pewees, +kingbirds, chippers, golden warblers, black-and-white creepers, +prairie warblers, red-eyed vireos, and <a name="blueyellow83" +id="blueyellow83">blue yellow-backs</a>; but I presently concluded that a +fine spring of water just across the road must be the attraction. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +Near the spring was a vegetable garden, and here, on the 22d of August, +I suddenly espied a <a name="waterthrush" id="waterthrush">water +thrush</a> teetering upon the tip of a bean-pole, his rich olive-brown +back glistening in the sunlight. He soon dropped to the ground +among the vines, and before long walked out into sight. His +action when he saw me was amusing. Instead of darting back, +as a sparrow, for instance, would have done, he flew up to +the nearest perch; that is, to the top of the nearest bean-pole, +which happened to be a lath. Wood is one of the precious metals +on Cape Cod, and if oars are used for fence-rails, and fish-nets +for hen-coops, why not laths for bean-poles? The perch was narrow, +but wide enough for the bird's small feet. Four times he came +up in this way to look about him, and every time alighted thus +on the top of a pole. At the same moment three <a name="prairie84" +id="prairie84">prairie warblers</a> were chasing each other about the +garden, now clinging to the side of the poles, now alighting on their +tips. It was a strange spot for prairie warblers, as it seemed to me, +though they looked still more out of place a minute later, when they +left the bean-patch and sat upon a rail fence in an open grassy field. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +Cape Cod birds, like Cape Cod men, know how to shift their course +with the wind. Where else would one be likely to see prairie warblers, +<a name="blk_throat_gr85" id="blk_throat_gr85">black-throated greens</a>, +and <a name="creeper85" id="creeper85">black-and-white creepers</a> +scrambling in company over the red shingles of a house-roof, and +<a name="songspar85" id="songspar85">song sparrows</a> singing day +after day from a chimney-top?</p> + +<p>In all my wanderings in Dyer's Hollow, only once did I see +anything of that pest of the seashore, the sportsman; then, in +the distance, two young fellows, with a highly satisfactory want of +success, as well as I could make out, were trying to take the life of a +meadow lark. No doubt they found existence a dull affair, and felt the +need of something to enliven it. A noble creature is man,—"a +little lower than the angels!" Two years in succession I have been at +the seashore during the autumnal migration of sandpipers and plovers. +Two years in succession have I seen men, old and young, murdering +sandpipers and plovers at wholesale for the mere fun of doing it. Had +they been "pot hunters," seeking to earn bread by shooting for the +market, I should have pitied them, perhaps,—certainly I should +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +have regretted their work; but I should have thought no ill of them. Their +vocation would have been as honorable, for aught I know, as that of any +other butcher. But a man of twenty, a man of seventy, shooting sanderlings, +ring plovers, golden plovers, and whatever else comes in his way, not for +money, nor primarily for food, but because he enjoys the work! "A little +lower than the angels!" What numbers of innocent and beautiful creatures +have I seen limping painfully along the beach, after the gunners had +finished their day's amusement! Even now I think with pity of one particular +<a name="turnstone" id="turnstone">turnstone</a>. Some being made "a +little lower than the angels" had fired at him and carried away one of +his legs. I watched him for an hour. Much of the time he stood motionless. +Then he hobbled from one patch of eel-grass to another, in search of +something to eat. My heart ached for him, and it burns now to think that +good men find it a pastime to break birds' legs and wings and leave them +to perish. I have seen an old man, almost ready for the grave, who could +amuse his last days in this way for weeks together. An exhilarating and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +edifying spectacle it was,—this venerable worthy sitting behind +his bunch of wooden decoys, a wounded tern fluttering in agony at his +feet. Withal, be it said, he was a man of gentlemanly bearing, +courteous, and a Christian. He did not shoot on Sunday,—not he. +Such sport is to me despicable. Yet it is affirmed by those who ought to +know—by those, that is, who engage in it—that it tends to +promote a spirit of manliness.</p> + +<p>But thoughts of this kind belong not in Dyer's Hollow. Rather let me +remember only its stillness and tranquillity, its innocent inhabitants, +its gray hills, its sandy road, and the ocean at the end of the way. +Even at the western extremity, near the railway and the busy harbor, the +valley was the very abode of quietness. Here, on one of my earlier +excursions, I came unexpectedly to a bridge, and on the farther side of +the bridge to a tidy house and garden; and in the garden were several +pear-trees, with fruit on them! Still more to my surprise, here +was a little shop. The keeper of it had also the agency of some +insurance company,—so a signboard informed the passer-by. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +As for his stock in trade,—sole leather, dry goods, +etc.,—that spoke for itself. I stepped inside the door, but he was +occupied with an account book, and when at last he looked up there was +no speculation in his eyes. Possibly he had sold something the day +before, and knew that no second customer could be expected so soon. We +exchanged the time of day,—not a very valuable commodity +hereabout,—and I asked him a question or two touching the hollow, +and especially "the village," of which I had heard a rumor that it lay +somewhere in this neighborhood. He looked bewildered at the +word,—he hardly knew what I could mean, he said; but with a little +prompting he recollected that a few houses between this point and North +Truro (there used to be more houses than now, but they had been removed +to other towns,—some of them to Boston!) were formerly called "the +village." I left him to his ledger, and on passing his house I saw that +he was a dealer in grain as well as in sole leather and calico, and had +telephonic communication with somebody; an enterprising merchant, after +all, up with the times, in spite of appearances.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +<p>The shop was like the valley, a careless tourist might have +said,—a sleepy shop in Sleepy Hollow. To me it seemed not so. +Peaceful, remote, sequestered,—these and all similar epithets +suited well with Longnook; but for myself, in all my loitering there I +was never otherwise than wide awake. The close-lying, barren, +mountainous-looking hills did not oppress the mind, but rather lifted +and dilated it, and although I could not hear the surf, I felt all the +while the neighborhood of the sea; not the harbor, but the ocean, with +nothing between me and Spain except that stretch of water. Blessed +forever be Dyer's Hollow, I say, and blessed be its inhabitants! Whether +Western Islanders or "regular Cape Cod men," may they live and die in +peace.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h6>FOOTNOTES:</h6> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> +In looking over the town history, I was pleased to come upon a note +in defense of this lowly plant, on the score not only of its beauty, but +of its usefulness in holding the sand in place; but, alas, "all men have +not faith," and where the historian wrote <i>Hudsonia tomentosa</i> the +antipathetic compositor set up <i>Hudsonia tormentosa</i>. That compositor +was a Cape Cod man,—I would wager a dinner upon it. "Thus the +whirligig of time brings in his revenges," I hear him mutter, as he +slips the superfluous consonant into its place.</p></div></div> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +<h3><a name="FIVE_DAYS_ON_MOUNT_MANSFIELD" id="FIVE_DAYS_ON_MOUNT_MANSFIELD"></a> +FIVE DAYS ON MOUNT MANSFIELD.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">"Lead him through the lovely mountain-paths,</span> +<span class="i1">And talk to him of things at hand and common."</span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></span> +</small></center></div></div> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">went</span> up the mountain from the village +of Stowe in very ignoble fashion,—in a wagon,—and was three +hours on the passage. One of the "hands" at the Summit House occupied +the front seat with the driver, and we were hardly out of the village +before a seasonable toothache put him in mind of his pipe. Would smoking +be offensive to me? he inquired. What could I say, having had an aching +tooth before now myself? It was a pleasure almost beyond the luxury of +breathing mountain air to see the misery of a fellow-mortal so quickly +assuaged. The driver, a sturdy young Vermonter, was a man of different +spirit. He had never used tobacco nor drunk a glass of "liquor," I heard +him saying. Somebody had once offered him fifty cents to smoke a cigar. +</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +<p>"Why didn't you take it?" asked his companion in a tone of wonder.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not that kind of a fellow, to be bought for fifty cents." +</p> + +<p>As we approached the base of the mountain, a <a name="whitethroat91" +id="whitethroat91">white-throated sparrow</a> was piping by the roadside. +</p> + +<p>"I love to hear that bird sing," said the driver.</p> + +<p>It was now my turn to be surprised. Our man of principle was also +a man of sentiment.</p> + +<p>"What do you call him?" I inquired, as soon as I could recover myself. +</p> + +<p>"Whistling Jack," he answered; a new name to me, and a good one; it +would take a nicer ear than mine to discriminate with certainty between +a white-throat's voice and a school-boy's whistle.</p> + +<p>The morning had promised well, but before we emerged from the +forest as we neared the summit we drove into a cloud, and, shortly +afterward, into a pouring rain. In the office of the hotel I found a +company of eight persons, four men and four women, drying themselves +about the stove. They had left a village twenty miles away at two +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +o'clock that morning in an open wagon for an excursion to the +summit. Like myself, they had driven into a cloud, and up to this +time had seen nothing more distant than the stable just across the +road, within a stone's toss of the window, and even that only +by glimpses. One of the party was a doctor, who must be at home +that night. Hour after hour they watched the clouds, or rather +the rain (we were so beclouded that the clouds could not be +seen), and debated the situation. Finally, at three o'clock, +they got into their open wagon, the rain pelting them fiercely, +and started for the base. Doubtless they soon descended into clear +weather, but not till they were well drenched. Verily the clouds +are no respecters of persons. It is nothing to them how far you +have come, nor how worthy your errand. So I reflected, having +nothing better to do, when my wagonful of pilgrims had dropped +out of sight in the fog—as a pebble drops into the +lake—leaving me with the house to myself; and presently, +as I sat at the window, I heard a <a name="whitethroat92" +id="whitethroat92">white-throated sparrow</a> singing outside. Here was +one, at least, whom the rain could not discourage. A wild and yet a sweet and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +home-felt strain is this of "Whistling Jack,"—a mountain bird, +well used to mountain weather, and just now too happy to forego his +music, no matter how the storm might rage. I myself had been in a cloud +often enough to feel no great degree of discomfort or lowness of +spirits. I had not decided to spend the precious hours of a brief +vacation upon a mountain-top without taking into account the additional +risk of unfavorable weather in such a place. Let the clouds do their +worst; I could be patient and wait for the sun. But this whistling +philosopher outside spoke of something better than patience, and I +thanked him for the timely word.</p> + +<p>Toward noon of the next day the rain ceased, the cloud vanished, +and I made haste to clamber up the rocky peak—the Nose, so +called—at the base of which the hotel is situated. Yes, there +stretched Lake Champlain, visible for almost its entire length, and +beyond it loomed the Adirondacks. I was glad I had come. <i>I</i> +could sing now. It does a man good to look afar off.</p> + +<p>Even before the fog lifted I had discovered, to my no small +gratification, that the evergreens immediately about the house were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +full of <a name="graythrush94" id="graythrush94">gray-cheeked +thrushes</a>, a close colony, strictly confined to the low trees +at the top of the mountain. They were calling at all hours, +<i>yeep, yeep</i>, somewhat in the manner of young chickens; +and after supper, as it grew dark, I stood on the piazza while +they sang in full chorus. At least six of them were in tune at +once. <i>Wee-o, wee-o, tit-ti wee-o</i>, something like this +the music ran, with many variations; a most ethereal sound, at the very +top of the scale, but faint and sweet; quite in tune also with my mood, +for I had just come in from gazing long at the sunset, with Lake +Champlain like a sea of gold for perhaps a hundred miles, and a stretch +of the St. Lawrence showing far away in the north. During the afternoon, +too, I had been over the long crest of the mountain to the northern +peak, the highest point, belittled in local phraseology as the Chin; a +delightful jaunt of two miles, with magnificent prospects all the way. +It was like walking on the ridge-pole of Vermont, a truly exhilarating +experience.</p> + +<p>All in all, though the forenoon had been so rainy, I had lived +a long day, and now, if ever, could appreciate the singing of this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +<a name="graythrush95" id="graythrush95">characteristic northern +songster</a>, himself such a lover of mountains as never to be heard, here +in New England, at least, and in summer-time, except amid the dwindling +spruce forests of the upper slopes. I have never before seen him so +familiar. On the Mount Washington range and on Mount Lafayette it is +easy enough to hear his music, but one rarely gets more than a flying +glimpse of the bird. Here, as I say, he was never out of hearing, and +seldom long out of sight, even from the door-step. The young were +already leaving the nest, and undoubtedly the birds had disposed +themselves for the season before the unpainted, inoffensive-looking +little hotel showed any signs of occupancy. The very next year a friend +of mine visited the place and could discover no trace of them. They had +found their human neighbors a vexation, perhaps, and on returning from +their winter's sojourn in Costa Rica, or where not, had sought summer +quarters on some less trodden peak.</p> + +<p>Not so was it with the <a name="myrtle" id="myrtle">myrtle +warblers</a>, I venture to assert, though on this point I have never +taken my friend's testimony. Perfectly at home as they are in the wildest +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +and most desolate places, they manifest a particular fondness for the +immediate vicinity of houses, delighting especially to fly about the +gutters of the roof and against the window panes. Here, at the Summit +House, they were constantly to be seen hawking back and forth against +the side of the building, as barn swallows are given to doing in the +streets of cities. The rude structure was doubly serviceable,—to +me a shelter, and to the birds a fly-trap. I have never observed any +other warbler thus making free with human habitations.</p> + +<p>This yellow-rump, or myrtle bird, is one of the thrifty +members of his great family, and next to the <a name="blackpoll96" +id="blackpoll96">black-poll</a> is the most numerous representative +of his tribe in Massachusetts during the spring and fall migrations; +a beautiful little creature, with a characteristic flight and +call, and for a song a pretty trill suggestive of the snow-bird's. +Within two or three years he has been added to the summer fauna of +Massachusetts, and as a son of the Bay State I rejoice in his presence +and heartily bid him welcome. We shall never have too many of such +citizens. I esteem him, also, as the only one of his delicate, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +insectivorous race who has the hardihood to spend the +winter—sparingly, but with something like regularity—within +the limits of New England. He has a genius for adapting himself to +circumstances; picking up his daily food in the depths of a mountain +forest or off the panes of a dwelling-house, and wintering, as may suit +his fancy or convenience, in the West Indies or along the sea-coast of +Massachusetts.</p> + +<p>One advantage of a sojourn at the summit of any of our wooded New +England mountains is the easy access thus afforded to the upper forest. +While I was here upon Mount Mansfield I spent some happy hours almost +every day in sauntering down the road for a mile or two, looking and +listening. Just after leaving the house it was possible to hear three +kinds of thrushes singing at once,—<a name="graythrush97" +id="graythrush97">gray-cheeks</a>, <a name="swainson97" +id="swainson97">olive-backs</a>, and <a name="hermit97" +id="hermit97">hermits</a>. Of the three the hermit is beyond comparison +the finest singer, both as to voice and tune. His song, given always in +three detached measures, each higher than the one before it, is +distinguished by an exquisite liquidity, the presence of <i>d</i> +and <i>l</i>, I should say, as contrasted with the inferior <i>t</i> sound +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +of the gray-cheek. If it has less variety, and perhaps less rapture, than +the song of the <a name="woodthrush" id="woodthrush">wood-thrush</a>, it +is marked by greater simplicity and ease; and if it does not breathe the +ineffable tranquillity of the <a name="veery98" id="veery98">veery's</a> +strain, it comes to my ear, at least, with a still nobler message. The +hermit's note is aspiration rather than repose. "Peace, peace!" says the +veery, but the hermit's word is, "Higher, higher!" "Spiritual songs," I +call them both, with no thought of profaning the apostolic phrase.</p> + +<p>I had been listening to thrush music (I think I could listen to it +forever), and at a bend of the road had turned to admire the wooded side +of the mountain, just here spread out before me, miles and miles of +magnificent hanging forest, when I was attracted by a noise as of +something gnawing—a borer under the bark of a fallen spruce lying at +my feet. Such an industrious and contented sound! No doubt the grub would +have said, "Yes, I could do <i>this</i> forever." What knew he of the +beauties of the picture at which I was gazing? The very light with which to +see it would have been a torture to him. Heaven itself was under the close +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +bark of that decaying log. So peradventure, may we ourselves be living +in darkness without knowing it, while spiritual intelligences look on +with wondering pity to see us so in love with our prison-house. Well, +yonder panorama was beautiful to <i>me</i>, at all events, however +it might look to more exalted beings, and, like my brother under the +spruce-tree bark, I would make the best of life as I found it.</p> + +<p>This way my thoughts were running when all at once two birds dashed by +me—a <a name="blackpoll99" id="blackpoll99">black-poll warbler</a> +in hot pursuit of an <a name="swainson99" id="swainson99">olive-backed +thrush</a>. The thrush alighted in a tree and commenced singing, +and the warbler sat by and waited, following the universal rule +that a larger bird is never to be attacked except when on the +wing. The thrush repeated his strain once or twice, and then +flew to another tree, the little fellow after him with all speed. +Again the olive-back perched and sang, and again the black-poll waited. +Three times these manœuvres were repeated, before the birds +passed out of my range. Some wrong-doing, real or fancied, on the part +of the larger bird, had excited the ire of the warbler. Why should he be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +imposed upon, simply because he was small? The thrush, meantime, +disdaining to defend himself, would only stop now and then to sing, as +if to show to the world (every creature is the centre of a world) that +such an insect persecution could never ruffle his spirit. Birds are to +be commiserated, perhaps, on having such an excess of what we call human +nature; but the misfortune certainly renders them the more interesting +to us, who see our more amiable weaknesses so often reflected in their +behavior.</p> + +<p>For the sympathetic observer every kind of bird has its own temperament. +On one of my jaunts down this Mount Mansfield road I happened to espy a +<a name="canadajay" id="canadajay">Canada jay</a> in a thick spruce. He +was on one of the lower branches, but pretty soon began mounting the tree, +keeping near the bole and going up limb by limb in absolute silence, exactly +in the manner of our common <a name="bluejay" id="bluejay">blue jay</a>. +I was glad to see him, but more desirous to hear his voice, the loud, +harsh scream with which the books credit him, and which, <i>a priori</i>, +I should have little hesitation in ascribing to any member of his +tribe. I waited till I grew impatient. Then I started hastily +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +toward him, making as much commotion as possible in pushing through the +undergrowth. It was a clever scheme, but the bird was not to be +surprised into uttering so much as an exclamation. He dropped out of his +tree, flew a little distance to a lower and less conspicuous perch, and +there I finally left him. Once before, on Mount Clinton, I had seen him, +and had been treated with the same studied silence. And later, I fell in +with a little family party on the side of Mount Washington, and they, +too, refused me so much as a note. Probably I was too near the birds in +every case, though in the third instance there was no attempt at +skulking, nor any symptom of nervousness. I have often been impressed +and amused by the blue jay's habit in this respect. No bird could well +be noisier than he when the noisy mood takes him; but come upon him +suddenly at close quarters, and he will be as still as the grave itself. +He has a double gift, of eloquence and silence,—silver and +gold—and no doubt his Canadian cousin is equally well endowed.</p> + +<p>The reader may complain, perhaps, that I speak only of trifles. Why go +to a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a> +</span>mountain-top to look at warblers and thrushes? I am not careful to +justify myself. I love a mountain-top, and go there because I love to be +there. It is good, I think, to be lifted above the every-day level, and to +enjoy the society—and the absence of society—which the heights +afford. Looking over my notes of this excursion, I come upon the following +sentence: "To sit on a stone beside a mountain road, with olive-backed +thrushes piping on every side, the ear catching now and then the distant +tinkle of a <a name="winterwren" id="winterwren">winter wren's</a> tune, +or the nearer <i>zee, zee, zee</i> of <a name="blackpoll102" +id="blackpoll102">black-poll warblers</a>, while <a name="whitethroat102" +id="whitethroat102">white-throated sparrows</a> call cheerily out of the +spruce forest—this is to be in another world."</p> + +<p>This sense of distance and strangeness is not to be obtained, in my +case at all events, by a few hours' stay in such a spot. I must pitch +my tent there, for at least a night or two. I cannot even see the +prospect at first, much less feel the spirit of the place. There must be +time for the old life to drop off, as it were, while eye and ear grow +wonted to novel sights and sounds. Doubtless I did take note of trivial +things,—the call of a bird and the fragrance of a flower. It was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +a pleasing relief after living so long with men whose minds were all the +time full of those serious and absorbing questions, "What shall we eat, +and what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we be clothed?"</p> + +<p>I remember with special pleasure a profusion of <a name="habenaria" +id="habenaria">white orchids (<i>Habenaria dilatata</i>)</a> which +bordered the roadside not far from the top, their spikes of waxy +snow-white flowers giving out a rich, spicy odor hardly to be +distinguished from the scent of carnation pinks. I remember, too, +how the whole summit, from the Nose to the Chin, was sprinkled with the +modest and beautiful <a name="sandwort103" id="sandwort103">Greenland +sandwort</a>, springing up in every little patch of thin soil, +where nothing else would flourish, and blossoming even under +the door-step of the hotel. Unpretending as it is, this little +alpine adventurer makes the most of its beauty. The blossoms +are not crowded into close heads, so as to lose their individual +attractiveness, like the florets of the golden-rod, for example; +nor are they set in a stiff spike, after the manner of the +orchid just now mentioned. At the same time the plant does +not trust to the single flower to bring it into notice. It +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +grows in a pretty tuft, and throws out its blossoms in a graceful, loose +cluster. The eye is caught by the cluster, and yet each flower shows by +itself, and its own proper loveliness is in no way sacrificed to the +general effect. How wise, too, is the sandwort in its choice of a +dwelling-place! In the valley it would be lost amid the crowd. On the +bare, brown mountain-top its scattered tufts of green and white appeal +to all comers.