3'^' 



THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



ing pines awaken us some morning with 

 their harsh, squeaky notes, — yet even 

 these sound now like music to our ears. 



Many of the birds which have been with 

 as througli the winter are showing new 

 activities. The j uncos seem to be gather- 

 ing in larger flocks, and, in company with 

 the migrating fox sparrows preparatory 

 to making their way northward, now 

 make the thickets and hillsides ring with 

 their sweet music. Crows are becoming 

 numerous and seem to caw excitedly : 

 though many of these hardy birds remain 

 with us the year 'round, there seems to be 

 a touch of the migrating instinct still in 

 their breasts, as evinced by the large 

 flocks which suddenly appear in this lati- 

 tude in late February and early March. 

 The blue jays, which were comparativelv 

 silent through the winter, are becoming 

 restless and noisy; the plaintive trill of 

 the little screech owl haunts the dusk, 

 and we may hear the mating calls of the 

 chickadee and downy woodpecker, which 

 come less frequently now to our suet. We 

 may find them instead searching out holes 

 or excavating cavities in the dead stubs, 

 for they begin this work far in advance 

 of the time when they will occupy these 

 for their new homes. 



i\Tarch. then, though it be a blustering 

 month in Xew England, is, never-the- 

 less. a welcome one to the ornithologist, 

 for it brings us the return of the birds. — 

 at least, of the more hardy ones, with the 

 assurance of others soon to follow. 



My Little Owl. 



BY J. WILLIAM I.LGYD, WESTFIELD, NKW 

 JERSEY. 



There is a little screech owl of the gray 

 phase that has been one of the joys of my 

 nights for years and is now a joy in my 

 days also. He is a lovely, fluffy creature, 

 of unusual beauty of plumage, gray and 

 black and white, and when I am sleeping 

 on my porch, I love to wake in the night, 

 or dusk of morning, and see this little 

 ghost-like shadow flit, or hear his weird, 

 flute-like music tremble on the listening 

 ear. 



I heard a little owl at eve 



With trembling voice proclaim his joy; 

 He loved the weirdness of the dusk — 



And so, O little owl, do I. 



I love to watch the first star light, 

 I love to see the wan moon shine, 



And there, against the ivory west. 

 The blackness of the forest line. 



I love the silence and the chill, 



The sense of difference from the day; 



A spirit in another world 



To seem, and go an unknown way. 



For a long time this little neighbor had 

 his habitation in a woodpecker's hole in 

 the top of a dead pignut tree, in the fence 

 line, back of my barn. I'.ut in a storm 

 the tree was blown down and mv owl's 



MY LITTLE OWL ON THE SHELF UNDER THE 



PE.'XK OF THE R.\RN. 



Photographed by the author. 



pellets were no more found there. Where 

 he went for a while I do not know. In 

 19 1 4 I made an oblong box for a gray 

 squirrel that was visiting my place, and 

 fastened it to a hickory tree in front of 

 the house. The length of the box was 

 parallel with the tree trunk and at the 

 upper end, in front, was a round hole. 

 1 he squirrel and his mate accepted it and 

 all was well for a while. But sometime 

 in February I became aware that the little 

 owl whose morning song I had heard all 

 winter, without much regard to weather, 

 had usurped the squirrel box. We saw 

 his face in the doorway one day, and one 

 snowy morning we saw the squirrels 

 dancing on the roof and scolding. I made 

 another and hoped more attractive box 

 for owls and fastened it to the next tree, 

 a sweet birch, thinking to toll Megascops 

 to it. 

 Rut he seemed contented with his stolen 