</p> + +<p>To what extent, if at all, the sandwort depends upon the service of +insects for its fertilization, I do not know, but it certainly has no +scarcity of such visitors. "Bees will soar for bloom high as the highest +peak of Mansfield;" so runs an entry in my notebook, with a pardonable +adaptation of Wordsworth's line; and I was glad to notice that even the +splendid black-and-yellow <a name="butterfly104" id="butterfly104">butterfly</a> +(<i>Turnus</i>), which was often to be seen sucking honey +from the fragrant orchids, did not disdain to sip also from +the sandwort's cup. This large and elegant butterfly—our +largest—is thoroughly at home on our New England mountains, +sailing over the very loftiest peaks, and making its way +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +through the forests with a strong and steady flight. Many a time have I +taken a second look at one, as it has threaded the treetops over my +head, thinking to see a bird. Besides the <i>Turnus</i>, I noted here the +nettle tortoise-shell butterfly (<i>Vanessa Milberti</i>—a showy +insect, and the more attractive to me as being comparatively a +stranger); the common cabbage butterfly; the yellow <i>Philodice</i>; the +copper; and, much more abundant than any of these, a large orange-red +fritillary (<i>Aphrodite</i>, I suppose), gorgeously bedecked with +spots of silver on the under surface of the wings. All these evidently +knew that plenty of flowers were to be found along this seemingly barren, +rocky crest. Whether they have any less sensuous motive for loving to +wander over such heights, who will presume to determine? It may very +well be that their almost ethereal structure—such spread of wing +with such lightness of body—is only the outward sign of gracious +thoughts and feelings, of a sensitiveness to beauty far surpassing +anything of which we ourselves are capable. What a contrast between +them and the grub gnawing ceaselessly under the spruce-tree bark! Can +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +the highest angel be as far above the lowest man? And yet (how +mysteriously suggestive would the fact be, if only it were new to us!) +this same light-winged Aphrodite, flitting from blossom to blossom in +the mountain breeze, was but a few days ago an ugly, crawling thing, +close cousin to the borer. Since then it has fallen asleep and been +changed,—a parable, past all doubt, though as yet we lack eyes to +read it.</p> + +<p>I have spoken hitherto as if I were the only sojourner at the summit, +but there was another man, though I seldom saw him; a kind of hermit, +living in a little shanty under the lee of the Nose. Almost as a matter of +course he was reputed to be of good family and to read Greek, and the fact +that he now and then received a bank draft evidently gave him a respectable +standing in the eye of the hotel clerk. Something—something of a +very romantic nature, we may be sure—had driven him away from the +companionship of his fellows, but he still found it convenient to be +within reach of human society. Like all such solitaries, he had some +half-insane notions. He could not sleep indoors, not for a night; it would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +ruin his health, if I understood him correctly; and because of wild +animals—bears and what not—he made his bed on the roof of +his hermitage. I had often dreamed of the enjoyment of a life in the +woods all by one's self, but such a mode of existence did not gain in +attractiveness as I saw it here in the concrete example. On the whole I +was well satisfied to sleep in the hotel and eat at the hotel table. +Liberty is good, but I thought it might be undesirable to be a slave to +my own freedom.</p> + +<p>Two or three times a wagon-load of tourists appeared at the hotel. +They strolled about the summit, admired the prospect, picked a bunch of +sandwort, perhaps, but especially they went to see the snow. They had +been at much trouble to stand upon the highest land in Vermont, and now +that they were here, they wished to do or see something unique, +something that should mark the day as eventful. So they were piloted to +a cave midway between the Nose and the Chin, into which the sun never +peeped, and wherein a snow-bank still lingered. The mountain was grand, +the landscape was magnificent, but to eat a handful of snow and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +throw a snow-ball in the middle of July—this was almost like being +at the North Pole; it would be something to talk about after getting +home.</p> + +<p>One visitor I rejoiced to see, though a stranger. I was on the Nose in +the afternoon, enjoying once more the view of Lake Champlain and the +Adirondacks, when I descried two men far off toward the Chin. They had +come up the mountain, not by the carriage road, but by a trail on the +opposite side, and plainly were in no haste, though the afternoon was +wearing away. As I watched their movements, a mile or two in the +distance, I said to myself, "Good! they are botanists." So it proved; or +rather one of them was a botanist,—a college professor on a +pedestrian collecting-excursion. We compared notes after supper and +walked together the next morning, enjoying that peculiar good fellowship +which nothing but a kindred interest and an unexpected meeting in a +lonesome place can make possible. Then he started down the carriage road +with the design of exploring Smugglers' Notch, and I have never seen +or heard from him since. I hope he is still botanizing on the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +shores of time, and finding many a precious rarity; and should he ever +read this reference to himself, may it be with a feeling as kindly as +that with which the lines are written.</p> + +<p>That afternoon I followed him, somewhat unexpectedly. I went down, as +I had come up, on wheels; but I will not say in ignoble fashion, for +the driver—the hotel proprietor himself—was in haste, the +carriage had no brake, and the speed with which we rattled down the +steep pitches and round the sharp curves, with the certainty that if +anything should break, the horse would run and our days would be +ended,—these things, and especially the latter consideration, of +which I thought and the other man spoke, made the descent one of +pleasurable excitement. We reached the base in safety and I was left at +the nearest farmhouse, where by dint of some persuasion the housewife +was induced to give me a lodging for the night, so that on the morrow I +might make a long day in Smugglers' Notch, a famous botanical resort +between Mount Mansfield and Mount Sterling, which I had for years been +desirous of visiting.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +<p>I would gladly have stayed longer on the heights, but it was pleasant +also to be once more in the lowlands; to walk out after supper and look up +instead of down, while the <a name="swift110" id="swift110">chimney +swifts</a> darted hither and thither with their merry, breathless +cacklings. How welcome, too, were the hearty music of the robin and the +carol of the <a name="vesper110" id="vesper110">grass finch</a>! After +all, I thought, home is in the valley; but the whistle of the <a +name="whitethroat110" id="whitethroat110">white-throat</a> reminded me +that I was not yet back in Massachusetts.</p> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +<h3><a name="A_WIDOW_AND_TWINS" id="A_WIDOW_AND_TWINS"></a>A WIDOW AND TWINS.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<p class="center"> +<small>"The fatherless and the widow ... shall eat and be +satisfied."—<span class="smcap">Deuteronomy</span> xiv. 29.</small> +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the 1st of June, 1890, I formally +broke away from ornithological pursuits. For two months, more or +less,—till the autumnal migration should set in,—I was +determined to have my thoughts upon other matters. There is no more +desirable plaything than an outdoor hobby, but a man ought not to be +forever in the saddle. Such, at all events, had always been my opinion, +so that I long ago promised myself never to become, what some of my +acquaintances, perhaps with too much reason, were now beginning to +consider me, a naturalist, and nothing else. That would be letting the +hobby-horse run away with its owner. For the time being, then, birds +should pass unnoticed, or be looked at only when they came in my way. +A sensible resolve. But the maker of it was neither Mede nor Persian, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +as the reader, if he have patience enough, may presently discover for +himself.</p> + +<p>As I sat upon the piazza, in the heat of the day, busy or half busy +with a book, a sound of humming-bird's wings now and then fell on my ear, +and, as I looked toward the honeysuckle vine, I began after a while to +remark that the visitor was invariably a female. I watched her probe the +scarlet tubes and dart away, and then returned to my page. She might +have a nest somewhere near; but if she had there was small likelihood of +my finding it, and, besides, I was just now not concerned with such +trifles. On the 24th of June, however, a passing neighbor dropped into +the yard. Was I interested in humming-birds? he inquired. If so, he +could show me a nest. I put down my book, and went with him at once.</p> + +<p>The beautiful structure, a model of artistic workmanship, was near the +end of one of the lower branches of an apple-tree, eight or ten feet +from the ground, saddled upon the drooping limb at a point where two +offshoots made a good holding-place, while an upright twig spread over +it a leafy canopy against rain and sun. Had the builders sought my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +advice as to a location, I could hardly have suggested one better suited +to my own convenience. The tree was within a stone's toss of my window, +and, better still, the nest was overlooked to excellent advantage from +an old bank wall which divided my premises from those of my next-door +neighbor. How could I doubt that Providence itself had set me a summer +lesson?</p> + +<p>At our first visit the discoverer of the nest—from that moment an +ornithologist—brought out a step-ladder, and we looked in upon the +two tiny white eggs, considerately improving a temporary absence of the +owner for that purpose. It was a picture to please not only the eye, but +the imagination; and before I could withdraw my gaze the mother bird was +back again, whisking about my head so fearlessly that for a moment I +stood still, half expecting her to drop into the nest within reach of my +hand.</p> + +<p>This, as I have said, was on the 24th of June. Six days later, +on the afternoon of the 30th, the eggs were found to be hatched, +and two lifeless-looking things lay in the bottom of the nest, +their heads tucked out of sight, and their bodies almost or quite +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +naked, except for a line of grayish down along the middle of the back.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, I had been returning with interest the visits of the bird +to our honeysuckle, and by this time had fairly worn a path to a certain +point in the wall, where, comfortably seated in the shade of the +hummer's own tree, and armed with opera-glass and notebook, I spent some +hours daily in playing the spy upon her motherly doings.</p> + +<p>For a widow with a house and family upon her hands, she took life +easily; at frequent intervals she absented herself altogether, and even +when at home she spent no small share of the time in flitting about +among the branches of the tree. On such occasions, I often saw her hover +against the bole or a patch of leaves, or before a piece of caterpillar +or spider web, making quick thrusts with her bill, evidently after +bits of something to eat. On quitting the nest, she commonly +perched upon one or another of a certain set of dead twigs in +different parts of the tree, and at once shook out her feathers +and spread her tail, displaying its handsome white markings, +indicative of her sex. This was the beginning of a leisurely toilet +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +operation, in the course of which she scratched herself with her feet +and dressed her feathers with her bill, all the while darting out her +long tongue with lightning-like rapidity, as if to moisten her beak, +which at other times she cleansed by rubbing it down with her claws or +by wiping it upon a twig. In general she paid little attention to me, +though she sometimes hovered directly in front of my face, as if trying +to stare me out of countenance. One of the most pleasing features of the +show was her method of flying into the nest. She approached it, without +exception, from the same quarter, and, after an almost imperceptible +hovering motion, shut her wings and dropped upon the eggs.</p> + +<p>When the young were hatched I redoubled my attentions. Now I should +see her feed them. On the first afternoon I waited a long time for this +purpose, the mother conducting herself in her customary manner: now +here, now there, preening her plumage, driving away a meddlesome +sparrow, probing the florets of a convenient clover-head (an unusual +resource, I think), or snatching a morsel from some leaf or twig. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +Suddenly she flew at me, and held herself at a distance of perhaps four +feet from my nose. Then she wheeled, and, as I thought, darted out of +the orchard. In a few seconds I turned my head, and there she sat in the +nest! I owned myself beaten. While I had been gazing toward the meadow, +she had probably done exactly what I had wasted the better part of the +afternoon in attempting to see.</p> + +<p>Twenty-four hours later I was more successful, though +the same ruse was again tried upon me. The mother left the +nest at my approach, but in three minutes (by the watch) +flew in again. She brooded for nine minutes. Then, quite of +her own motion, she disappeared for six minutes. On her +return she spent four minutes in dressing her feathers, after +which she alighted on the edge of the nest, fed the little +ones, and took her place upon them. This time she brooded +for ten minutes. Then she was away for six minutes, dallied +about the tree for two minutes longer, and again flew into the +nest. While sitting, she pecked several times in quick succession +at a twig within reach, and I could plainly see her mandibles +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +in motion, as if she were swallowing. She brooded for thirteen minutes, +absented herself for three minutes, and spent six minutes in her usual +cautionary manœuvres before resuming her seat. For the long +interval of twenty-two minutes she sat still. Then she vanished for four +minutes, and on her return gave the young another luncheon, after a fast +of one hour and six minutes.</p> + +<p>The feeding process, which I had been so desirous to see, was of a +sort to make the spectator shiver. The mother, standing on the edge +of the nest, with her tail braced against its side, like a woodpecker +or a creeper, took a rigidly erect position, and craned her neck until +her bill was in a perpendicular line above the short, wide-open, upraised +beak of the little one, who, it must be remembered, was at this time +hardly bigger than a humble-bee. Then she thrust her bill for its full +length down into his throat, a frightful-looking act, followed by a +series of murderous gesticulations, which fairly made one observer's +blood run cold.</p> + +<p>On the day after this (on the 2d of July, that is to say) I +climbed into the tree, in the old bird's absence, and stationed myself +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a> +</span>where my eyes were perhaps fifteen feet from the +nest, and a foot or two above its level. At the end of about +twenty minutes, the mother, who meantime had made two visits +to the tree, flew into place, and brooded for seventeen +minutes. Then she disappeared again, and on her return, +after numberless pretty feints and sidelong approaches, +alighted on the wall of the nest, and fed both little ones. +The operation, though still sufficiently reckless, looked +less like infanticide than before,—a fact due, as +I suppose, to my more elevated position, from which the +nestlings' throats were better seen. After this she brooded +for another seventeen minutes. On the present occasion, +as well as on many others, it was noticeable that, while +sitting upon the young, she kept up an almost incessant +motion, as if seeking to warm them, or perhaps to develop +their muscles by a kind of massage treatment. A measure of +such hitchings and fidgetings might have meant nothing more +than an attempt to secure for herself a comfortable seat; +but when they were persisted in for fifteen minutes together, +it was difficult not to believe that she had some different end in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +view. Possibly, as human infants get exercise by dandling on the +mother's knee, the baby humming-bird gets his by this parental kneading +process. Whether brooding or feeding, it must be said that the hummer +treated her tiny charges with no particular carefulness, so far as an +outsider could judge.</p> + +<p>The next day I climbed again into the tree. The mother bird made off at +once, and did not resume her seat for almost an hour, though she would +undoubtedly have done so earlier but for my presence. Again and again +she perched near me, her bill leveled straight at my face. Finally she +alighted on the nest, and, after considerable further delay, as if to +assure herself that everything was quite safe, fed the two chicks from +her throat, as before. "She thrust her bill into their mouths so far" (I +quote my notes) "that the tips of their short little beaks were up +against the root of her mandibles!"</p> + +<p>Only once more, on the 4th of July, I ventured into the apple-tree. +For more than an hour and a half I waited. Times without +number the mother came buzzing into the <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>tree, made the +circuit of her favorite perches, dressed her plumage, darted away again, +and again returned, till I was almost driven to get down, for her +relief. At last she fed the nestlings, who by this time must have been +all but starved, as indeed they seemed to be. "The tips of their bills +<i>do</i> come clean up to the base of the mother's mandibles." So I +wrote in my journal; for it is the first duty of a naturalist to verify +his own observations.</p> + +<p>On the 10th we again brought out the ladder. Though at least eleven +days old, the tiny birds—the "widow's mites," as my facetious +neighbor called them—were still far from filling the cup. While +I stood over it, one of them uttered some pathetic little cries that +really went to my heart. His bill, perceptibly longer than on the 5th, +was sticking just above the border of the nest. I touched it at the tip, +but he did not stir. Craning my neck, I could see his open eye. Poor, +helpless things! Yet within three months they would be flying to Central +America, or some more distant clime. How little they knew what was +before them! As little as I know what is before me.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +<p>The violence of the feeding act was now at its height, I think, but +it would be impossible to do justice to it by any description. My +neighbor, who one day stood beside me looking on, was moved to loud +laughter. When the two beaks were tightly joined, and while the old bird's +was being gradually withdrawn, they were shaken convulsively,—by +the mother's attempts to disgorge, and perhaps by the young fellow's +efforts to hasten the operation. It was plain that he let go with +reluctance, as a boy sucks the very tip of the spoon to get the last +drop of jam; but, as will be mentioned in the course of the narrative, +his behavior improved greatly in this respect as he grew older.</p> + +<p>On the 12th, just after the little ones had been fed, one of them got +his wings for the first time above the wall of the nest, and fluttered +them with much spirit. He had spent almost a fortnight in the cradle, +and was beginning to think he had been a baby long enough.</p> + +<p>From the first I had kept in mind the question whether +the feeding of the young by regurgitation, as described +briefly by Audubon, and more in detail by Mr. <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>William Brewster,<a +name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" +class="fnanchor">[9]</a> would be continued after the nestlings +were fully grown. On the 14th I wrote in my journal: "The method of +feeding remains unchanged, and, as it seems, is likely to remain so to +the end. It must save the mother much labor in going and coming, and +perhaps renders the coöperation of the male parent unnecessary." +This prediction was fulfilled, but with a qualification to be hereafter +specified.</p> + +<p>Every morning, now, I went to the apple-tree uncertain whether +the nest would not be found empty. According to Audubon, Nuttall, +Mr. Burroughs, and Mrs. Treat, young humming-birds stay in the +nest only seven days. Mr. Brewster, in his notes already cited, +says that the birds on which his observations were made—in +the garden of Mr. E. S. Hoar, in Concord—were hatched on the +4th of July, <a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> and forsook +the nest on the 18th. My birds were already <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>fifteen days +old, at least, and, unless they were to prove uncommonly backward +specimens, ought to be on the wing forthwith. Nevertheless they were in +no haste. Day after day passed. The youngsters looked more and more like +old birds, and the mother grew constantly more and more nervous.</p> + +<p>On the 18th I found her in a state of unprecedented excitement, +squeaking almost incessantly. At first I attributed this to +concern at my presence, but after a while it transpired that a +young <a name="baltimore123" id="baltimore123">oriole</a>—a +blundering, tailless fellow—was the cause of the disturbance. +By some accident he had dropped into the leafy treetop, as +guiltless of any evil design as one of her own nestlings. +How she did buzz about him! In and out among the branches +she went, now on this side of him, now on that, and now +just over his back; all the time squeaking fiercely, and +carrying her tail spread to its utmost. The scene lasted for +some minutes. Through it all the two young birds kept perfectly +quiet, never once putting up their heads, even when the mother, +buzzing and calling, zigzagged directly about the nest. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +I had seen many birds in the tree, first and last, but none that created +anything like such a stir. The mother was literally in a frenzy. She +went the round of her perches, but could stay nowhere. Once she dashed +out of the tree for an instant, and drove a sparrow away from the tomato +patch. Ordinarily his presence there would not have annoyed her in the +least, but in her present state of mind she was ready to pounce upon +anybody. All of which shows once more how "human-like" birds are. The +bewilderment of the oriole was comical. "What on earth can this crazy +thing be shooting about my ears in this style for?" I imagined him +saying to himself. In fact, as he glanced my way, now and then, with his +innocent baby face, I could almost believe that he was appealing to me +with some such inquiry.</p> + +<p>The next morning ("at 7.32," as my diary is careful to note) one of the +twins took his flight. I was standing on the wall, with my glass leveled +upon the nest, when I saw him exercising his wings. The action was +little more pronounced than had been noticed at intervals during the +last three or four days, except that he was more decidedly on his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +feet. Suddenly, without making use of the rim of the nest, as I should +have expected him to do, he was in the air, hovering in the prettiest +fashion, and in a moment more had alighted on a leafless twig slightly +above the level of the nest, and perhaps a yard from it. Within a minute +the mother appeared, buzzing and calling, with answering calls from the +youthful adventurer. At once—after a hasty reconnaissance of the +man on the wall—she perched beside him, and plunged her bill into +his throat. Then she went to the nest, served the other one in the same +way, and made off. She had no time to waste at this juncture of affairs. +</p> + +<p>When she had gone, I stepped up to the trunk of the tree +to watch the little fellow more closely. He held his perch, +and occupied himself with dressing his plumage, though, +as the breeze freshened, he was compelled once in a while +to keep his wings in motion to prevent the wind from carrying +him away. When the old bird returned,—in just half +an hour,—she resented my intrusion (what an oppressor +of the widow and the fatherless she must by this time have +thought me!) in the most unmistakable <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>manner, +coming more than once quite within reach. However, she soon gave over +these attempts at intimidation, perched beside the percher, and again +put something into his maw. This time she did not feed the nestling. As +she took her departure, she told the come-outer—or so I +fancied—that there was a man under the tree, a pestilent fellow, +and it would be well to get a little out of his reach. At all events, +she had scarcely disappeared before the youngster was again on the wing. +It was wonderful how much at home he seemed,—poising, backing, +soaring, and alighting with all the ease and grace of an old hand. One +only piece of awkwardness I saw him commit: he dropped upon a branch +much too large for his tiny feet, and was manifestly uncomfortable. But +he did not stay long, and at his next alighting was well up in the tree, +where it was noticeable that he remained ever after.</p> + +<p>With so much going on outside, it was hard to remain indoors, +and finally I took a chair to the orchard, and gave myself up to +watching the drama. The feeding process, though still always by +regurgitation, was by this time somewhat different from what it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +had been when the bills of the young were less fully developed. In +my notes of this date I find the following description of it: +"Number Two is still in the nest, but uneasy. At 10.25 the mother +appeared and fed him. <a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>Her beak was +thrust into his mouth at right angles,—the change being +necessitated, probably, by the greater length of his bill,—and he +seemed to be jerking strenuously at it. Then he opened his beak and +remained motionless, while the black mandibles of the mother could be +seen running down out of sight into his throat."</p> + +<p>The other youngster, Number One, as I now called him, stayed in the +tree, or at most ventured only into the next one, and was fed at varying +intervals,—as often, apparently, as the busy mother could find +anything to give him. Would he go back to his cradle for the night? It +seemed not improbable, notwithstanding he had shown no sign of such an +intention so long as daylight lasted. At 3.50 the next morning, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +therefore, I stole out to see. No: Number Two was there alone.</p> + +<p>At seven o'clock, when I made my second visit, the mother was in the +midst of another day's hard work. Twice within five minutes she brought +food to the nestling. Once the little fellow—not so very little +now—happened to be facing east, while the old bird alighted, as +she had invariably done, on the western side. The youngster, instead of +facing about, threw back his head and opened his beak. "Look out, +there!" exclaimed my fellow-observer; "you'll break his neck if you feed +him in that way." But she did not mind. Young birds' necks are not so +easily broken. Within ten minutes of this time she fed Number One, +giving him three doses. They were probably small, however (and small +wonder), for he begged hard for more, opening his bill with an appealing +air. The action in this case was particularly well seen, and the +vehement jerking, while the beaks were glued together, seemed almost +enough to pull the young fellow's head off. Within another ten minutes the +mother was again ministering to Number Two! Poor little widow! Between her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +incessant labors of this kind and her overwhelming anxiety whenever any +strange bird came near, I began to be seriously alarmed for her. As a +member of a strictly American family, she was in a fair way, I thought, +to be overtaken by the "most American of diseases,"—nervous +prostration. It tired me to watch her.</p> + +<p>With us, and perhaps with her likewise, it was a question +whether Number Two would remain in the nest for the day. He grew +more and more restless; as my companion—a learned +man—expressed it, he began to "ramp round." Once he +actually mounted the rim of the nest, a thing which his more +precocious brother had never been seen to do, and stretched +forward to pick at a neighboring stem. Late that afternoon +the mother fed him five times within an hour, instead of once +an hour, or thereabouts, as had been her habit three weeks +before. She meant to have him in good condition for the coming event; +and he, on his part, was active to the same end,—standing +upon the wall of the nest again and again, and exercising his wings +till they made a cloud about him. A dread of launching away still kept +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +him back, however, and shortly after seven o'clock I found him +comfortably disposed for the night. "He is now on his twenty-first day +(at least) in the nest. To-morrow will see him go." So end my day's +notes.</p> + +<p>At 5.45 the next morning he was still there. At 6.20 I absented myself +for a few minutes, and on returning was hailed by my neighbor with the +news that the nest was empty. Number Two had flown between 6.25 and +6.30, but, unhappily, neither of us was at hand to give him a cheer. I +trust that he and his mother were not hurt in their feelings by the +oversight. The whole family (minus the father) was still in the +apple-tree; the mother full, and more than full, of business, feeding +one youngster after the other, as they sat here and there in the upper +branches.</p> + +<p>Twenty-four hours later, as I stood in the orchard, I heard a hum +of wings, and found the mother over my head. Presently she flew into +the top of the tree, and the next instant was sitting beside one of +the young ones. His hungry mouth was already wide open, but before +feeding him she started up from the twig, and circled about him so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +closely as almost or quite to touch him with her wings. On completing +the circle she dropped upon the perch at his side, but immediately rose +again, and again flew round him. It was a beautiful act,—beautiful +beyond the power of any words of mine to set forth; an expression of +maternal ecstasy, I could not doubt, answering to the rapturous caresses +and endearments in which mothers of human infants are so frequently seen +indulging. Three days afterward, to my delight, I saw it repeated in +every particular, as if to confirm my opinion of its significance. The +sight repaid all my watchings thrice over, and even now I feel my heart +growing warm at the recollection of it. Strange thoughtlessness, is it +not, which allows mothers capable of such passionate devotion, tiny, +defenseless things, to be slaughtered by the million for the enhancement +of woman's charms!</p> + +<p>At this point we suddenly became aware that for at least a day +or two the old bird had probably been feeding her offspring in +two ways,—sometimes by regurgitation, and sometimes by a +simple transfer from beak to beak. The manner of our discovery +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +was somewhat laughable. The mother perched beside one of the +young birds, put her bill into his, and then apparently fell +off the limb head first. We thought she had not finished, +and looked to see her return; but she flew away, and after +a while the truth dawned upon us. Thereafter, unless our +observation was at fault, she used whichever method happened +to suit her convenience. If she found a choice collection of +spiders, <a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> for instance, +she brought them in her throat (as cedar-birds carry cherries),to save +trips; if she had only one or two, she retained them between her +mandibles. It will be understood, I suppose, that we did not see the +food in its passage from one bird to the other,—human +eyesight would hardly be equal to work of such nicety; but the two +bills were put together so frequently and in so pronounced a manner +as to leave us in no practical uncertainty about what was going +on. Neither had I any doubt that the change was connected in some way +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +with the increasing age of the fledgelings; yet it is to be said that +the two methods continued to be used interchangeably to the end, and on +the 28th, when Number Two had been out of the nest for seven days, the +mother thrust her bill down his throat, and repeated the operation, just +as she had done three weeks before.</p> + +<p>For at least two days longer, as I believe, the faithful creature +continued her loving ministrations, although I failed to detect her in +the act. Then, on the 1st of August, as I sat on the piazza, I saw her +for the last time. The honeysuckle vine had served her well, and still +bore half a dozen scattered blossoms, as if for her especial benefit. +She hovered before them, one by one, and in another instant was gone. +May the Fates be kind to her, and to her children after her, to +the latest generation! Our intercourse had lasted for eight +weeks,—wanting one day,—and it was fitting that it should +end where it had begun, at the sign of the honeysuckle.</p> + +<p>The absence of the father bird for all this time, though I have +mentioned it but casually, was of course a subject of continual +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +remark. How was it to be explained? My own opinion is, reluctant as I +have been to reach it, that such absence or desertion—by whatever +name it may be called—is the general habit of the male +ruby-throat. Upon this point I shall have some things to say in a +subsequent paper.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h6>FOOTNOTES:</h6> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> +<i>The Auk</i>, vol. vii. p. 206.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"> +</a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> +But Mr. Hoar, from whom Mr. Brewster had his dates, informs me +that the time of hatching was not certainly known; and from Mr. +Brewster's statement about the size of the nestlings, I cannot doubt +that they had been out of the shell some days longer than Mr. Hoar then +supposed.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> +For convenience, I use the masculine pronoun in speaking of both the +young birds; but I knew nothing as to the sex of either of them, though +I came finally to believe that one was a male and the other a female.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"> +</a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> +Mr. E. H. Eames reports (in <i>The Auk</i>, vol. vii. p. 287) that, on +dissecting a humming-bird, about two days old, he found sixteen young +spiders in its throat, and a pultaceous mass of the same in its stomach.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +<h3><a name="THE_MALE_RUBY-THROAT" id="THE_MALE_RUBY-THROAT"></a>THE MALE RUBY-THROAT.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<p class="center"><small> +"Your fathers, where are they?"—<span class="smcap">Zechariah</span> i. 5.</small> +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">While</span> keeping daily watch upon a +nest of our common humming-bird, in the summer of 1890, I was struck +with the persistent absence of the head of the family. As week after +week elapsed, this feature of the case excited more and more remark, and +I turned to my out-of-door journal for such meagre notes as it contained +of a similar nest found five years before. From these it appeared that +at that time, also, the father bird was missing. Could such truancy be +habitual with the male ruby-throat? I had never supposed that any of our +land birds were given to behaving in this ill-mannered, unnatural way, +and the matter seemed to call for investigation.</p> + +<p>My first resort was, of course, to books. The language +of Wilson and Audubon is somewhat ambiguous, but may fairly +be taken as implying the male bird's presence <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>throughout +the period of nidification. Nuttall speaks explicitly to the same +effect, though with no specification of the grounds on which his +statement is based. The later systematic biographers—Brewer, +Samuels, Minot, and the authors of New England Bird Life—are +silent in respect to the point. Mr. Burroughs, in Wake-Robin, mentions +having found two nests, and gives us to understand that he saw only the +female birds. Mrs. Treat, on the other hand, makes the father a +conspicuous figure about the single nest concerning which she reports. +Mr. James Russell Lowell, too, speaks of watching both parents as they +fed the young ones: "The mother always alighted, while the father as +uniformly remained upon the wing."</p> + +<p>So far, then, the evidence was decidedly, not to say decisively, +in the masculine ruby-throat's favor. But while I had no desire +to make out a case against him, and in fact was beginning to feel +half ashamed of my uncomplimentary surmises, I was still greatly +impressed with what my own eyes had seen, or rather had not seen, +and thought it worth while to push the inquiry a little further.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +<p>I wrote first to Mr. E. S. Hoar, in whose garden Mr. Brewster +had made the observations cited in my previous article. He replied with +great kindness, and upon the point in question said: "I watched the nest +two or three times a day, from a time before the young were hatched till +they departed; and <i>now you mention it</i>, it occurs to me that I +never did see the male, but only the white-breasted female."</p> + +<p>Next I sought the testimony of professional ornithologists; and here +my worst suspicions seemed in a fair way to be confirmed, although the +greater number of my correspondents were unhappily compelled to plead a +want of knowledge. Dr. A. K. Fisher had found, as he believed, not less +than twenty-five nests, and to the best of his recollection had never +seen a male bird near one of them after it was completed. He had watched +the female feeding her young, and, when the nests contained eggs, had +waited for hours on purpose to secure the male, but always without +result.</p> + +<p>Mr. William Brewster wrote: "I have found, or seen <i>in situ</i>, +twelve hummers' nests, all in Massachusetts. Of these I took +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +nine, after watching each a short time, probably not more than an hour +or two in any case. Of the remaining three, I visited one three or four +times at various hours of the day, another only twice, the third but +once. Two of the three contained young when found. The third was +supposed to have young, also, but could not be examined without danger +to its contents. I have never seen a male hummer anywhere near a nest, +either before or after the eggs were laid, but, as you will gather from +the above brief data, my experience has not been extensive; and in the +old days, when most of my nests were found, the methods of close +watching now in vogue were unthought of. In the light of the testimony +to which you refer, I should conclude, with you, that the male hummer +must occasionally assist in the care of the young, but I am very sure +that this is not usually, if indeed often, the case."</p> + +<p>Mr. H. W. Henshaw reported a similar experience. He had found four +nests of the ruby-throat, but had seen no male about any of them after +nidification was begun. "I confess," he says, "that I had never thought +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +of his absence as being other than accidental, and hence have +never made any observations directly upon the point; so that +my testimony is of comparatively little value. In at least one +instance, when the female was building her nest, I remember to have +seen the male fly with her and perch near by, while she was +shaping the nest, and then fly off with her after more material. +I don't like to believe that the little villain leaves the entire +task of nidification to his better half (we may well call her better, +if he does); but my memory is a blank so far as testimony affirmative +of his devotion is concerned." Mr. Henshaw recalls an experience with +a nest of the <a name="rivoli" id="rivoli">Rivoli humming-bird (<i>Eugenes +fulgens</i>)</a>, in Arizona,—a nest which he spent two hours in +getting. "I was particularly anxious to secure the male, but did not +obtain a glimpse of him, and I remember thinking that it was very +strange." He adds that Mr. C. W. Richmond has told him of finding a nest +and taking the eggs without seeing the father bird, and sums up his own +view of the matter thus:—</p> + +<p>"Had any one asked me offhand, 'Does <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> the male hummer help +the female feed the young?' I am quite sure I should have answered, 'Of +course he does.' As the case now stands, however, I am inclined to +believe him a depraved wretch."</p> + +<p>Up to this point the testimony of my correspondents had been unanimous, +but the unanimity was broken by Dr. C. Hart Merriam, who remembers that +on one occasion his attention was called to a nest (it proved to contain +a set of fresh eggs) by the flying of both its owners about his head; +and by Mr. W. A. Jeffries, who in one case saw the father bird in the +vicinity of a nest occupied by young ones, although he did not see him +feed or visit them. This nest, Mr. Jeffries says, was one of five which +he has found. In the four other instances no male birds were observed, +notwithstanding three of the nests were taken,—a tragedy which +might be expected to bring the father of the family upon the scene, if +he were anywhere within call.</p> + +<p>In view of the foregoing evidence, it appears to me reasonably +certain that the male ruby-throat, as a rule, takes no considerable +part in the care of eggs and young. The <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>testimony covers +not less than fifty nests. Some of them were watched assiduously, nearly +all were examined, and the greater part were actually taken; yet of the +fifty or more male proprietors, only two were seen; and concerning these +exceptions, it is to be noticed that in one case the eggs were just +laid, and in the other, while the hungry nestlings must have kept the +mother bird extremely busy, her mate was not observed to do anything in +the way of lightening her labors.</p> + +<p>As against this preponderance of negative testimony, and in +corroboration of Mr. Lowell's and Mrs. Treat's circumstantial +narratives, there remain to be mentioned the fact communicated to me by +Mr. Hoar, that a townsman of his had at different times had two hummers' +nests in his grounds, the male owners of which were constant in their +attentions, and the following very interesting and surprising story +received from Mr. C. C. Darwin, of Washington, through the kindness of +Mr. Henshaw. Some years ago, as it appears, a pair of ruby-throats built +a nest within a few feet of Mr. Darwin's window and a little below it, so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +that they could be watched without fear of disturbing them. He remembers +perfectly that the male fed the female during the entire period of +incubation, "pumping the food down her throat." All this time, so far as +could be discovered, the mother did not once leave the nest (in wonderful +contrast with my bird of a year ago), and of course the father was never +seen to take her place. Mr. Darwin cannot say that the male ever fed the +young ones, but is positive that he was frequently about the nest after +they were hatched. While they were still too young to fly, a gardener, in +pruning the tree, sawed off the limb on which the nest was built. Mr. +Darwin's mother rescued the little ones and fed them with sweetened water, +and on her son's return at night the branch was fixed in place again, as +best it could be, by means of wires. Meanwhile the old birds had +disappeared, having given up their children for lost; and it was not until +the third day that they came back,—by chance, perhaps, or out of +affection for the spot. At once they resumed the care of their offspring, +who by this time, it is safe to say, had become more or less surfeited +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +with sugar and water, and gladly returned to a diet of spiders and +other such spicy and hearty comestibles.</p> + +<p>Mr. Henshaw, with an evident satisfaction which does him honor, remarks +upon the foregoing story as proving that, whatever may be true of male +hummers in general, there are at least some faithful Benedicts among +them. For myself, indeed, as I have already said, I hold no brief +against the ruby-throat, and, notwithstanding the seemingly unfavorable +result of my investigation into his habits as a husband and father, it +is by no means clear to me that we must call him hard names. Before +doing that, we ought to know not only that he stays away from his wife +and children, but <i>why</i> he stays away; whether he is really a shirk, +or absents himself unselfishly and for their better protection, at the +risk of being misunderstood and traduced. My object in this paper is to +raise that question about him, rather than to blacken his character; in a +word, to call attention to him, not as a reprobate, but as a mystery. To +that end I return to the story of my own observations.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +<p>In last month's article<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> I set forth somewhat +in detail (if the adverb seem inappropriate, as I fear it will, I can only +commend it to the reader's mercy) the closeness of our watch upon the nest +there described. For more than a month it was under the eye of one or +other of two men almost from morning till night. We did not once detect +the presence of the father, and yet I shall never feel absolutely sure +that he did not one day pay us a visit. I mention the circumstance for +what it may be worth, and because, whatever its import, it was at least a +lively spectacle. It occurred upon this wise: On the 19th of July, the +day when the first of the young birds bade good-by to its cradle, I had +gone into the house, leaving my fellow-observer in the orchard, with a +charge to call me if anything noteworthy should happen. I was hardly +seated before he whistled loudly, and I hastened out again. Another +hummer had been there, he said, and the mother had been chasing him +(or her) about in a frantic manner; and even while we were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +talking, the scene was reënacted. The stranger had returned, and +the two birds were shooting hither and thither through the trees, the +widow squeaking and spreading her tail at a prodigious rate. The +new-comer did not alight (it couldn't), and there was no determining its +sex. It may have been the recreant husband and father, unable longer to +deny himself a look at his bairns,—who knows? Or it may have been +some bachelor or widower who had come a-wooing. One thing is +certain,—husband, lover, or inquisitive stranger, he had no +encouragement to come again.</p> + +<p>As if to heighten the dramatic interest of our studies (I come now to +the promised mystery), we had already had the singular good fortune to +find a male humming-bird who seemed to be stationed permanently in a +tall ash-tree, standing by itself in a recent clearing, at a distance of +a mile or more from our widow's orchard. Day after day, for at least a +fortnight (from the 2d to the 15th of July), he remained there. One or +both of us went almost daily to call upon him, and, as far as we +could make out, he seldom absented himself from his post for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +five minutes together! What was he doing? At first, in spite of his sex, +it was hard not to believe that his nest was in the tree; and to satisfy +himself, my companion "shinned" it, schoolboy fashion,—a frightful +piece of work, which put me out of breath even to look at +it,—while I surveyed the branches from all sides through an +opera-glass. All was without avail. Nothing was to be seen, and it was +as good as certain, the branches being well separated, and easily +overlooked, that there was nothing there.</p> + +<p>Four days later I set out alone, to try my luck with the riddle. As I +entered the clearing, the hummer was seen at his post, and my suspicions +fastened upon a small wild apple-tree, perhaps twenty rods distant. I +went to examine it, and presently the bird followed me. He perched in +its top, but seemed not to be jealous of my proximity, and soon returned +to his customary position; but when I came back to the apple-tree, after +a visit to a clump of oaks at the top of the hill, he again came over. I +could find no sign of a nest, however, nor did the female show herself, +as she pretty confidently might have been expected to do had her nest +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +been near by. After this I went to the edge of the wood, where +I could keep an eye upon both trees without being myself conspicuous. +The sentinel spent most of his time in the ash, visiting the apple-tree +but once, and then for a few minutes only. I stayed an hour and a half, +and came away no wiser than before. The nest, if nest there was, must be +elsewhere, I believed. But where? And what was the object of the male's +watch?</p> + +<p>My curiosity was fully roused. I had never seen or heard +of such conduct on the part of any bird, and the next forenoon +I spent another hour and a half in the clearing. The hummer +was at his post, as he always was. We had never to wait +for him. Soon after my arrival he flew to the apple-tree, +the action seeming to have no connection with my presence. +Presently he went back to the ash, and drove out of it two +intruding birds. A moment later two humming-birds were there, +and in another moment they flew away in a direction opposite +to the apple-tree. Here, then, was a real clue. The birds +were probably our sentinel and his mate. I made after them +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +with all speed, pausing under such scattered trees as had been +left standing in that quarter. Nothing was to be found, and on +my return there sat the male, provokingly, at the top of the +apple-tree, whence he soon returned to the ash. A warbler entered +the tree, and after a while ventured upon the branch where the +hummer was sitting. Instead of driving her away he took wing +himself, and paid another visit to the apple-tree,—a visit +of perhaps five minutes,—at the end of which he went back to +the ash. Then two <a name="kingbird148" id="kingbird148">kingbirds</a> +happened to alight in the apple-tree. At once the hummer came +dashing over and ordered them off, and in his excitement dropped +for a moment into the leafy top of a birch sapling,—a most +unnatural proceeding,—after which he resumed his station +in the ash. What could I make of all this? Apparently he +claimed the ownership of both trees, and yet his nest was +in neither! He sat motionless for five minutes at a time upon +certain dead twigs of the ash, precisely as our female was +accustomed to sit in her apple-tree. For at least seven days +he had been thus occupied. Where was his mate? On the edge of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +wood, perhaps. But, if so, why did I hear nothing from her, as I passed +up and down? Again my hour and a half had been spent to no purpose.</p> + +<p>Not yet discouraged, I returned the next morning. For the three +quarters of an hour that I remained, the hummer was not once out +of the ash-tree for five minutes. I am not sure that he left it for +five minutes altogether. As usual, he perched almost without exception +on one or other of two dead limbs, while a similar branch, on the +opposite side of the trunk, he was never seen to touch. A +<a name="maryland149" id="maryland149">Maryland yellow-throat</a> +alighted on one of his two branches and began to sing, but had repeated +his strain only three or four times before the hummer, who had been +absent for the moment, darted upon him and put him to flight. A little +afterward, a red-eyed vireo alighted on his other favorite perch, and he +showed no resentment. The day before, a warbler had sat on the same +branch which the yellow-throat now invaded, and the hummer not only did +not offer to molest him, but flew away himself. These inconsistencies +made it hard to draw any inference from his behavior. During +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +my whole stay he did not once go to the apple-tree, although, for want +of anything better to do, I again scrutinized its branches. This time I +<i>was</i> discouraged, and gave over the search. His secret, whatever it +might be, was "too dear for my possessing." But my fellow-observer kept +up his visits, as I have said, and the hummer remained faithful to his +task as late as July 15th, at least.</p> + +<p>Some readers may be prompted to ask, as one of my correspondents asked +at the time, whether the mysterious sentry may not have been the mate of +our home bird. I see no ground for such a suspicion. The two places were +at least a mile apart, as I have already mentioned, and woods and hills, +to say nothing of the village, lay between. If he was our bird's mate, +his choice of a picket station was indeed an enigma. He might almost as +well have been on Mount Washington. Nor can I believe that he had any +connection with a nest found two months afterward in a pitch-pine grove +within a quarter of a mile, more or less, of his clearing. It was +undoubtedly a nest of that season, and might have been his for aught I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +know, so far as the mere fact of distance was concerned; but +here again an intervening wood must have cut off all visual +communication. If his mate and nest were not within view from his +ash-tree perch, what could be the meaning of his conduct? Without some +specific constraining motive, no bird in his normal condition was likely +to stay in one tree hour after hour, day after day, and week after week, +so that one could never come in sight of it without seeing him. But even +if his nest was in the immediate neighborhood, the closeness and +persistency of his lookout are still, to my mind, an absolute mystery. +Our female bird, whether she had eggs or offspring, made nothing of +absenting herself by the half hour; but this male hardly gave himself +time to eat his necessary food; indeed, I often wondered how he kept +himself alive. Is such a course of action habitual with male hummers? If +so, had our seemingly widowed or deserted mother a husband, who +somewhere, unseen by us, was standing sentry after the same heroic, +self-denying fashion? These and all similar questions I must +leave to more fortunate observers, or postpone to a future +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +summer. Meantime, my judgment as to the male ruby-throat's character +remains in suspense. It is not plain to me whether we are to call him +the worst or the best of husbands.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h6>FOOTNOTES:</h6> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> +These two humming-bird papers were printed in consecutive numbers +of <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i>, June and July, 1891.</p></div></div> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +<h3><a name="ROBIN_ROOSTS" id="ROBIN_ROOSTS"></a>ROBIN ROOSTS.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i1-5">"From every side they hurried in,</span> +<span class="i0">Rubbing their sleepy eyes."</span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">Keats.</span></span> +</small></center></div></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the nearly eight hundred species of +North American birds, the robin is without question the one most generally +known. Its great commonness and wide distribution have something to do +with this fact, but can hardly be said to account for it altogether. The +<a name="redeye153" id="redeye153">red-eyed vireo</a> has almost as +extensive a range, and at least in New England is possibly more +numerous; but except among ornithologists it remains a stranger, even to +country-bred people. The robin owes its universal recognition partly to +its size and perfectly distinctive dress, partly to its early arrival in +the spring, but especially to the nature of its nesting and feeding +habits, which bring it constantly under every one's eye.</p> + +<p>It would seem impossible, at this late day, <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> to say anything +new about so familiar a bird; but the robin has one interesting and +remarkable habit, to which there is no allusion in any of our +systematic ornithological treatises, so far as I am aware, although +many individual observers must have taken notice of it. I mean the +habit of roosting at night in large flocks, while still on its +breeding grounds, and long before the close of the breeding +season.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p> + +<p>Toward the end of summer, two years ago, I saw what looked like +a daily passage back and forth of small companies of robins. A friend, +living in another town, had noticed similar occurrences, and more than +once we discussed the subject; agreeing that such movements were +probably not connected in any way with the grand southward migration, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +which, so far as we could judge, had not yet commenced, but that the +birds must be flying to and from some nightly resort. The flocks were +small, however, and neither of us suspected the full significance of +what we had seen.</p> + +<p>On the 19th of July, 1889, the same friend informed me that one of our +Cambridge ornithologists had found a robin roost in that city,—a +wood in which great numbers of birds congregated every night. This led +me to keep a sharper eye upon my own robins, whom I had already noticed +repeating their previous year's manœuvres. Every evening, shortly +before and after sunset, they were to be seen flying, now singly, now by +twos and threes, or even by the half dozen, evidently on their way to +some rendezvous. I was suspicious of a rather distant hill-top covered +with pine-trees; but before I could make it convenient to visit +the place at the proper hour, I discovered, quite unexpectedly, +that the roost was close by the very road up and down which I had +been walking; an isolated piece of swampy wood, a few acres in extent, +mostly a dense growth of gray birches and swamp white oaks, but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +with a sprinkling of maples and other deciduous trees. It is bounded on +the further side by a wet meadow, and at the eastern end by a little +ice-pond, with a dwelling-house and other buildings beside it, all +within a stone's throw of the wood.</p> + +<p>This discovery was made on the evening of July 25th, and I at once +crossed a narrow field between the wood and the highway, and pushed in +after the birds. It was too dark for me to see what was going on, but as +I brushed against the close branches the robins set up a lively +cackling, and presently commenced flying from tree to tree before me as +I advanced, though plainly with no intention of deserting their +quarters. The place was full of them, but I could form no estimate of +their number.</p> + +<p>On the following evening I took my stand upon a little knoll +commanding the western end of the wood. According to my notes, the +birds began to arrive about sunset,—but this was pretty +certainly an error,—and though I did not undertake an exact +count until the flight was mainly over, it seemed likely that at +least three hundred passed in at that point. This would have made the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +total number twelve hundred, or thereabout, on the assumption that my +outlook had covered a quarter of the circuit. After the flight ceased I +went into the wood, and from the commotion overhead it was impossible +not to believe that such a calculation must be well within the truth.</p> + +<p>The next day was rainy, but on the evening of the 28th I stood by the +shore of the pond, on the eastern side of the wood, and made as accurate +a count as possible of the arrivals at that point. Unfortunately I was +too late; the robins were already coming. But in fifty minutes, between +6.40 and 7.30, I counted 1072 birds. They appeared singly and in small +flocks, and it was out of the question for me to make sure of them all; +while I was busy with a flock on the right, there was no telling how +many might be passing in on the left. If my observations comprehended a +quarter of the circle, and if the influx was equally great on the other +sides (an assumption afterward disproved), then it was safe to set the +whole number of birds at five thousand or more. Of the 1072 actually seen, +797 came before the sunset gun was fired,—a proportion somewhat +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +larger than it would have been had the sky been clear.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon of the 29th I again counted the arrivals at +the eastern end; but though I set out, as I thought, in good +season, I found myself once more behind time. At 6.30 robins +were already dropping in, notwithstanding the sky was cloudless. +In the first five minutes eighteen birds appeared; at sunset 818 +had been counted; and at 7.30, when I came away, the figures +stood at 1267. "The robins came more rapidly than last night," +I wrote in my notebook, "and for much of the time I could keep +watch of the southeastern corner only. My vision then covered much +less than a quarter of the circuit; so that if the birds came as freely +from other directions, at least five thousand must have entered the wood +between 6.30 and 7.30. As long as it was light they avoided passing +directly by me, going generally to the left, and slipping into the +roost behind some low outlying trees; though, fortunately, in doing +this they were compelled to cross a narrow patch of the illuminated +western sky. I suspect that the number increases from night to night. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +Between 6.40 and 7.30, 1235 birds came, as compared with 1072 last +evening."</p> + +<p>Two days afterward (July 31st) I went to the western end of the wood, +and found the influx there much smaller than on the opposite side; but I +arrived late, and made a partial count only. After sunset 186 birds were +seen, whereas there had been 455 entries at the eastern end, two nights +before, during the same time.</p> + +<p>Thus far I had always been too late to witness the beginning of the +flight. On the evening of August 1st I resolved to be in season. I +reached the border of the pond at 5.15, and at that very moment a single +robin flew into the wood. No others were seen for eighteen minutes, when +three arrived together. From this time stragglers continued to appear, +and at 6.30 I had counted 176. In the next ten minutes 180 arrived; in +the next five minutes, 138. Between 6.45 and 7, I counted 549; then, in +six minutes, 217 appeared. At 7.25, when I concluded, the figures stood +at 1533 birds. For about twenty minutes, as will be noticed, the arrivals +were at the rate of thirty-six a minute. Throughout the thickest of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +the flight I could keep a lookout upon only one side of me, and, +moreover, the gathering darkness was by that time making it more and +more difficult to see any birds except such as passed above the dark +tree line; and from what went on just about me, it was evident that the +number of arrivals was increasing rather than diminishing as my count +fell off. There seemed to be no good reason for doubting that at least +two thousand robins entered the wood at the eastern end.</p> + +<p>Two nights later I stationed myself in the meadow southwest of the +roost. Here I counted but 935 entries. The movement appeared to be fully +as steady as on the opposite side, but as darkness came on I found +myself at a great disadvantage; a hill occupied the background, giving +me no illuminated sky to bring the birds into relief, so that I could +see only such as passed close at hand. Of the 935 birds, 761 came before +seven o'clock, but it was reasonably certain that the flight afterward +was nearly or quite as great, only that I wanted light wherewith to see +it.</p> + +<p>On the evening of August 4th I went back to the eastern end, +and as the sky was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" +id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>perfectly clear I hoped to make +a gain upon all my previous figures. But the fair weather was perhaps a +hindrance rather than a help; for the robins came later than before, and +more in a body, and continued to arrive long after it was impossible to +see them. I counted 1480,—53 less than on the 1st.</p> + +<p>I attempted no further enumeration until the 18th. Then, +in an hour and ten minutes, 1203 birds were seen to enter the +roost at the eastern end. But they arrived more than ever in +flocks, and so late that for much of the time I missed all +except the comparatively small number that passed in my immediate +vicinity. Many were flying at a great height,—having come +from a long distance, as I inferred,—and sometimes I knew +nothing of their approach till they dropped out of the sky +directly over the wood. On this occasion, as well as on many +others,—but chiefly during the latter part of the +season,—it was noticeable that some of the robins appeared +to be ignorant of the precise whereabouts of the roost; they +flew past it at first, and then, after more or less circling about, +with loud cackling, dived hurriedly into the wood. I took special note +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +of one fellow, who came from the south at a great altitude, and went +directly over the wood. When he was well past it he suddenly pulled +himself up, as if fancying he had caught a signal. After a moment of +hesitation he proceeded on his northerly course, but had not gone far +before he met half a dozen birds flying south. Perhaps he asked them the +way. At all events, he wheeled about and joined them, and in half a +minute was safe in port. He had heard of the roost, apparently (how and +where?), but had not before visited it.</p> + +<p>This count of August 18th was the last for nearly a month, but I find +a minute of August 27th stating that, while walking along the highway +on the westerly side of the roost,—the side that had always been +the least populous,—I saw within less than two minutes (as I +calculated the time) more than eighty robins flying toward the wood. Up +to this date, then, there could not have been any considerable falling +off in the size of the gathering. Indeed, from my friend's observations +upon the Belmont roost, to be mentioned later, it seems well-nigh +certain that it was still upon the increase.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +<p>Toward the close of August I became interested in the late singing +of several whippoorwills, and so was taken away from the robins' +haunt at the hour of sunset. Then, from the 5th to the 13th of +September, I was absent from home. On the night of my return I went to +the shore of the pond, where, on the 1st of August, I had counted 1533 +entries. The weather was favorable, and I arrived in good season and +remained till the stars came out, but I counted only 137 robins! It was +plain that the great majority of the congregation had departed.</p> + +<p>As I have said, there was little to be learned by going into the wood +after the robins were assembled. Nevertheless I used frequently to +intrude upon them, especially as friends or neighbors, who had heard of +my "discovery," were desirous to see the show. The prodigious cackling +and rustling overhead seemed to make a deep impression upon all such +visitors, while, for myself, I should have had no difficulty in +crediting the statement had I been told that <i>ten thousand</i> +robins were in the treetops. One night I took two friends +to the place after it was really dark. All was silent as we felt +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +our way among the trees, till, suddenly, one of the trio struck a match +and kindled a blaze of dry twigs. The smoke and flame speedily waked the +sleepers; but even then they manifested no disposition to be driven out. +</p> + +<p>For curiosity's sake, I paid one early morning visit to the +roost, on the 30th of July. It would be worth while, I thought, to +see how much music so large a chorus would make, as well as to note +the manner of its dispersion. To tell the truth, I hoped for something +spectacular,—a grand burst of melody, and then a pouring forth +of a dense, uncountable army of robins. I arrived about 3.40 (it was +still hardly light enough to show the face of the watch), and found +everything quiet. Pretty soon the robins commenced cackling. At 3.45 +a song sparrow sang, and at the same moment I saw a robin fly out of +the wood. Five minutes later a robin sang; at 3.55 another one flew +past me; at four o'clock a few of the birds were in song, but the +effect was not in any way peculiar,—very much as if two or three +had been singing in the ordinary manner. They dispersed precisely as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +I had seen them gather: now a single bird, now two or three, now six, or +even ten. A casual passer along the road would have remarked nothing out +of the common course. They flew low,—not as if they were starting +upon any prolonged flight,—and a goodly number alighted for a +little in the field where I was standing. Shortly before sunrise I went +into the wood and found it deserted. The robin is one of our noisiest +birds. Who would have believed that an assembly of thousands could break +up so quietly? Their behavior in this regard may possibly have been +influenced by prudential considerations. I have said that many of them +seemingly took pains to approach the roost indirectly and under cover. +On the westerly side, for example, they almost invariably followed a +line of bushes and trees which runs toward the roost along the edge of +the meadow, even though they were obliged sharply to alter their course +in so doing.</p> + +<p>All this time I had been in correspondence with my friend before +referred to, who was studying a similar roost,<a name="FNanchor_15_15" +id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> +—in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a> +</span>Belmont,—which proved to be more populous than mine, +as was to be expected, perhaps, the surrounding country being less +generally wooded. It was a mile or more from his house, which was so +situated that he could sit upon his piazza in the evening and watch the +birds streaming past. On the 11th of August he counted here 556 robins, +of which 336 passed within five minutes. On the 28th he counted 1180, of +which 456 passed within five minutes,—ninety-one a minute! On the +2d of September, from a knoll nearer the roost, he counted 1883 entries.</p> + +<p>This gathering, like the one in Melrose, was greatly +depleted by the middle of September. "Only 109 robins flew +over the place to-night," my correspondent wrote on the +25th, "against 538 September 4th, 838 August 30th, and 1180 +August 28th." Two evenings later (September 27th) he went to +the neighborhood of the roost, and counted 251 birds,—instead +of 1883 on the 2d. Even so late as October 9th, however, +the wood was not entirely deserted. During the last month +or so of its occupancy, the number of the birds was apparently +subject to sudden and wide fluctuations, and it seemed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +not unlikely that travelers from the north were making a temporary use +of the well-known resort. It would not be surprising if the same were +found to be true in the spring. In April, 1890, I saw some things which +pointed, as I thought, in this direction, but I was then too closely +occupied to follow the matter.</p> + +<p>How early in the season does this nightly flocking begin? This +question often presented itself. It was only the middle of July when the +Cambridge roost was found in full operation, though at that time many +robins must still have had family duties, and some were probably +building new nests. Next summer, we said, we would try to mark the +beginnings of the congregation.</p> + +<p>My own plans to this end came near being thwarted. In December I was +dismayed to see the owner of the wood cutting it down. Happily some kind +power stayed his hand when not more than a third of the mischief was +done, and on the 29th of June, 1890, while strolling homeward along the +highway, listening to the distant song of a veery, I noticed within five +or ten minutes seventeen robins making toward the old rendezvous. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +On the following evening I stood beside the ice-pond and saw one hundred +and ninety-two robins enter the wood. The flight had begun before my +arrival, and was not entirely over when I came away. Evidently several +hundreds of the birds were already passing their nights in company. In +my ignorance, I was surprised at the early date; but when I communicated +my discovery to the Belmont observer, he replied at once that he had +noticed a movement of the same kind on the 11th of June. The birds, +about a dozen, were seen passing his house.</p> + +<p>Thinking over the matter, I began to ask myself—though I hesitate +about making such a confession—whether it might not be the adult +males who thus unseasonably went off to bed in a crowd, leaving their +mates to care for eggs and little ones. At this very moment, as it +happened, I was watching with lively sympathy the incessant activities +of a female humming-bird, who appeared to be bringing up a family (two +very hungry nestlings), with no husband to lift a finger for her +assistance; and the sight, as I fear, put me into a cynical mood. +Male robins were probably like males in general,—lovers +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +of clubs and shirkers of home duties. Indeed, a friend who went +into the roost with me, one evening, remarked upon the continual +cackling in the treetops as "a very social sound;" and upon my +saying something about a sewing circle, he answered, quite +seriously, "No, it is rather like a gentleman's club." But +it would have been unscientific, as well as unchristian, +to entertain an hypothesis like this without putting its +soundness to some kind of test. I adopted the only plan that +occurred to me,—short of rising at half past two o'clock +in the morning to see the birds disperse. I entered the wood +just before the assemblage was due (this was on the 9th of +July), and took a sheltered position on the eastern edge, +where, as the robins flew by me, or alighted temporarily in +the trees just across the brook, they would have the sunlight +upon their breasts. Here, as often as one came sufficiently near +and in a sufficiently favorable light, I noted whether it was +an adult, or a streaked, spotted bird of the present season. +As a matter of course, the number concerning which this point +could be positively determined under such conditions was very +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +small,—only fifty-seven altogether. Of these, forty-nine were +surely birds of the present summer, and only eight unmistakable adult +males. If any adult females came in, they passed among the unidentified +and uncounted. <a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> I was glad I had made the +test. As a kind-hearted cynic (I confess to being nothing worse than +this), I was relieved to find my misanthropic, or, to speak more +exactly, my misornithic, notions ill founded. As for the sprinkling of +adult males, they may have been, as a "friend and fellow woodlander" +suggests, birds which, for one reason or another, had taken up with the +detestable opinion that "marriage is a failure."</p> + +<p>During the month of July, 1890, I made frequent counts of the entries +at the eastern end of the roost, thinking thus to ascertain in a general +way the rate at which its population increased. On the whole, the growth +proved to be fairly steady, in spite of some mysterious fluctuations, as +will be seen by the following table:—</p> +<table summary="Dates" width="50%" cellpadding="1" border="0"> + <tr> + <td class="list">July 3</td> + <td class="list">247</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="list">July 16</td> + <td class="list">1064</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="list"> " 5</td> + <td class="list">383</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="list"> " 17</td> + <td class="list">1333</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="list"> " 6</td> + <td class="list">356</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="list"> " 19</td> + <td class="list">1584</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="list"> " 10</td> + <td class="list"> 765</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="list"> " 22</td> + <td class="list">1520</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="list"> " 12</td> + <td class="list"> 970</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="list"> " 23</td> + <td class="list">1453</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="list"> " 14</td> + <td class="list"> 1120</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="list"> " 27</td> + <td class="list">2314</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p>After July 6th all the enumerations were made with the help of another +man, though we stood side by side, and covered no more ground than I had +hitherto attempted to compass alone. The figures of the 27th were far in +excess of any obtained in 1889, and for a day I was disposed to take +seriously the suggestion of a friend that some other roost must have +been broken up and its members turned into the Melrose gathering. But +on the evening of the 28th I tried a count by myself, and made only +1517 birds! The conditions were favorable, and the robins came, as +they had come the night before, in flocks, almost in continuous +streams. The figures had fallen off, not because there were fewer +birds, but because I was unable to count them. They were literally +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +too many for me. The difficulties of the work, it should be explained, +are greatly enhanced by the fact that at the very corner where the +influx is largest none of the low-flying birds can be seen except for a +second or two, as they dart across a bit of sky between the roost and an +outlying wood. To secure anything like a complete census, this point +must be watched continuously; and meantime birds are streaming in at the +other corner and shooting over the distracted enumerator's head, and +perhaps dropping out of the sky. I conclude, therefore, not that the +roost had increased in population, but that my last year's reckoning was +even more inadequate than I then supposed. Even with two pairs of eyes, +it is inevitable that multitudes of birds should pass in unnoticed, +especially during the latter half of the flight. I have never had an +assistant or a looker-on to whom this was not perfectly apparent.</p> + +<p>As I stood night after night watching the robins stream +into this little wood,—no better, surely, than many +they had passed on their way,—I asked myself again +and again what could be the motive that drew them <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>together. +The flocking of birds for a long journey, or in the winter season, is +less mysterious. In times of danger and distress there is no doubt a +feeling of safety in a crowd. But robins cannot be afraid of the dark. +Why, then, should not each sleep upon its own feeding grounds, alone, or +with a few neighbors for company, instead of flying two or three miles, +more or less, twice a day, simply for the sake of passing the night in a +general roost?</p> + +<p>Such questions we must perhaps be content to ask without expecting an +answer. By nature the robin is strongly gregarious, and though his +present mode of existence does not permit him to live during the summer +in close communities,—as marsh wrens do, for example, and some of +our swallows,—his ancestral passion for society still asserts +itself at nightfall. Ten or twelve years ago, when I was bird-gazing +in Boston, there were sometimes a hundred robins at once about +the Common and Garden, in the time of the vernal migration. By +day they were scattered over the lawns; but at sunset they gathered +habitually in two or three contiguous trees, not far from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +Frog Pond and the Beacon Street Mall (I wonder whether the same trees +are still in use for the same purpose), where, after much noise and some +singing, they retired to rest,—if going to sleep in a leafless +treetop can be called retiring.</p> + +<p>Whatever the origin and reason of this roosting habit, I have no +doubt that it is universal. Middlesex County birds cannot be in any +respect peculiar. Whoever will keep a close eye upon the robins in his +neighborhood, in July and August, will find them at sunset flocking to +some general sleeping-place.</p> + +<p>It would be interesting to know how far they travel at such times. The +fact that so many hundreds were to be seen at a point more than a mile +away from the Belmont roost is significant; but I am not aware that any +one has yet made a study of this part of the subject. My own birds +seemed to come, as a rule, by easy stages. In the long narrow valley east +of the roost, where I oftenest watched their approach, they followed +habitually—not invariably—a zigzag route, crossing the meadow +diagonally, and for the most part alighting for a little upon a certain +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +wooded hill, whence they took a final flight to their nightly haven, +perhaps a quarter of a mile beyond. Farther down the valley, a mile or +more from the roost, birds were to be seen flying toward it, but I found +no place at which a general movement could be observed and large numbers +counted.</p> + +<p>As to the size of these nightly gatherings, it seems wisest not to +guess; though, treating the subject in this narrative manner, I have not +scrupled to mention, simply as a part of the story, some of my temporary +surmises. What I am told of the Belmont wood is true also of the one in +Melrose: its shape and situation are such as to make an accurate census +impossible, no matter how many "enumerators" might be employed. It could +be surrounded easily enough, but it would be out of the question to +divide the space among the different men so that no two of them should +count the same birds. At present it can only be said that the robins are +numbered by thousands; in some cases, perhaps, by tens of thousands.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h6>FOOTNOTES:</h6> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> +Mr. William Brewster has been aware of this habit for twenty-five +years, but, like myself, has never seen it mentioned in print. He +devotes to it a paper in <i>The Auk</i> for October, 1890, to which I am +happy to refer readers who may wish a more thorough discussion of the +matter than I have been able to give. My own paper was printed at the +same time, in <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i>, and had been accepted by the +editor before I knew of Mr. Brewster's intention to write. References to +a roost in Belmont, Mass., discovered by Mr. Brewster six years before, +are frequent in the following pages.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> +This roost was discovered by Mr. William Brewster, in August, 1884, +as already mentioned.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> +A week later, my correspondent reported a similar state of things +at the Belmont roost. "A very large proportion of the birds are +spotted-breasted young of the year, but occasionally I have detected an +adult male." He examined the birds at near range, and at rest, after +they had come into the roost in the earlier part of the evening.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +<h3><a name="THE_PASSING_OF_THE_BIRDS" id="THE_PASSING_OF_THE_BIRDS"></a> +THE PASSING OF THE BIRDS.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">"The Bird of Time has but a little way</span> +<span class="i2">To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing."</span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">Omar Khayyám.</span></span> +</small></center></div></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">By</span> the first of August the bird-lover's +year is already on the wane. In the chestnut grove, where a +month ago the wood thrush, the rose-breasted grosbeak, and the +<a name="tanager176" id="tanager176">scarlet tanager</a> were +singing, the loiterer now hears nothing but the <a name="pewee176" +id="pewee176">wood pewee's</a> pensive whistle and the sharp monotony +of the red-eyed vireo. The thrasher is silent in the berry pasture, +and the bobolink in the meadow. The season of jollity is over. +<a name="baltimore176" id="baltimore176">Orioles</a>, to be sure, +after a month of silence, again have fits of merry fifing. The +<a name="field" id="field">field sparrow</a> and the <a +name="songspar176" id="songspar176">song sparrow</a> are still in tune, +and the <a name="meadow176" id="meadow176">meadow lark</a> whistles, +though rarely. <a name="catbird" id="catbird">Catbirds</a> still practice +their feeble improvisations and mimicries in the thickets along the +brooksides as evening comes on, and of the multitudes of robins a few are +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +certain to be heard warbling before the day is over. <a name="goldfinch" +id="goldfinch">Goldfinches</a> have grown suddenly numerous, or so it +seems, and not infrequently one of them breaks out in musical canary-like +twitterings. On moonlight evenings the tremulous, haunting cry of the +<a name="screech" id="screech">screech-owl</a> comes to your ears, always +from far away, and if you walk through the chestnut grove aforesaid in the +daytime you may chance to catch his faint, vibratory, tree-frog whistle. +For myself, I never enter the grove without glancing into the dry top of +a certain tall tree, to see whether the little rascal is sitting in his +open door. More than half the time he is there, and always with his eye +on me. What an air he has!—like a judge on the bench! If I were +half as wise as he looks, these essays of mine would never more be dull. +For his and all other late summer music let us be thankful; but it is +true, nevertheless, that the year is waning. How short it has been! Only +the other day the concert opened, and already the performers are uneasy +to be gone. They have crowded so much into so brief a space! The passion +of a life-time into the quarter of a year! They are impatient to be gone, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +I say; but who knows how many of them are gone already? Where are the +<a name="bluegold" id="bluegold">blue golden-winged warblers</a> that sang +daily on the edge of the wood opposite my windows, so that I listened to +them at my work? I have heard nothing of their rough <i>dsee, dsee</i> since +the 21st of June, and in all that time have seen them but once—a +single bird, a youngling of the present year, stumbled upon by accident +while pushing my way through a troublesome thicket on the first day of +August. Who knows, I say, how many such summer friends have already left +us? An odd coincidence, however, warns me at this very moment that too +much is not to be made of merely negative experiences; for even while I +was penciling the foregoing sentence about the blue golden-wing there came +through the open window the hoarse upward-sliding chant of his close +neighbor, the <a name="prairie178" id="prairie178">prairie warbler</a>. I +have not heard that sound before since the 6th of July, and it is now the +22d of August. The singers had not gone, I knew; I saw several of them +(and beautiful creatures they are!) a few days ago among the pitch pines; +but why did that fellow, after being dumb for six or seven weeks, pipe +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +up at that precise moment, as if to punctuate my ruminations with an +interrogation point? Does he like this dog-day morning, with its +alternate shower and sunshine, and its constant stickiness and heat? +In any case I was glad to hear him, though I cannot in the spirit +of veracity call him a good singer. Whist! There goes an +<a name="baltimore179" id="baltimore179">oriole</a>, a gorgeous +creature, flashing from one elm to another, and piping in his happiest +manner as he flies. It might be the middle of May, to judge from his +behavior. <i>He</i> likes dog-day weather, there can be no question of that, +however the rest of the world may grumble.</p> + +<p>This is a time when one sees many birds, but few species. +<a name="bluebird179" id="bluebird179">Bluebirds</a> are several times as +abundant as in June. The air is sweet with their calls at this moment, +and once in a while some father of the flock lets his happiness run over +in song. One cannot go far now without finding the road full of +<a name="chipping" id="chipping">chipping sparrows</a>, springing +up in their pretty, characteristic way, and letting the breeze +catch them. The fences and wayside apple-trees are lively with +<a name="kingbird179" id="kingbird179">kingbirds</a> and +<a name="phoebe179" id="phoebe179">phœbes</a>. I am already +watching the former with a kind of mournful interest. In ten days, or +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +some such matter, we shall have seen the last of their saucy antics. Gay +tyrants! They are among the first birds of whom I can confidently say, +"They are gone;" and they seem as wide-awake when they go as when they +come. Being a man, I regret their departure; but if I were a crow, I +think I should be for observing the 31st of August as a day of annual +jubilee.</p> + +<p>A few years ago, in September, I saw the <a name="swallow180" +id="swallow180">white-breasted swallows</a> congregated in the Ipswich +dunes,—a sight never to be forgotten. On the morning of the 9th, +the fourth day of our visit, a considerable flock—but no more, +perhaps, than we had been seeing daily—came skimming over the +marshes and settled upon a sand-bar in the river, darkening it in +patches. At eight o'clock, when we took the straggling road out of the +hills, a good many—there might be a thousand, I guessed—sat, +upon the fence wires, as if resting. We walked inland, and on our +return, at noon, found, as my notes of the day express it, "an +innumerable host, thousands upon thousands," about the landward side of +the dunes. Fences and haycocks were covered. Multitudes were on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +the ground,—in the bed of the road, about the bare +spots in the marsh, and on the gray faces of the hills. Other +multitudes were in the bushes and low trees, literally loading them. +Every few minutes a detachment would rise into the air like a cloud, +and anon settle down again. As we stood gazing at the spectacle, my +companion began chirping at a youngster who sat near him on a post, as +one might chirp to a caged canary. The effect was magical. The bird at +once started toward him, others followed, and in a few seconds hundreds +were flying about our heads. Round and round they went, almost within +reach, like a cloud of gnats. "Stop! stop!" cried my companion; "I am +getting dizzy." We stopped our squeakings, and the cloud lifted; but I +can see it yet. Day after day the great concourse remained about the +hills, till on the 13th we came away and left them. The old lighthouse +keeper told me that this was their annual rendezvous. He once saw them +circle for a long time above the dunes, for several hours, if I +remember right, till, as it seemed, all stragglers had been called +in from the beach, the marsh, and the outlying grassy hills. Then +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +they mounted into the sky in a great spiral till they passed out of +sight; and for that year there were no more swallows. This, he insisted, +took place in the afternoon, "from three to four o'clock." He was +unquestionably telling a straightforward story of what he himself had +seen, but his memory may have been at fault; for I find it to be the +settled opinion of those who ought to know, that swallows migrate by day +and not by night, while the setting out of a great flock late in the +afternoon at such a height would seem to indicate a nocturnal journey. +Morning or evening, I would give something to witness so imposing a +start.</p> + +<p>The recollection of this seaside gathering raises anew in my mind the +question why, if swallows and swifts migrate exclusively in the daytime, +we so rarely see anything of them on the passage. Our Ipswich birds were +all tree swallows,—white-breasted martins,—and might fairly +be supposed to have come together from a comparatively limited extent +of country. But beside tree swallows there are purple martins, barn +swallows, sand martins, cliff swallows, and <a name="swift182" +id="swift182">chimney swifts</a>, all of which breed to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +northward of us in incalculable numbers. All of them go south between +the middle of July and the first of October. But who in New England has +ever seen any grand army of them actually on the wing? Do they straggle +along so loosely as to escape particular notice? If so, what mean +congregations like that in the Ipswich dunes? Or are their grand +concerted flights taken at such an altitude as to be invisible?</p> + +<p>On several afternoons of last September, this time in an inland +country, I observed what might fairly be called a steady stream of +<a name="swallow183" id="swallow183">tree swallows</a> flying south. +Twice, while gazing up at the loose procession, I suddenly became aware +of a close bunch of birds at a prodigious height, barely visible, circling +about in a way to put a count out of the question, but evidently some +hundreds in number. On both occasions the flock vanished almost +immediately, and, as I believed, by soaring out of sight. The second +time I meant to assure myself upon this point, but my attention was +distracted by the sudden appearance of several large hawks within the +field of my glass, and when I looked again for the swallows they were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +nowhere to be seen. Were the stragglers which I had for some time been +watching, flying high, but well within easy ken, and these dense, hardly +discernible clusters—hirundine nebulæ, as it were—were +all these but parts of one innumerable host, the main body of which was +passing far above me altogether unseen? The conjecture was one to +gratify the imagination. It pleased me even to think that it <i>might</i> be +true. But it was only a conjecture, and meantime another question +presented itself.</p> + +<p>When this daily procession had been noticed for two or three +afternoons, it came to me as something remarkable that I saw it always +in the same place, or rather on the same north and south line, while +no matter where else I walked, east or west, not a swallow was visible. +Had I stumbled upon a regular route of swallow migration? It +looked so, surely; but I made little account of the matter till +a month afterward, when, in exactly the same place, I observed +<a name="robin184" id="robin184">robins</a> and <a name="bluebird184" +id="bluebird184">bluebirds</a> following the same course. The robins +were seen October 26th, in four flocks, succeeding each other +at intervals of a few minutes, and numbering in all about 130 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +birds. They flew directly south, at a moderate height, and were +almost certainly detachments of one body. The <a name="bluebird185" +id="bluebird185">bluebird</a> movement was two days later, at +about the same hour, the morning being cold, with a little snow falling. +This time, too, as it happened, the flock was in four detachments. Three +of these were too compact to be counted as they passed; the fourth and +largest one was in looser order and contained a little more than a +hundred individuals. In all, as well as I could guess, there might have +been about three hundred birds. They kept a straight course southward, +flying high, and with the usual calls, which, in autumn at least, always +have to my ears a sound of farewell. Was it a mere coincidence that +these swallows, bluebirds, and robins were all crossing the valley just +at this point?</p> + +<p>This question, too, I count it safer to ask than to answer, but all +observers, I am sure, must have remarked so much as this,—that birds, +even on their migrations, are subject to strong local preferences. An +ornithologist of the highest repute assures me that his own experience +has convinced him so strongly of this fact that if he shoots a rare +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +migrant in a certain spot he makes it a rule to visit the place again a +year afterward on the same day, and, if possible, at the same hour of +the day. Another friend sends me a very pretty story bearing upon the +same point. The bird of which he speaks, Wilson's black-cap warbler, is +one of the less common of our regular Massachusetts migrants. I count +myself fortunate if I see two or three specimens during its spring or +autumn passage. My correspondent shall tell the story for himself.</p> + +<p>"While I was making the drawings for the 'Silva,' at the old Dwight +house, I was in the habit of taking a turn every pleasant day in the +gardens after my scanty lunch. On the 18th of May, 1887, in my daily +round I saw a <a name="wilsons" id="wilsons">Wilson's black-cap</a> +for the first time in my life. He was in a bush of <i>Spiræa +media</i>, which grew in the midst of the rockery, and allowed me to +examine him at near range with no appearance of fear. Naturally I made a +note of the occurrence in my diary, and talked about it with my family +when I got home. The seeing of a new bird always makes a red-letter day. +</p> + +<p>"The next spring, as I was looking over <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>my notebook of the +previous year, I came upon my entry of May 18th, and thought I would be +on the lookout for a black-cap on that date. Several times during the +morning I thought of the matter, and after my lunch I sauntered into the +rockery just as I had done the year before. Imagine my start when there, +in the very same bush, was the black-cap peering at me; and I found on +looking at my watch that it was precisely the same hour,—half past +one! I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself to make sure it was not a +dream. No, it was all real. Of course, I thought the coincidence very +singular, and talked about it, not only with my family, but also with +other people. You must remember that I had never seen the bird +elsewhere.</p> + +<p>"Well, another spring came round. The 18th of May was fixed +in my mind, and I thought many times of my black-cap (I called +it <i>my</i> black-cap now), and wondered if it would keep tryst +again. On the morning of the 18th, the first thing I thought of +when I awoke was my black-cap. That forenoon I actually felt +nervous as the time approached, for I felt a sort of certainty (you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +smile) that I should see my bird again. My lunch was hastier than usual, +and I was about to sally forth when it flashed across me—'Suppose +the bird should be there again, who would believe my story? Hold! I will +have a witness.' I called to Mr. J——, who was at work +upstairs, and after explaining what I wanted, invited him to accompany +me. We cautiously entered the rockery, and within a few minutes there +flitted from a neighboring thicket into that very Spiræa bush my +black-cap! I took out my watch. It was just half past one!"</p> + +<p>My own experiences in this kind have been much less striking and +dramatic than the foregoing, but I may add that a few years ago I +witnessed the vernal migration in a new piece of country—ten miles +or so from my old field—and found myself at a very considerable +disadvantage. I had never realized till then how much accustomed I had +grown to look for particular birds in particular places, and not in +other places of a quite similar character.</p> + +<p>I speak of witnessing a migration; but what we see for the most +part (ducks and geese being excepted) is not the actual movement +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +northward or southward. We see the stragglers, more or less numerous, +that happen to have dropped out of the procession in our immediate +neighborhood,—a flock of sandpipers about the edge of the pond, +some sparrows by the roadside, a bevy of warblers in the wood,—and +from these signs we infer the passing of the host.</p> + +<p>Unlike swallows, robins, bluebirds, blackbirds, and perhaps most +of the sparrows, our smaller wood birds, the warblers and vireos +especially, appear to move as a general thing in mixed flocks. +Whenever the woods are full of them, as is the case now and then +every spring and fall, one of the most striking features of the +show is the number of species represented. For the benefit of +readers who may never have observed such a "bird wave," or "rush," +let me sketch hastily one which occurred a few years ago, on the 22d +of September. As I started out at six o'clock in the morning, in a +cool northwest wind, birds were passing overhead in an almost continuous +stream, following a westerly course. They were chiefly warblers, but I +noted one fairly large flock of purple finches. All were at a good height, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +and the whole movement had the air of a diurnal migration. I could only +conjecture that it was the end of the nocturnal flight, so far, at least, +as the warblers were concerned; in other words, that the birds, on this +particular occasion, did not finish their nightly journey till a little +after sunrise. But if many were still flying, many others had already +halted; for presently I came to a piece of thin, stunted wood by the +roadside, and found in it a highly interesting company. Almost the first +specimen I saw was a <a name="connecticut" id="connecticut">Connecticut +warbler</a> perched in full view and exposing himself perfectly. +<a name="nuthatch190" id="nuthatch190">Red-bellied nuthatches</a> were +calling, and warblers uncounted were flitting about in the trees and +underbrush. A hurried search showed <a name="blackpoll190" +id="blackpoll190">black-polls</a>, <a name="blk_throat_gr190" +id="blk_throat_gr190">black-throated greens</a>, <a name="blueyellow190" +id="blueyellow190">blue yellow-backs</a>, one <a name="redstart190" +id="redstart190">redstart</a>, one black-and-white creeper, one +<a name="blackburn190" id="blackburn190">Blackburnian</a>, one +<a name="magnolia" id="magnolia">black-and-yellow</a>, one +<a name="canadian190" id="canadian190">Canadian flycatcher</a> +(singing lustily), one yellow redpoll, and one clearly-marked +<a name="baybreast190" id="baybreast190">bay-breast</a>. The first +<a name="yellowbelly" id="yellowbelly">yellow-bellied woodpecker</a> of +the season was hammering in a tree over my head, and not far away was the +first flock of <a name="whitethroat190" id="whitethroat190">white-throated +sparrows</a>. After breakfast I passed the place <span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>again, +and the only bird to be found was one phœbe! Within +half a mile of the spot, however, I came upon at least three +goodly throngs, including <a name="tanager191" id="tanager191">scarlet +tanagers</a> (all in yellow and black), <a name="blk_throat_bl191" +id="blk_throat_bl191">black-throated blue warblers</a>, +<a name="pinewarbler" id="pinewarbler">pine warblers</a>, +<a name="swainson191" id="swainson191">olive-backed</a> and +<a name="graythrush191" id="graythrush191">gray-cheeked +thrushes</a>, a flock of <a name="chewink" id="chewink">chewinks</a> +(made up exclusively of adult males, so far as I could discover), +<a name="redeye191" id="redeye191">red-eyed vireos</a>, one +<a name="solitary191" id="solitary191">solitary vireo</a>, brown +thrashers, with more <a name="redstart191" id="redstart191">redstarts</a>, +a second <a name="blackburn191" id="blackburn191">Blackburnian</a>, +and a second black-and-yellow. Every company had its complement of +chickadees. Of the morning's forty species, thirteen were warblers; and +of these thirteen, four were represented by one specimen each. For +curiosity's sake I may add that a much longer walk that afternoon, +through the same and other woods, was utterly barren. Except for two or +three flocks of white-throated sparrows; there was no sign whatever that +the night before had brought us a "flight."</p> + +<p><a name="ornithol" id="ornithol">Autumnal ornithology</a> +may almost be called a science by itself. Not only are birds +harder to find (being silent) and harder to recognize in autumn +than in spring, but their movements are in themselves more difficult +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +of observation. A few years of note-taking will put one in possession of +the approximate dates of arrival of all our common vernal migrants. Every +local observer will tell you when to look for each of the familiar birds +of his neighborhood; but he will not be half so ready with information +as to the time of the same birds' departure. Ask him about a few of +the commonest,—the least flycatcher and the oven-bird, or the +<a name="summeryellow" id="summeryellow">golden warbler</a> and the +<a name="maryland192" id="maryland192">Maryland yellow-throat</a>. He +will answer, perhaps, that he has seen Maryland yellow-throats in early +October, and golden warblers in early September; but he will very likely +add that these were probably voyagers from the North, and that he has +never made out just when his own summer birds take their leave.</p> + +<p>After the work of nidification is over, birds as a rule wander more +or less from their breeding haunts; and even if they do not wander +they are likely to become silent. If we miss them, therefore, we are +not to conclude as a matter of course that they have gone south. +Last year, during the early part of the season, <a name="cuckoo" +id="cuckoo">cuckoos</a> were unusually plentiful, as it seemed to me. Then I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +discovered all at once that there were none to be found. After the first +of July I neither saw nor heard a cuckoo of either species! Had they +moved away? I do not know; but the case may be taken as an extreme +illustration of the uncertainty attaching to the late-summer doings of +birds in general. Every student must have had experiences of a sort to +make him slow to dogmatize when such points are in question. Throughout +May and June, for example, he has heard and seen wood thrushes in a +certain grove. After that, for a whole month, he hears and sees nothing, +though he is frequently there. The thrushes have gone? So it would seem. +But then, suddenly, they are singing again in the very same trees, and +he is forced to conclude that they have not been away, but during their +period of midsummer silence have eluded his notice. On the whole, +therefore, after making allowance for particular cases in which we may +have more precise information, it would be hard, I think, to say just +when our nocturnal travelers set out on their long journey. As the poet +prayed Life to do,—</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">They steal away, give little warning,</span> +<span class="i-5">Choose their own time;</span> +<span class="i0">Say not good-night,—but in May's brighter clime</span> +<span class="i-6">Bid us good-morning.</span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<p>Their departure bereaves us, but, all in all, it must be accounted a +blessing. Like the falling of the leaves, it touches the heart with a +pleasing sadness,—a sadness more delicious, if one is born to +enjoy it, than all the merry-making of springtime. And even for the most +unsentimental of naturalists the autumnal season has many a delightful +hour. The year is almost done; but for the moment the whole feathered +world is in motion, and the shortest walk may show him the choicest of +rarities. Thanks to the passing of the birds, his local studies are an +endless pursuit. "It is now more than forty years that I have paid some +attention to the ornithology of this district, without being able to +exhaust the subject," says Gilbert White; "new occurrences still arise +as long as any inquiries are kept alive." A happy man is the bird-lover; +always another species to look for, another mystery to solve. His +expectations may never be realized; but no matter; it is the hope, not +its fulfillment, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +that makes life worth having. How can any New +Englander imagine that he has exhausted the possibilities of existence +so long as he has never seen the Lincoln finch and the Cape May warbler?</p> + +<p>But "I speak as a fool." Our happiness, if we are bird-lovers indeed, +waits not upon novelties and rarities. All such exceptional bits of +private good fortune let the Fates send or withhold as they will. The +grand spectacle itself will not fail us. Even now, through all the +northern country, the procession is getting under way. For the next +three months it will be passing,—millions upon millions: warblers, +sparrows, thrushes, vireos, blackbirds, flycatchers, wrens, kinglets, +woodpeckers, swallows, humming-birds, hawks; with sandpipers, plovers, +ducks and geese, gulls, and who knows how many more? Night and day, week +days and Sundays, they will be flying: now singly or in little groups, +and flitting from one wood or pasture to another; now in great +companies, and with protracted all-day or all-night flights. Who could +ask a better stimulus for his imagination than the annual southing of +this mighty host? Each member of it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +knows his own time and his +own course. On such a day the snipe will be in such a meadow, and the +golden plover in such a field. Some, no doubt, will lose their way. +Numbers uncounted will perish by storm and flood; numbers more, alas, by +human agency. As I write, with the sad note of a bluebird in my ear, I +can see the sea-beaches and the marshes lined with guns. But the army +will push on; they will come to their desired haven; for there is a +spirit in birds, also, "and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth them +understanding."</p> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +<h3><a name="A_GREAT_BLUE_HERON" id="A_GREAT_BLUE_HERON"></a>A GREAT BLUE HERON.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<p class="center"><small>"Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness?"<br> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span></span></small> +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> watcher of birds in the bush soon discovers that they have +individual as well as race characteristics. They are not things, but +persons,—beings with intellect, affections, and will,—and a +strong specific resemblance is found to be consistent with no small +measure of personal variation. All robins, we say, look and act alike. +But so do all Yankees; yet it is part of every Yankee's birthright to be +different from every other Yankee. Nature abhors a copy, it would seem, +almost as badly as she abhors a vacuum. Perhaps, if the truth were +known, a copy <i>is</i> a vacuum.</p> + +<p>I walked down the bay shore of Cape Cod one summer morning, and at a +certain point climbed the steep cliff to the railway track, meaning to +look into a large cranberry meadow where, on previous visits, I had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +found a few sandpipers and plovers. Near one end of the +perfectly level, sand-covered meadow was a little pool, and my first +glance in that direction showed me a great blue heron wading about its +edge. With as much quietness as possible I stole out of sight, and then +hastened up the railway through a cut, till I had the sun at my back and +a hill between me and the bird. Then I began a stealthy approach, +keeping behind one object after another, and finally going down flat +upon the ground (to roll in the soil is an excellent method of cleansing +one's garments on Cape Cod) and crawling up to a patch of bayberry +bushes, the last practicable cover.</p> + +<p>Here let me say that the great blue heron is, as its name implies, a big +bird, standing almost as high as an ordinary man, and spreading its +wings for nearly or quite six feet. Its character for suspiciousness may +be gathered from what different writers have said about it. "He is most +jealously vigilant and watchful of man," says Wilson, "so that those who +wish to succeed in shooting the heron must approach him entirely unseen, +and by stratagem." "Extremely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +suspicious and shy," says +Audubon. "Unless under very favorable circumstances, it is almost +hopeless to attempt to approach it. To walk up towards one would be a +fruitless adventure." Dr. Brewer's language is to the same +effect,—"At all times very vigilant and difficult of approach."</p> + +<p>This, then, was the bird which I now had under my field-glass, as I lay +at full length behind the friendly bayberry bushes. Up to this point, +for aught that appeared, he was quite unaware of my espionage. Like all +the members of his family that I have ever seen, he possessed so much +patience that it required much patience to watch him. For minutes +together he stood perfectly still, and his movements, as a rule, were +either so slow as to be all but imperceptible, or so rapid as almost to +elude the eye. Boys who have killed frogs—which was pretty +certainly my heron's present employment—will need no explanation +of his behavior. They know very well that, if the fatal club is to do +its work, the slowest kind of preliminary motion must be followed by +something like a flash of lightning.</p> + +<p>I watched the bird for perhaps half an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +hour, admiring his +handsome blue wings as now and then he spread them, his dainty manner of +lifting his long legs, and the occasional flashing stroke of his beak. +My range was short (for a field-glass, I mean), and, all in all, I voted +it "a fine show."</p> + +<p>When I wearied of my position I rose and advanced upon the heron in full +sight, expecting every moment to see him fly. To my astonishment he held +his ground. Down the hillside I went, nearer and nearer, till I came to +a barbed-wire fence, which bounded the cranberry field close by the +heron's pool. As I worried my way through this abominable obstruction, +he stepped into a narrow, shallow ditch and started slowly away. I made +rapidly after him, whereupon he got out of the ditch and strode on ahead +of me. By this time I was probably within twenty yards of him, so near +that, as he twisted his long neck every now and then, and looked at me +through his big yellow eyes, I began to wonder whether he might not take +it into his head to turn the tables upon me. A stab in the face with +that ugly sharp beak would have been no laughing matter; but I did not +believe myself in any danger, and quickened +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +my steps, being +now highly curious to see how near the fellow I could get. At this he +broke into a kind of dog-trot, very comical to witness, and, if I had +not previously seen him fly a few yards, I should have supposed him +disabled in the wing. Dr. Brewer, by the way, says that this bird is +"never known to run, or even to walk briskly;" but such negative +assertions are always at the maker's risk.</p> + +<p>He picked up his legs at last, for I pressed him closer and closer, till +there could not have been more than forty or fifty feet between us; but +even then he settled down again beside another pool, only a few rods +further on in the same meadow, and there I left him to pursue his +frog-hunt unmolested. The ludicrousness of the whole affair was enhanced +by the fact, already mentioned, that the ground was perfectly flat, and +absolutely without vegetation, except for the long rows of newly planted +cranberry vines. As to what could have influenced the bird to treat me +thus strangely, I have no means of guessing. As we say of each other's +freaks and oddities, it was <i>his way</i>, I suppose. He might have behaved +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +otherwise, of course, had I been armed; but of that I felt by +no means certain at the time, and my doubts were strengthened by an +occurrence which happened a month or so afterward.</p> + +<p>I was crossing the beach at Nahant with a friend when we stole upon a +pair of <a name="plover" id="plover">golden plovers</a>, birds that both of us were very happy to see. +The splendid old-gold spotting of their backs was plain enough; but +immature black-bellied plovers are adorned in a similar manner, and it +was necessary for us to see the rumps of our birds before we could be +sure of their identity. So, after we had scrutinized them as long as we +wished, I asked my companion to put them up while I should keep my glass +upon their backs and make certain of the color of their rumps as they +opened their wings. We were already within a very few paces of them, but +they ran before him as he advanced, and in the end he had almost to +tread on them.</p> + +<p>The golden plover is not so unapproachable as the great blue heron, I +suppose, but from what sportsmen tell me about him I am confident that +he cannot be in the habit of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +allowing men to chase him along +the beach at a distance of five or six yards. And it is to be added +that, in the present instance, my companion had a gun in his hand.</p> + +<p>Possibly all these birds would have behaved differently another day, +even in what to us might have seemed exactly the same circumstances. +Undoubtedly, too, it is easier, as an almost universal rule, to approach +one or two birds than a considerable flock. In the larger body there are +almost certain to be a few timorous souls,—a few wider-awake and +better instructed souls, let us rather say,—who by their outcries +and hasty flight will awaken all the others to a sense of possible +danger. But it is none the less true, as I said to begin with, that +individual birds have individual ways. And my great blue heron, I am +persuaded, was a "character." It would be worth something to know what +was passing behind those big yellow eyes as he twisted his neck to look +once more at the curious fellow—curious in two senses—who +was keeping after him so closely. Was the heron curious, as well as his +pursuer? Or was he only a little set in his own way; a little resentful +of being imposed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +upon; a little inclined to withstand the +"tyrant of his fields," just for principle's sake, as patriots ought to +do? Or was he a young fellow, in whom heredity had mysteriously omitted +to load the bump of caution, and upon whom experience had not yet +enforced the lesson that if a creature is taller and stronger than you +are, it is prudent to assume that he will most likely think it a +pleasant bit of sport to kill you? It is nothing to the credit of +humankind that the sight of an unsuspicious bird in a marsh or on the +beach should have become a subject for wonder.</p> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +<h3><a name="FLOWERS_AND_FOLKS" id="FLOWERS_AND_FOLKS"></a>FLOWERS AND FOLKS.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i0">"To know one element, explore another,</span> +<span class="i0">And in the second reappears the first."</span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">Emerson.</span></span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Every</span> order of intelligent beings naturally separates the world into two +classes,—itself and the remainder. Birds, for instance, have no +doubt a feeling, more or less clearly defined, which, if it were +translated into human speech, might read, "Birds and nature." We, in our +turn, say, "Man and nature." But such distinctions, useful as they are, +and therefore admissible, are none the less arbitrary and liable to +mislead. Birds and men are alike parts of nature, having many things in +common not only with each other, but with every form of animate +existence. The world is not a patchwork, though never so cunningly put +together, but a garment woven throughout.</p> + +<p>The importance of this truth, its far-reaching and many-sided +significance, is even yet +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +only beginning to be understood; but +its bearing upon the study of what we call natural history would seem to +be evident. My own experience as a dabbler in botany and ornithology has +convinced me that the pursuit of such researches is not at all out of +the spirit of the familiar line,—</p> + +<center><small>"The proper study of mankind is man,"—</small></center> + +<p>whatever the author of the line may have himself intended by his +apothegm. To become acquainted with the peculiarities of plants or birds +is to increase one's knowledge of beings of his own sort.</p> + +<p>There is room, I think, for a treatise on analogical botany,—a +study of the human nature of plants. Thoroughly and sympathetically +done, the work would be both surprising and edifying. It would give us a +better opinion of plants, and possibly a poorer opinion of ourselves. +Some wholesome first lessons of this kind we have all taken, as a matter +of course. "We all do fade as a leaf." "All flesh is grass, and all the +goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field." There are no +household words more familiar than such texts. But the work of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +which I am thinking will deal not +so much with our likeness to tree and herb as with the likeness of tree +and herb to us; and furthermore, it will go into the whole subject, +systematically and at length. Meanwhile, it is open even to an amateur +to offer something, in a general and discursive way, upon so inviting a +theme, and especially to call attention to its scope and variety.</p> + +<p>As I sit at my desk, the <a name="thistle" id="thistle">thistles</a> are in their glory, and in a vase at +my elbow stands a single head of the tall swamp variety, along with a +handful of fringed gentians. Forgetting what it is, one cannot help +pronouncing the thistle beautiful,—a close bunch of minute +rose-purple flowers. But who could ever feel toward it as toward the +gentian? Beauty is a thing not merely of form and color, but of memory +and association. The thistle is an ugly customer. In a single respect it +lays itself out to be agreeable; but even its beauty is too much like +that of some venomous reptile. Yet it has its friends, or, at all +events, its patrons (if you wish to catch butterflies, go to the thistle +pasture), and no doubt could give forty eloquent and logical excuses for +its +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +offensive traits. Probably it felicitates itself upon its +shrewdness, and pities the poor estate of its defenseless neighbors. How +they must envy its happier fortune! It sees them browsed upon by the +cattle, and can hardly be blamed if it chuckles a little to itself as +the greedy creatures pass it by untouched. School-girls and botanists +break down the golden-rods and asters, and pull up the gerardias and +ladies'-tresses; but neither school-girl nor collector often troubles +the thistle. It opens its gorgeous blossoms and ripens its feathery +fruit unmolested. Truly it is a great thing to wear an armor of +prickles!</p> + +<p>"The human nature of plants,"—have I any reader so innocent as not +to feel at this moment the appropriateness of the phrase? Can there be +one so favored as not to have some unmistakable thistles among his +Christian townsmen and acquaintance? Nay, we all know them. They are the +more easily discovered for standing always a little by themselves. They +escape many slight inconveniences under which more amiable people +suffer. Whoever finds himself in a hard place goes not to them for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +assistance. They are recognized afar as persons to be let +alone. Yet they, too, like their floral representatives, have a good +side. If they do not give help, they seldom ask it. Once a year they may +actually "do a handsome thing," as the common expression is; but they +cannot put off their own nature; their very generosity pricks the hand +that receives it, and when old Time cuts them down with his scythe (what +should we do without this famous husbandman, unkindly as we talk of +him?) there will be no great mourning.</p> + +<p>Is it then an unpardonable misdemeanor for a plant to defend itself +against attack and extermination? Has the duty of non-resistance no +exceptions nor abatements in the vegetable kingdom? That would be indeed +a hard saying; for what would become of our universal favorite, the <a +name="rose209" id="rose209">rose</a>? On this point there may be room for a +diversity of opinion; but for one, I cannot wish the wild rose disarmed, +lest, through the recklessness of its admirers, what is now one of the +commonest of our wayside ornaments should grow to be a rarity. I esteem +the rose a patrician, and fairly entitled to patrician +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +manners. As every one sees, +people in high station, especially if they chance to possess attractive +social qualities, are of necessity compelled to discountenance +everything like careless familiarity, even from those with whom they may +formerly have been most intimate. They must always stand more or less +upon ceremony, and never be handled without gloves. So it is with the +queen of flowers. Its thorns not only serve it as a protection, but are +for its admirers an excellent discipline in forbearance. They make it +easier for us, as Emerson says, to "love the wood rose and leave it on +the stalk." In addition to which I am moved to say that the rose, like +the holly, illustrates a truth too seldom insisted upon; namely, that +people are more justly condemned for the absence of all good qualities +than for the presence of one or two bad ones.</p> + +<p>Some such plea as this, though with a smaller measure of assurance, I +should make in behalf of plants like the barberry and the <a +name="blackberry210" id="blackberry210">bramble</a>. The latter, in truth, +sometimes acts as if it were not so much fighting us off as drawing us +on. Leaning far forward and stretching forth its arms, it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +buttonholes the wayfarer, so to +speak, and with generous country insistence forces upon him the +delicious clusters which he, in his preoccupation, seemed in danger of +passing untasted. I think I know the human counterparts of both barberry +and bramble,—excellent people in their place, though not to be +chosen for bosom friends without a careful weighing of consequences. +Judging them not by their manners, but by their fruits, we must set them +on the right hand. It would go hard with some of the most pious of my +neighbors, I imagine, if the presence of a few thorns and prickles were +reckoned inconsistent with a moderately good character.</p> + +<p>As for reprobates like the so-called "poison ivy" and "poison dogwood," +they have perhaps borrowed a familiar human maxim,—"All is fair in +war." In any case, they are no worse than savage heathen, who kill their +enemies with poisoned arrows, or than civilized Christians, who stab the +reputation of their friends with poisoned words. Their marked comeliness +of habit may be taken as a point in their favor; or, on the contrary, it +may be held to make their case only so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +much the blacker, by +laying them liable to the additional charge of hypocrisy. The question +is a nice one, and I gladly leave it for subtler casuists than I to +settle.</p> + +<p>How refreshing to turn from all these, from the thistle and the bramble, +yea, even from the rose itself, to gentle spirits like the <a +name="violet212" id="violet212">violet</a> and anemone, the arbutus and +hepatica! These wage no war. They are of the original Society of +Friends. Who will may spoil them without hurt. Their defense is with +their Maker. I wonder whether anybody ever thinks of such flowers as +representative of any order of grown people, or whether to everybody +else they are forever children, as I find, on thinking of it, they have +always been to me. Lowly and trustful, sweet and frail, "of such is the +kingdom of heaven." They pass away without losing their innocence. Ere +the first heats of summer they are gone.</p> + +<p>Yet the <a name="autumn_flower" id="autumn_flower">autumn</a>, too, has its delicate blooms, though they are +overshadowed and, as it were, put out of countenance by the coarser +growths which must be said to characterize the harvest season. Nothing +that May puts into her lap is more exquisite than +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +are the <a name="gerardia213" id="gerardia213">purple gerardias</a> with which August +and September embroider the pasture and the woodland road. They have not +the sweet breath of the arbutus, nor even the faint elusive odor of the +violet, but for daintiness of form, perfection of color, and +gracefulness of habit it would be impossible to praise them too highly. +Of our three species, my own favorite is the one of the narrow leaves +(<i>Gerardia tenuifolia</i>), its longer and slighter flower-stems giving it +an airiness and grace peculiarly its own. A lady to whom I had brought a +handful the other day expressed it well when she said, "They look like +fairy flowers." They are of my mind in this: they love a dry, sunny +opening in the woods, or a grassy field on the edge of woods, especially +if there be a seldom-used path running through it. I know not with what +human beings to compare them. Perhaps their antitypes of our own kind +are yet to be evolved. But I have before now seen a woman who might +worthily be set in their company,—a person whose sweet and wise +actions were so gracefully carried and so easily let fall as to suggest +an order and quality of goodness quite out of relation to common flesh +and blood.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +<p>What a contrast between such lowly-minded, unobtrusive beauties +and egotists like our multitudinous <a name="aster214" id="aster214">asters</a> and <a name="goldrod214" id="goldrod214">golden-rods</a>! These, +between them, almost take possession of the world for the two or three +months of their reign. They are handsome, and they know it. What is +beauty for, if not to be admired? They mass their tiny blossoms first +into solid heads, then into panicles and racemes, and have no idea of +hiding their constellated brightness under a bushel. "Let your light +shine!" is the word they go on. How eagerly they crowd along the +roadside, till the casual passer-by can see scarce anything else! If he +does not see <i>them</i>, it is not their fault.</p> + +<p>For myself, I am far from wishing them at all less numerous, or a jot +less forward in displaying their charms. Let there be variety, I say. +Because I speak well of the violet for its humility, I see no reason why +I should quarrel with the aster for loving to make a show. Herein, too, +plants are like men. An indisposition toward publicity is amiable in +those to whom it is natural; but I am not clear that bashfulness is the +only commendable quality. Let plants +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +and men alike carry +themselves according to their birthright. Providence has not ordained a +diversity of gifts for nothing, and it is only a narrow philosophy that +takes offense at seeming contrarieties. The truer method, and the +happier as well, is to like each according to its kind: to love that +which is amiable, to admire that which is admirable, and to study that +which is curious.</p> + +<p>A few weeks ago, for example, I walked again up the mountain road that +climbs out of the Franconia Valley into the Franconia Notch. I had left +home twenty-four hours before, fresh from working upon the asters and <a +name="goldrod215" id="goldrod215">golden-rods</a> (trying to straighten out +my local catalogue in accordance with Dr. Gray's more recent +classification of these large and difficult genera), and naturally +enough had asters and golden-rods still in my eye. The first mile or two +afforded nothing of particular note, but by and by I came to a cluster +of the sturdy and peculiar <i>Solidago squarrosa</i>, and was taking an +admiring account of its appearance and manner of growth, when I caught +sight of some lower blue flower underneath, which on a second glance +proved to be the closed gentian. This grew +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +in hiding, as one +might say, in the shadow of its taller and showier neighbors. Not far +off, but a little more within the wood, were patches of the <a +name="linnaea" id="linnaea">linnæa</a>, which had been at its +prettiest in June, but even now, in late September, was still putting +forth scattered blossoms. What should a man do? Discard the golden-rod +for the gentian, and in turn forsake the gentian for the twin-flower? +Nay, a child might do that, but not a man; for the three were all +beautiful and all interesting, and each the more beautiful and +interesting for its unlikeness to the others. If one wishes a stiff +lesson in classification, there are few harder genera (among flowering +plants) than <i>Solidago</i>; if he would investigate the timely and taking +question of the dependence of plants upon insects, this humble +"proterandrous" gentian (which to human vision seems closed, but which +the humble-bee knows well how to enter) offers him a favorable subject; +while if he has an eye for beauty, a nose for delicate fragrance, and a +soul for poetry, the linnæa will never cease to be one of his +prime favorites. So I say again, let us have variety. It would be a +stupid town all whose inhabitants should +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +be of identical +tastes and habits, though these were of the very best; and it would be a +tiresome country that brought forth only a single kind of plants.</p> + +<p>The flower of Linnæus is a flower by itself, as here and there +appears a man who seems, as we say, <i>sui generis</i>. This familiar phrase, +by the bye, is literally applicable to <i>Linnæa borealis</i>, a plant +that spreads over a large part of the northern hemisphere, but +everywhere preserves its own specific character; so that, whether it be +found in Greenland or in Maryland, on the Alaskan Islands or in Utah, in +Siberia or on the mountains of Scotland, it is always and everywhere the +same,—a genus of one species. Diversities of soil and climate make +no impression upon its originality. If it live at all, it must live +according to its own plan.</p> + +<p>The <a name="aster217" id="aster217">aster</a>, on the contrary, has a special talent for variation. Like +some individuals of another sort, it is born to adapt itself to +circumstances. Dr. Gray enumerates no less than one hundred and +ninety-six North American species and varieties, many of which shade +into each other with such +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +endless and well-nigh insensible +gradations that even our great special student of the <i>Compositæ</i> +pronounces the accurate and final classification of this particular +genus a labor beyond his powers. What shall we say of this habit of +variability? Is it a mark of strength or of weakness? Which is +nobler,—to be true to one's ideal in spite of circumstances, or to +conquer circumstances by suiting one's self to them? Who shall decide? +Enough that the twin-flower and the star-flower each obeys its own law, +and in so doing contributes each its own part toward making this world +the place of diversified beauty which it was foreordained to be.</p> + +<p>I spoke of the linnæa's autumnal blossoms, though its normal +flowering time is in June. Even this steady-going, unimpressible citizen +of the world, it appears, has its one bit of freakishness. In these +bright, summery September days, when the trees put on their glory, this +lowliest member of the honeysuckle family feels a stirring within to +make itself beautiful; and being an evergreen (instead of a +summer-green), and therefore incapable of bedecking itself after the +maple's manner, it sends up a few flower-stems, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +each with its +couple of swinging, fragrant bells. So it bids the world good-by till +the long winter once more comes and goes.</p> + +<p>The same engaging habit is noticeable in the case of some of our very +commonest plants. After the golden-rods and asters have had their day, +late in October or well into November, when witch-hazel, yarrow, and +clover are almost the only blossoms left us, you will stumble here and +there upon a solitary <a name="dandelion" id="dandelion">dandelion</a> reflecting the sun, or a <a +name="violet219" id="violet219">violet</a> giving back the color of the sky. +And even so, you may find, once in a while, an old man in whom +imaginative impulses have sprung up anew, now that all the prosaic +activities of middle life are over. It is almost as if he were born +again. The song of the April robin, the blossoming of the apple-tree, +the splendors of sunset and sunrise,—these and things like them +touch him to pleasure, as he now remembers they used to do years and +years ago. What means this strange revival of youth in age? Is it a +reminiscence merely, a final flickering of the candle, or is it rather a +prophecy of life yet to come? Well, with the dandelion and the violet we +know with reasonable certainty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +how the matter stands. The +autumnal blooms are not belated, but precocious; they belong not to the +season past, but to the season coming. Who shall forbid us to hope that +what is true of the violet will prove true also of the man?</p> + +<p>It speaks well for human nature that in the long run the lowliest +flowers are not only the best loved, but the oftenest spoken of. Men +play the cynic: modest merit goes to the wall, they say; whoever would +succeed, let him put on a brazen face and sharpen his elbows. But those +who talk in this strain deceive neither themselves nor those who listen +to them. They are commonly such as have themselves tried the trumpet and +elbow method, and have discovered that, whatever may be true of +transient notoriety, neither public fame nor private regard is to be won +by such means. We do not retract what we have said in praise of +diversity, and about the right of each to live according to its own +nature, but we gladly perceive that in the case of the flowers also it +is the meek that inherit the earth.</p> + +<p>Our appreciation of our fellow-men depends in part upon the amount, but +still more +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +upon the quality, of the service they render us. We +could get along without poets more comfortably than without cobblers, +for the lower use is often first, in order both of time and of +necessity; but we are never in doubt as to their relative place in our +esteem. One serves the body, the other the soul; and we reward the one +with money, the other with affection and reverence. And our estimation +of plants is according to the same rule. Such of them as nourish the +body are good,—good even to the point of being indispensable; but +as we make a difference between the barnyard fowl and the nightingale, +and between the common run of humanity and a Beethoven or a Milton, so +maize and potatoes are never put into the same category with lilies and +<a name="violet221" id="violet221">violets</a>. It must be so, because man is more than an animal, and "the +life is more than meat."</p> + +<p>Again we say, let each fulfill its own function. One is made for +utility, another for beauty. For plants, too, are specialists. They know +as well as men how to make the most of inherited capacities and +aptitudes, achieving distinction at last by the simple process of +sticking to one thing, whether +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +that be the production of buds, +blossoms, berries, leaves, bark, timber, or what not; and our judgment +of them must be correspondingly varied. The vine bears blossoms, but is +to be rated not by them, but by the grapes that come after them; and the +rose-tree bears hips, but takes its rank not from them, but from the +flowers that went to the making of them. "Nothing but leaves" is a +verdict unfavorable or otherwise according to its application. The +tea-shrub would hold up its head to hear it.</p> + +<p>One of the most interesting and suggestive points of difference among +plants is that which relates to the matter of self-reliance. Some are +made to stand alone, others to twine, and others to creep. If it were +allowable to attribute human feelings to them, we should perhaps be safe +in assuming that the upright look down upon the climbers, and the +climbers in turn upon the creepers; for who of us does not felicitate +himself upon his independence, such as it is, or such as he imagines it +to be? But if independence is indeed a boon,—and I, for one, am +too thoroughbred a New Englander ever to doubt it,—it is not the +only good, nor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +even the highest. The nettle, standing straight +and prim, asking no favors of anybody, may rail at the grape-vine, which +must lay hold of something, small matter what, by which to steady +itself; but the nettle might well be willing to forego somewhat of its +self-sufficiency, if by so doing it could bring forth grapes. The <a +name="smilax223" id="smilax223">smilax</a>, also, with its thorns, its +pugnacious habit, and its stony, juiceless berries, a sort of handsome +vixen among vines,—the smilax, which can climb though it cannot +stand erect, has little occasion to lord it over the <a +name="strawberry223" id="strawberry223">strawberry</a>. If one has done +nothing, or worse than nothing, it is hardly worth while to boast of the +original fashion in which he has gone about it. Moreover, the very +plants of which we are speaking bear witness to the fact that it is +possible to accept help, and still retain to the full one's own +individuality. The strawberry is no more a plagiarist than the smilax, +nor the grape than the nettle. If the vine clings to the cedar, the +connection is but mechanical. Its spirit and life are as independent of +the savin as of the planet Jupiter. Even the <a name="dodder" id="dodder">dodder</a>, which not only +twines about other weeds, but actually sucks its +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +life from +them, does not thereby lose an iota of its native character. If a man is +only original to begin with,—so the parable seems to run,—he +is under a kind of necessity to remain so (as Shakespeare did), no +matter how much help he may draw from alien sources.</p> + +<p>This truth of the vegetable world is the more noteworthy, because, along +with it there goes a very strong and persistent habit of individual +variation. The plant is faithful to the spirit of its inherited law, but +is not in bondage to the letter. Our "high-bush <a name="blackberry224" id="blackberry224">blackberries</a>," to take a +familiar illustration, are all of one species, but it does not follow +that they are all exactly alike. So far from it, I knew in my +time—and the school-boys of the present day are not less +accurately informed, we may presume—where to find berries of all +shapes, sizes, and flavors. Some were sour, and some were bitter, and +some (I can taste them yet) were finger-shaped and sweet. And what is +true of <i>Rubus villosus</i> is probably true of all plants, though in +varying degrees. I do not recall a single article of our annual wild +crop—blueberries, huckleberries, blackberries, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +cherries, +grapes, pig-nuts (a bad name for a good thing), shagbarks, acorns, and +so forth—in which there was not this constant inequality among +plants of the same species, perfectly well defined, and never lost sight +of by us juvenile connoisseurs. If we failed to find the same true of +other vines and bushes, which for our purposes bore blossoms only, the +explanation is not far to seek. Our perceptions, æsthetic and +gastronomic, were unequally developed. We were in the case of the man to +whom a poet is a poet, though he knows very well that there are cooks +and cooks.</p> + +<p>It is this slight but everywhere present admixture of the personal +quality—call it individuality, or what you will—that saves +the world, animal and vegetable alike, from stagnation. Every bush, +every bird, every man, together with its unmistakable and ineradicable +likeness to the parent stock, has received also a something, be it more +or less, that distinguishes it from all its fellows. Let our observation +be delicate enough, and we shall perceive that there are no duplicates +of any kind, the world over. It is part of the very unity of the world, +this universally diffused diversity.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +<p>It does a sympathetic observer good to see how humanly plants +differ in their likes and dislikes. One is catholic: as common people +say, it is not particular; it can live and thrive almost anywhere. +Another must have precisely such and such conditions, and is to be +found, therefore, only in very restricted localities. The +<i>Dionæa</i>, or Venus's fly-trap, is a famous example of this +fastidiousness, growing in a small district of North Carolina, and, as +far as appears, nowhere else,—a highly specialized plant, with no +generic relative. Another instance is furnished by a water lily +(<i>Nymphæa elegans</i>), the rediscovery of which is chronicled in a +late issue of one of our botanical journals. <a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a> <a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> "This lily was +originally found in 1849, and has never been seen since, holding its +place in botanical literature for these almost forty years on the +strength of a single collection at a single vaguely described station on +the broad prairies of southwestern Texas;" now, after all this time, it +turns up again in another quarter of the same State. And every student +could report cases of a similar character, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +though less +striking than these, of course, within the limits of his own local +researches. If you ask me where I find dandelions, I answer, anywhere; +but if you wish me to show you the sweet colt's-foot (<i>Nardosmia +palmata</i>), you must go with me to one particular spot. Any of my +neighbors will tell you where the <a name="slipper227" id="slipper227">pink moccasin flower</a> grows; but if it +is the yellow one you are in search of, I shall swear you to secrecy +before conducting you to its swampy hiding-place. Some plants, like some +people (but the plants, be it noted, are mostly weeds), seem to flourish +best away from home; others die under the most careful transplanting. +Some are lovers of the open, and cannot be too much in the sun; others +lurk in deep woods, under the triple shadow of tree and bush and fern. +Some take to sandy hill-tops; others must stand knee-deep in water. One +insists upon the richest of meadow loam; another is content with the +face of a rock. We may say of them as truly as of ourselves, <i>De +gustibus non est disputandum</i>. Otherwise, how would the earth ever be +clothed with verdure?</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +<p>But plants are subject to other whims not less pronounced than +these which have to do with the choice of a dwelling-place. We may call +it the general rule that leaves come before flowers; but how many of our +trees and shrubs reverse this order! The singular habit of the <a +name="witch228" id="witch228">witch-hazel</a>, whose blossoms open as the +leaves fall, may be presumed to be familiar to all readers; and hardly +less curious is the freak of the <a name="chestnut" id="chestnut">chestnut</a>, which, almost if not quite +alone among our amentaceous trees, does not put on its splendid +coronation robes till late in June, and is frequently at the height of +its magnificence in mid-July. What a pretty piece of variety have we, +again, in the diurnal and the nocturnal bloomers! For my own part, being +a watcher of birds, and therefore almost of necessity an early stirrer +abroad, I profess a special regard for such plants as save their beauty +for night-time and cloudy weather. The <a name="primrose" id="primrose">evening primrose</a> is no favorite +with most people, I take it, but I seldom fail to pick a blossom or two +with the dew on them. Those to whom I carry them usually exclaim as over +some wonderful exotic, though the primrose is an inveterate haunter +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +of the roadside. Yet its blossoms have only to be looked at and +smelled of to make their way, homely as is the stalk that produces them. +They love darkness rather than light, but it certainly is not "because +their deeds are evil." One might as well cast the opprobrious text in +the face of the moon and stars. Now and then some enterprising +journalist, for want of better employment, investigates anew the habits +of literary workers; and it invariably transpires that some can do their +best only by daylight, while the minds of others seem to be good for +nothing till the sun goes down; and the wise reader, who reads not so +much to gain information as to see whether the writer tells the truth, +shakes his head, and says, "Oh, it is all in use." Of course it is all +in use, just as it is with whippoorwills and the morning-glory.</p> + +<p>The mention of the evening primrose calls for the further remark that +plants, not less than ourselves, have a trick of combining opposite +qualities,—a coarse-grained and scraggy habit, for instance, with +blossoms of exquisite fragrance and beauty. The most gorgeous flowers +sometimes exhale an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +abominable odor, and it is not unheard of +that inconspicuous or even downright homely sorts should be accounted +precious for their sweetness; while, as everybody knows, few members of +our native flora are more graceful in appearance than the very two whose +simple touch is poison. Could anything be more characteristic of human +nature than just such inconsistencies? Suavity and trickery, harshness +and integrity, a fiery temper and a gentle heart,—how often do we +see the good and the bad dwelling together! We would have ordered things +differently, I dare say, had they been left to us,—the good should +have been all good, and the bad all bad; and yet, if it be a grief to +feel that the holiest men have their failings, it ought perhaps to be a +consolation, rather than an additional sorrow, to perceive that the most +vicious are not without their virtues. Beyond which, shall we presume to +suggest that as poisons have their use, so moral evil, give it time +enough, may turn out to be not altogether a curse?</p> + +<p>I have treated my subject too fancifully, I fear. Indeed, there comes +over me at this moment a sudden suspicion that my subject +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +itself is nothing but a fancy, +or, worse yet, a profanation. If the flowers could talk, who knows how +earnestly they might deprecate all such misguided attempts at doing them +honor,—as if it were anything but a slander, this imputation to +them of the foibles, or even the self-styled good qualities, of our poor +humanity! What an egoist is man! I seem to hear them saying; look where +he will, at the world or at its Creator, he sees nothing but the +reflection of his own image.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h6>FOOTNOTES:</h6> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a> <a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> +The <i>Bulletin of the Torrey Botanical Club</i> for January, 1888, +page 13.</p></div> </div> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +<h3><a name="IN_PRAISE_OF_THE_WEYMOUTH_PINE" id="IN_PRAISE_OF_THE_WEYMOUTH_PINE"> +</a>IN PRAISE OF THE WEYMOUTH PINE.</h3> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<p class="center"><small>"I seek in the motion of the forest, in the sound of +the pines, some accents of the eternal language." +<span style="margin-left: 25em;"><span class="smcap">Sénancour.</span></span> +</small> +</p> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">could</span> never think it surprising that the ancients worshiped trees; +that groves were believed to be the dwelling places of the gods; that +Xerxes delighted in the great plane-tree of Lydia; that he decked it +with golden ornaments and appointed for it a sentry, one of "the +immortal ten thousand." Feelings of this kind are natural; among natural +men they seem to have been well-nigh universal. The wonder is that any +should be without them. For myself, I cannot recollect the day when I +did not regard the Weymouth pine (the white pine I was taught to call +it, but now, for reasons of my own, I prefer the English name) with +something like reverence. Especially was this true of one,—a tree +of stupendous girth and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +height, under which I played, and up +which I climbed till my cap seemed almost to rub against the sky. That +pine ought to be standing yet; I would go far to lie in its shadow. But +alas! no village Xerxes concerned himself for its safety, and long, long +ago it was brought to earth, it and all its fair lesser companions. +There is no wisdom in the grave, and it is nothing to them now that I +remember them so kindly. Some of them went to the making of boxes, I +suppose, some to the kindling of kitchen fires. In like noble spirit did +the illustrious Bobo, for the love of roast pig, burn down his father's +house.</p> + +<p>No such pines are to be seen now. I have said it for these twenty years, +and mean no offense, surely, to the one under which, in thankful mood, I +happen at this moment to be reclining. Yet a murmur runs through its +branches as I pencil the words. Perhaps it is saying to itself that +giants are, and always have been, things of the past,—things gazed +at over the beholder's shoulder and through the mists of years; and that +this venerable monarch of my boyhood, this relic of times remote, has +probably grown +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +faster since it was cut down than ever it did +while standing. I care not to argue the point. Rather, let me be glad +that a tree is a tree, whether large or small. What a wonder of wonders +it would seem to unaccustomed eyes! As some lover of imaginative +delights wished that he could forget Shakespeare and read him new, so I +would cheerfully lose all memory of my king of Weymouth pines, if by +that means I might for once look upon a tree as upon something I had +never seen or dreamed of.</p> + +<p>For that purpose, were it given me to choose, I would have one that had +grown by itself; full of branches on all sides, but with no suggestion +of primness; in short, a perfect tree, a miracle hardly to be found in +any forest, since the forest would be no better than a park if the +separate members of it were allowed room to develop each after its own +law. Nature is too cunning an artist to spoil the total effect of her +picture by too fond a regard for the beauty of particular details.</p> + +<p>I once passed a lazy, dreamy afternoon in a small clearing on a Canadian +mountain-side, where the lumbermen had left standing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +a few +scattered butternuts. I can see them now,—misshapen giants, +patriarchal monstrosities, their huge trunks leaning awkwardly this way +and that, and each bearing at the top a ludicrously small, one-sided +bunch of leafy boughs. All about me was the ancient wood. For a week I +had been wandering through it with delight. Such beeches and maples, +birches and butternuts! I had not thought of any imperfection. I had +been in sympathy with the artist, and had enjoyed his work in the same +spirit in which it had been wrought. Now, however, with these unhappy +butternuts in my eye, I began to look, not at the forest, but at the +trees, and I found that the spared butternuts were in no sense +exceptional. <i>All</i> the trees were deformed. They had grown as they +could, not as their innate proclivities would have led them. A tree is +no better than a man; it cannot be itself if it stands too much in a +crowd.</p> + +<p>I set it down, unwillingly, to the discredit of the Weymouth +pine,—a symptom of some ancestral taint, perhaps,—that it +suffers less than most trees from being thus encroached upon. Yet it +does not entirely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +escape. True, it leans neither to left nor +right, its trunk is seldom contorted; if it grow at all it must grow +straight toward the zenith; but it is sadly maimed, +nevertheless,—hardly more than a tall stick with a broom at the +top. If you would see a typical white pine you must go elsewhere to look +for it. I remember one such, standing by itself in a broad Concord River +meadow; not remarkable for its size, but of a symmetry and beauty that +make the traveler turn again and again, till he is a mile away, to gaze +upon it. No pine-tree ever grew like that in a wood.</p> + +<p>I go sometimes through a certain hamlet, which has sprung suddenly into +being on a hill-top where formerly stood a pine grove. The builders of +the houses have preserved (doubtless they use that word) a goodly number +of the trees. But though I have been wont to esteem the poorest tree as +better than none, I am almost ready to forswear my opinion at sight of +these slender trunks, so ungainly and unsupported. The first breeze, one +would say, must bring them down upon the roofs they were never meant to +shade. Poor naked things! I fancy they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +look abashed at being dragged thus unexpectedly and inappropriately into +broad daylight. If I were to see the householder lifting his axe against +one of them I think I should not say, "Woodman, spare <i>that</i> tree!" Let +it go to the fire, the sooner the better, and be out of its misery.</p> + +<p>Not that I blame the tree, or the power that made it what it is. The +forest, like every other community, prospers—we may rather say +exists—at the expense of individual perfection. But the expense is +true economy, for, however it may be in ethics, in æsthetics the +end justifies the means. The solitary pine, unhindered, symmetrical, +green to its lowermost twig, as it rises out of the meadow or stands +a-tiptoe on the rocky ledge, is a thing of beauty, a pleasure to every +eye. A pity and a shame that it should not be more common! But the pine +<i>forest</i>, dark, spacious, slumberous, musical! Here is something better +than beauty, dearer than pleasure. When we enter this cathedral, unless +we enter it unworthily, we speak not of such things. Every tree may be +imperfect, with half its branches dead for want of room or want of sun, +but until the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +devotee turns critic—an easy step, alas, for half-hearted +worshipers—we are conscious of no lack. Magnificence can do +without prettiness, and a touch of solemnity is better than any +amusement.</p> + +<p>Where shall we hear better preaching, more searching comment upon life +and death, than in this same cathedral? Verily, the pine is a priest of +the true religion. It speaks never of itself, never its own words. +Silent it stands till the Spirit breathes upon it. Then all its +innumerable leaves awake and speak as they are moved. Then "he that hath +ears to hear, let him hear." Wonderful is human speech,—the work +of generations upon generations, each striving to express itself, its +feelings, its thoughts, its needs, its sufferings, its joys, its +inexpressible desires. Wonderful is human speech, for its complexity, +its delicacy, its power. But the pine-tree, under the visitations of the +heavenly influence, utters things incommunicable; it whispers to us of +things we have never said and never can say,—things that lie +deeper than words, deeper than thought. Blessed are our ears if we hear, +for the message is not to be understood by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +every comer, nor, indeed, by any, except at happy moments. In this +temple all hearing is given by inspiration, for which reason the +pine-tree's language is inarticulate, as Jesus spake in parables.</p> + +<p>The pine wood loves a clean floor, and is intolerant of undergrowth. +Grasses and sedges, with all bushes, it frowns upon, as a model +housekeeper frowns upon dirt. A plain brown carpet suits it best, with a +modest figure of green—preferably of evergreen—woven into +it; a tracery of partridge-berry vine, or, it may be, of club moss, with +here and there a tuft of pipsissewa and pyrola. Its mood is sombre, its +taste severe. Yet I please myself with noticing that the pine wood, like +the rest of us, is not without its freak, its amiable inconsistency, its +one "tender spot," as we say of each other. It makes a pet of one of our +oddest, brightest, and showiest flowers, the <a name="slipper239" id="slipper239">pink lady's-slipper</a>, and by +some means or other has enticed it away from the peat bog, where it +surely should be growing, along with the calopogon, the pogonia, and the +arethusa, and here it is, like some rare exotic, thriving in a bed of +sand and on a mat of brown needles. Who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +will undertake to explain the occult "elective affinity" by which this +rosy orchid is made so much at home under the heavy shadow of the +Weymouth pine?</p> + +<p>According to the common saying, there is no accounting for tastes. If by +this is meant simply that <i>we</i> cannot account for them, the statement is +true enough. But if we are to speak exactly, there are no likes nor +dislikes except for cause. Every freak of taste, like every vagary of +opinion, has its origin and history, and, with sufficient knowledge on +our part, could be explained and justified. The pine-tree and the orchid +are not friends by accident, however the case may look to us who cannot +see behind the present nor beneath the surface. There are no mysteries +<i>per se</i>, but only to the ignorant. Yet ignorance itself, disparagingly +as we talk of it, has its favorable side,—as it is pleasant +sometimes to withdraw from the sun and wander for a season in the +half-light of the forest. Perhaps we need be in no haste to reach a +world where there is never any darkness. In some moods, at least, I go +with the partridge-berry vine and the lady's-slipper. It is good, I +think, to live awhile longer in the shadow; to see as through a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +glass darkly; and to hear overhead, not plain words, but inarticulate +murmurs.</p> + +<p>I am not to be understood as praising the pine at the expense of other +trees. All things considered, no evergreen can be equal to a +summer-green, on which we see the leaves budding, unfolding, ripening, +and falling,—a "worlde whiche neweth everie daie." What would +winter be worth without the naked branches of maples and elms, beeches +and oaks? We speak of them sadly:</p> + +<p class="center"><small>"Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang."</small> +</p> + +<p>But the sadness is of a pleasing sort, that could ill be spared by any +who know the pleasures of sentiment and sober reflection. But though one +tree differeth from another tree in glory, we may surely rejoice in them +all. One ministers to our mood to-day, another to-morrow.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><center><small> +<span class="i2">"I hate those trees that never lose their foliage;</span> +<span class="i1-5">They seem to have no sympathy with Nature;</span> +<span class="i-1">Winter and summer are alike to them."</span></small></center> +</div></div> + +<p>So says Ternissa, in Landor's dialogue. I know what she means. But I do +not "hate" an impassive, unchangeable temper, whether in a tree or in a +man. I have so little of such a spirit myself that I am glad to see +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +some tokens of it—not too frequent, indeed, nor too +self-assertive—in the world about me. And so I say, let me never +be, for any long time together, where there are no Weymouth pines at +which I may gaze from afar, or under which I may lie and listen. They +boast not (rare stoics!), but they set us a brave example. No "blasts +that blow the poplar white" can cause the pine-tree to blanch. No frost +has power to strip it of a single leaf. Its wood is soft, but how +dauntless its spirit!—a truly encouraging paradox, lending itself, +at our private need, to endless consolatory moralizings. The great +majority of my brothers must be comforted, I think, by any fresh +reminder that the battle is not to the strong.</p> + +<p>For myself, then, like the lowly partridge-berry vine, I would be always +the pine-tree's neighbor. Who knows but by lifelong fellowship with it I +may absorb something of its virtue? Summer and winter, its fragrant +breath rises to heaven; and of it we may say, with more truth than +Landor said of the over-sweet fragrance of the linden, "Happy the man +whose aspirations are pure enough to mingle with it!"</p> + +<hr class="pg"> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a><b>INDEX.</b></h2> +<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span> + +<p> +Asters, <a href="#aster62">62</a>, + <a href="#aster214">214</a>, + <a href="#aster217">217</a>.<br> +Autumnal flowers, <a href="#autumn_flower">212</a>.<br> +Autumnal ornithology, <a href="#ornithol">191</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Bearberry, + <a href="#bearberry72">72</a>, + <a href="#bearberry78">78</a>.<br> +Bittern, <a href="#bittern">71</a>.<br> +Blackberry, <a href="#blackberry63">63</a>, + <a href="#blackberry210">210</a>, + <a href="#blackberry224">224</a>.<br> +Bluebird, <a href="#bluebird179">179</a>, + <a href="#bluebird184">184</a>, + <a href="#bluebird185">185</a>.<br> + +Butterflies:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in November, <a href="#butterfly36">36</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Mt. Mansfield, <a href="#butterfly104">104</a>.</span><br> +</p> + +<p> +Catbird, <a href="#catbird">176</a>.<br> +Cedar-bird, <a href="#cedar">33</a>.<br> +Chestnut-tree, <a href="#chestnut">228</a>.<br> +Chewink, <a href="#chewink">191</a>.<br> +Chickadee, <a href="#chickadee49">49</a>, + <a href="#chickadee55">55</a>.<br> +Cowbird, <a href="#cowbird">83</a>.<br> +Creeper:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">black-and-white, <a href="#creeper85">85</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">brown, <a href="#creeper49">49</a>.</span><br> +Crossbill, white-winged, <a href="#crossbill">27</a>.<br> +Cuckoo, <a href="#cuckoo">192</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Dandelion, <a href="#dandelion">219</a>.<br> +December birds, <a href="#dec_birds">54</a>.<br> +December flowers, <a href="#dec_flowers">60</a>.<br> +Diapensia, <a href="#diapensia23">23</a>, + <a href="#diapensia25">25</a>, + <a href="#diapensia30">30</a>.<br> +Dodder, <a href="#dodder">223</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Evening primrose, <a href="#primrose">228</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Flicker, <a href="#flicker53">53</a>, + <a href="#flicker69">69</a>.<br> +Flowers:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in November, <a href="#nov_flowers">36</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in December, <a href="#dec_flowers">60</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Cape Cod, <a href="#cape_cod">80</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Mt. Lafayette, <a href="#lafayette22">22</a>, + <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Mt. Mansfield, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</span><br> +Flycatcher:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">great-crested, <a href="#flygreat">9</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">least, <a href="#flyleast">9</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">olive-sided, <a href="#flyolive9">9</a>, + <a href="#flyolive10">10</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">phœbe, <a href="#phoebe9">9</a>, + <a href="#phoebe10">10</a>, + <a href="#phoebe179">179</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Traill's, <a href="#traill">9</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">yellow-bellied, <a href="#flyyellow">9</a>.</span><br> +</p> + +<p> +Golden Aster, <a href="#gold_aster">80</a>.<br> +Golden-rods, <a href="#goldrod81">81</a>, + <a href="#goldrod214">214</a>, + <a href="#goldrod215">215</a>.<br> +Goldfinch, <a href="#goldfinch">177</a>.<br> +Grass Finch (Vesper Sparrow), <a href="#vesper5">5</a>, + <a href="#vesper110">110</a>.<br> +Greenland Sandwort, <a href="#sandwort23">23</a>, + <a href="#sandwort25">25</a>, + <a href="#sandwort31">31</a>, + <a href="#sandwort103">103</a>.<br> +Groundsel, <a href="#groundsel">61</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Habenaria dilatata, <a href="#habenaria">103</a>.<br> +Heron, great blue, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.<br> +Holy-Grass, <a href="#holy">25</a>.<br> +Humming-bird:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rivoli, <a href="#rivoli">139</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">ruby-throated, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, + <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</span><br> +Hyla Pickeringii, <a href="#hyla36">36</a>, + <a href="#hyla38">38</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Jay:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Canada, <a href="#canadajay">100</a>.</span><br> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">blue, <a href="#bluejay">100</a>.</span><br> +</p> + +<p> +Kingbird, <a href="#kingbird9">9</a>, + <a href="#kingbird148">148</a>, + <a href="#kingbird179">179</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Lady's-slipper, + <a href="#slipper79">79</a>, + <a href="#slipper227">227</a>, + <a href="#slipper239">239</a>.<br> +Lapland Azalea, <a href="#azalea">31</a>.<br> +Lark:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">meadow, + <a href="#meadow53">53</a>, + <a href="#meadow176">176</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">shore (or horned), <a href="#horned">53</a>.</span><br> +Linnæa, <a href="#linnaea">216-218</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Maryland Yellow-throat, + <a href="#maryland149">149</a>, + <a href="#maryland192">192</a>.<br> +Mount Cannon, <a href="#cannon">33</a>.<br> +Mount Lafayette, + <a href="#lafayette15">15</a>, + <a href="#lafayette24">24</a>.<br> +Mount Mansfield, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +November in Eastern Massachusetts, <a href="#nov_flowers">36</a>.<br> +Nuthatch, Red-bellied, + <a href="#nuthatch49">49</a>, + <a href="#nuthatch55">55</a>, + <a href="#nuthatch190">190</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Oriole, Baltimore, + <a href="#baltimore123">123</a>, + <a href="#baltimore176">176</a>, + <a href="#baltimore179">179</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Peck's Geum, + <a href="#geum23">23</a>, + <a href="#geum25">25</a>, + <a href="#geum31">31</a>.<br> +Phœbe, <a href="#phoebe9">9</a>, + <a href="#phoebe10">10</a>, + <a href="#phoebe179">179</a>.<br> +Pine Grosbeak, <a href="#grosbeak">26</a>.<br> +Pine, white, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br> +Plover:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">golden, <a href="#plover">202</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">killdeer, + <a href="#killdeer39">39</a>, + <a href="#killdeer41">41</a>.</span><br> +Poverty-Grass, + <a href="#poverty72">72</a>, + <a href="#poverty81">81</a>.<br> +Purple Gerardia, + <a href="#gerardia81">81</a>, + <a href="#gerardia213">213</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Redstart, + <a href="#redstart16">16</a>, + <a href="#redstart190">190</a>, + <a href="#redstart191">191</a>.<br> +Robin, + <a href="#robin55">55</a>, + <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, + <a href="#robin184">184</a>.<br> +Roses, + <a href="#rose32">32</a>, + <a href="#rose81">81</a>, + <a href="#rose209">209</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Scarlet Tanager, + <a href="#tanager176">176</a>, + <a href="#tanager191">191</a>.<br> +Screech Owl, <a href="#screech">177</a>.<br> +Smilax:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">glauca, <a href="#glauca">80</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">rotundifolia, + <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, + <a href="#smilax223">223</a>.</span><br> +Snow Bunting, <a href="#snowbunting">53</a>.<br> +Sparrow:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">chipping, <a href="#chipping">179</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">field, <a href="#field">176</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ipswich, + <a href="#ipswich53">53</a>, + <a href="#ipswich54">54</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">song, + <a href="#songspar53">53</a>, + <a href="#songspar85">85</a>, + <a href="#songspar176">176</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">vesper, <a href="#vesper5">5</a>, + <a href="#vesper110">110</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">white-throated, + <a href="#whitethroat16">16</a>, + <a href="#whitethroat52">52</a>, + <a href="#whitethroat91">91</a>, + <a href="#whitethroat92">92</a>, + <a href="#whitethroat102">102</a>, + <a href="#whitethroat110">110</a>, + <a href="#whitethroat190">190</a>.</span><br> +Strawberry, + <a href="#strawberry32">32</a>, + <a href="#strawberry223">223</a>.<br> +Swallow, white-breasted, (Tree Swallow), + <a href="#swallow180">180</a>, + <a href="#swallow183">183</a>.<br> +Swift, Chimney, + <a href="#swift110">110</a>, + <a href="#swift182">182</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Thistles, <a href="#thistle">207</a>.<br> +Thrush:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">gray-cheeked, <a href="#graythrush16">16</a>, + <a href="#graythrush19">19</a>, + <a href="#graythrush94">94</a>, + <a href="#graythrush95">95</a>, + <a href="#graythrush97">97</a>, + <a href="#graythrush191">191</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">hermit, <a href="#hermit19">19</a>, + <a href="#hermit97">97</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">olive-backed, (or Swainson's), + <a href="#swainson19">19</a>, + <a href="#swainson51">51</a>, + <a href="#swainson97">97</a>, + <a href="#swainson99">99</a>, + <a href="#swainson191">191</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">water, <a href="#waterthrush">84</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilson's (or veery), + <a href="#veery17">17</a>, + <a href="#veery19">19</a>, + <a href="#veery98">98</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">wood, <a href="#woodthrush">98</a>.</span><br> +Turnstone, <a href="#turnstone">86</a>.<br> +</p> + +<p> +Veery (Wilson's Thrush), <a href="#veery17">17</a>, + <a href="#veery19">19</a>, + <a href="#veery98">98</a>.<br> +Violets, <a href="#violet212">212</a>, + <a href="#violet219">219</a>, + <a href="#violet221">221</a>.<br> +Vireo:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Philadelphia, <a href="#phila">11</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">red-eyed, + <a href="#redeye11">11</a>, + <a href="#redeye83">83</a>, + <a href="#redeye153">153</a>, + <a href="#redeye191">191</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">solitary (or blue-headed), + <a href="#solitary11">11</a>, + <a href="#solitary13">13</a>, + <a href="#solitary191">191</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">warbling, <a href="#warbling">14</a>.</span><br> +</p> + +<p> +Warbler:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">bay-breasted, <a href="#baybreast6">6</a>, + <a href="#baybreast190">190</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blackburnian, + <a href="#blackburn6">6</a>, + <a href="#blackburn16">16</a>, + <a href="#blackburn190">190</a>, + <a href="#blackburn191">191</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">black-and-yellow, (magnolia), + <a href="#magnolia">190</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">black-poll, <a href="#blackpoll6">6</a>, + <a href="#blackpoll16">16</a>, + <a href="#blackpoll96">96</a>, + <a href="#blackpoll99">99</a>, + <a href="#blackpoll102">102</a>, + <a href="#blackpoll190">190</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">black-throated blue, + <a href="#blk_throat_bl16">16</a>, + <a href="#blk_throat_bl191">191</a>.</span><br> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">black-throated green, + <a href="#blk_throat_gr16">16</a>, + <a href="#blk_throat_gr85">85</a>, + <a href="#blk_throat_gr190">190</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">blue golden-winged, + <a href="#bluegold">178</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">blue yellow-backed, <a href="#blueyellow83">83</a>, + <a href="#blueyellow190">190</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Canadian flycatcher, <a href="#canadian16">16</a>, + <a href="#canadian190">190</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Connecticut, <a href="#connecticut">190</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">golden (summer yellow-bird), <a href="#summeryellow">192</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nashville, <a href="#nashville8">8</a>, + <a href="#nashville16">16</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pine, <a href="#pinewarbler">191</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">prairie, <a href="#prairie84">84</a>, + <a href="#prairie178">178</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tennessee, <a href="#tennessee5">5</a>, + <a href="#tennessee6">6</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilson's black-cap, <a href="#wilsons">186</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">yellow-rumped (myrtle), <a href="#myrtle">95</a>.</span><br> +White-winged Crossbill, <a href="#crossbill">27</a>.<br> +Winter Wren, <a href="#winterwren">102</a>.<br> +Witch-Hazel, <a href="#witch61">61</a>, + <a href="#witch228">228</a>.<br> +Woodpecker:—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">downy, <a href="#downy">50</a>.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">golden-winged (flicker), + <a href="#flicker53">53</a>, + <a href="#flicker69">69</a>.<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">yellow-bellied, <a href="#yellowbelly">190</a>.</span><br> +Wood Pewee, <a href="#pewee9">9</a>, <a href="#pewee176">176</a>.</span><br> +</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> + +<div class="box"> +<h3>Books by Mr. Torrey.</h3> +<hr style="width: 50%;"> +<p class="center"> +BIRDS IN THE BUSH. 16mo, $1.25.<br> +A RAMBLER'S LEASE. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<h4>HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.</h4> +<h5>BOSTON AND NEW YORK.</h5> +</div> + +<h2>OUT-DOOR BOOKS</h2> + +<p class="center">Selected from the Publications of</p> + +<h3>Houghton, Mifflin and Company,</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>4 Park St., Boston; 11 East 17th St., New York.</i> +</p> +<hr style="width: 10%;"> +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Adirondack Stories.</b> By <span class="smcap">P. Deming</span>. 18mo, 75 cents.</p> + +<p><b>A-Hunting of the Deer; How I Killed a Bear</b>; Lost in the Woods; +Camping Out; A Wilderness Romance; What Some People call Pleasure. +By <span class="smcap">Charles Dudley Warner</span>. 16mo, paper covers, 15 cents, <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>The American Horsewoman.</b> By <span class="smcap">Elizabeth Karr</span>. Illustrated. New +Edition. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.</b> By <span class="smcap">Henry D. Thoreau</span>. +12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Birds and Bees.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. With an Introduction by <span class="smcap">Mary E. +Burt</span>, of Chicago. 16mo, paper covers, 15 cents, <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>Birds and Poets, with Other Papers.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. 16mo, gilt +top, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Birds in the Bush.</b> By <span class="smcap">Bradford Torrey</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Birds through an Opera-Glass.</b> By <span class="smcap">Florence A. Merriam</span>. In Riverside +Library for Young People. 16mo, 75 cents.</p> + +<p><b>Bird-Ways.</b> By <span class="smcap">Olive Thorne Miller</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Cape Cod.</b> By <span class="smcap">Henry D. Thoreau</span>. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Country By-Ways.</b> By <span class="smcap">Sarah Orne Jewett</span>. 18mo, gilt top, $1.25. + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p><b>Drift-Weed.</b> Poems. By <span class="smcap">Celia Thaxter</span>. 18mo, full gilt, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Early Spring in Massachusetts.</b> Selections from the Journals of +<span class="smcap">Henry D. Thoreau</span>. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Excursions in Field and Forest.</b> By <span class="smcap">Henry D. Thoreau</span>. 12mo, gilt +top, $1.50.<br> +<span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Biographical Sketch, by R. W. Emerson; Natural History of +Massachusetts; A Walk to Wachusett; The Landlord; A Winter Walk; +The Succession of Forest Trees; Walking; Autumnal Tints; Wild +Apples; Night and Moonlight.</p> + +<p><b>Favorite Flies.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mary Orvis Marbury</span>. With colored plates. Square +8vo. (<i>In Press</i>).</p> + +<p><b>Fishing with the Fly.</b> A volume of original Essays on Angling. By +Lovers of the Art. Edited by <span class="smcap">Charles F. Orvis</span> and <span class="smcap">A. Nelson Cheney</span>. +With colored Plates of 149 standard varieties of Flies. With Map +and Index. Crown 8vo, $2.50.</p> + +<p><b>Fresh Fields.</b> English Sketches. By <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. 16mo, gilt top, +$1.25.</p> + +<p><b>The Gypsies.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles G. Leland</span>. With Sketches of the English, +Welsh, Russian, and Austrian Romany; and papers on the Gypsy +Language. Crown 8vo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Homestead Highways.</b> By <span class="smcap">H. M. Sylvester</span>. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>In Nesting Time.</b> By <span class="smcap">Olive Thorne Miller</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>In the Wilderness.</b> Adirondack Essays. By <span class="smcap">Charles Dudley Warner</span>. New +Edition, enlarged. 18mo $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Land of the Lingering Snow.</b> Chronicles of a Stroller in New England +from January to June. By <span class="smcap">Frank Bolles</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Little Brothers of the Air.</b> By <span class="smcap">Olive Thorne Miller</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Locusts and Wild Honey.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + +<p><b>The Maine Woods.</b> By <span class="smcap">Henry D. Thoreau</span>. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>My Garden Acquaintance and a Moosehead Journal.</b> By <span class="smcap">James Russell +Lowell</span>. Illustrated. 32mo, 75 cents. <i>School Edition</i>, 40 cents, +<i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>My Summer in a Garden.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles Dudley Warner</span>. 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Nantucket Scraps.</b> Being the Experiences of an Off-Islander, in +Season and out of Season. By <span class="smcap">Jane G. Austin</span>. 16mo, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Nature.</b> "Little Classics," Vol. XVI. 18mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Nature, together with Love, Friendship, Domestic Life, Success, +Greatness, and Immortality.</b> By <span class="smcap">R. W. Emerson</span>. 32mo, 75 cents; +<i>School Edition</i>, 40 cents, <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>On Horseback.</b> A Tour in Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee. +With Notes on Travel in Mexico and California. By <span class="smcap">Charles Dudley +Warner</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Pepacton.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Poems.</b> By <span class="smcap">Celia Thaxter</span>. 18mo, full gilt, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Poetic Interpretation of Nature.</b> By Principal <span class="smcap">J. C. Shairp</span>. 16mo, +gilt top, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Prose Pastorals.</b> By <span class="smcap">Herbert M. Sylvester</span>. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>A Rambler's Lease.</b> By <span class="smcap">Bradford Torrey</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>The Rescue of an Old Place.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mary Caroline Robbins</span>. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>The Round Year.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edith M. Thomas</span>. Prose Papers. 16mo, gilt top, +$1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Rural Hours.</b> By <span class="smcap">Susan Fenimore Cooper</span>. New Edition, abridged. 16mo, +$1.25.</p> + +<p><b>The Saunterer.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles G. Whiting</span>. Essays on Nature. 16mo, +$1.25. + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + +<p><b>Seaside Studies in Natural History.</b> By <span class="smcap">Alexander Agassiz</span> and +<span class="smcap">Elizabeth C. Agassiz</span>. Illustrated. 8vo, $3.00.</p> + +<p><b>Sharp Eyes, A Taste of Maine Birch, The Apple, and other Essays.</b> By +<span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. 16mo, paper covers, 15 cents, <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>The Shaybacks in Camp.</b> Ten Summers under Canvas. By <span class="smcap">Samuel J.</span> and +<span class="smcap">Isabel C. Barrows</span>. With Map of Lake Memphremagog. 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Succession of Forest Trees, etc.</b> By <span class="smcap">H. D. Thoreau</span>. With +Biographical Sketch by <span class="smcap">R. W. Emerson</span>. 16mo, paper covers, 15 cents, +<i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>Summer.</b> Selections from the Journals of <span class="smcap">H. D. Thoreau</span>. With Map of +Concord. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Tenting at Stony Beach.</b> By <span class="smcap">Maria Louise Pool</span>. 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Up and Down the Brooks.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Bamford</span>. In Riverside Library +for Young People. 16mo, 75 cents.</p> + +<p><b>Wake-Robin.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. Revised and enlarged edition. +Illustrated. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Walden; or, Life in the Woods.</b> By <span class="smcap">Henry D. Thoreau</span>. 12mo, gilt top, +$1.50. <i>Riverside Aldine Edition</i>. 2 vols. 16mo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Winter.</b> From the Journal of Thoreau. Edited by <span class="smcap">H. G. O. Blake</span>. +12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Winter Sunshine.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>. New edition, revised and +enlarged. With Frontispiece. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Woods and Lakes of Maine.</b> A Trip from Moosehead Lake to New +Brunswick in a Birch-Bark Canoe. By <span class="smcap">Lucius L. Hubbard</span>. With Indian +Place-Names and their Meanings, Illustrations, and large Map. 8vo, +$3.00.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;'> + +<p><sup>*</sup><sub>*</sub><sup>*</sup><i>For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, +on receipt of price by the Publishers,</i></p> + +<p class="center">HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.<br> + +<span class="smcap">4 Park St., Boston; 11 East 17th St., New York.</span> +</p></div> + + +<div class="box"> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a>Pagination errors corrected in Index: +</p> +<p class="noin" style="text-align: left;"> +Catbird, 167 <b>to</b> Catbird, 176<br> +Lark, meadow, 167 <b>to</b> Lark, meadow, 176<br> +Mount Lafayette, 25 <b>to</b> Mount Lafayette, 24<br> +Oriole, Baltimore, 167 <b>to</b> Oriole, Baltimore, 176<br> +Scarlet Tanager, 167 <b>to</b> Scarlet Tanager, 176<br> +Sparrow, field, 167 <b>to</b> Sparrow, field, 176<br> +Sparrow, song, 167 <b>to</b> Sparrow, song, 176<br> +Wood Pewee, 167 <b>to</b> Wood Pewee, 176</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Foot-path Way, by Bradford Torrey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOOT-PATH WAY *** + +***** This file should be named 27285-h.htm or 27285-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/2/8/27285/ + +Produced by Robin Monks, Carolyn Bottomley, Joseph Cooper +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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