The Robin CPlaiiesticus migratorius). 

 By T. Gilbert Pearson 



Length, 10 inches. 



Range: Breeds in the United States (except the Gulf States), Canada, 

 Alaska, and Mexico ; winters in most of the United States and south to Guatemala. 



Habits and economic status : In the North and some parts of the West the 

 robin is among the most cherished of our native birds. Should it ever become 

 rare where now common, its joyous summer song and familiar presence will be 

 sadly missed in many a homestead. The robin is an omnivorous feeder, and its 

 food includes many orders of insects, with no very pronounced preference for 

 any. It is verv fond of earthworms, but its real economic status is determined 

 by the vegetable food, which amounts to about 58 per cent of all. The principal 

 item is fruit, w-hich forms more than 51 per cent of the total food. The fact 

 that in the examination of over 1,200 stomachs the percentage of wild fruit was 

 found to be five times that of the cultivated varieties suggests that berry-bearing 

 shrubs, if planjted near the orchard, will serve to protect more valuable fruits. 

 In California in certain years it has bee^i possible to save the olive crop from 

 hungry robins only by the most strenuous exertions and considerable expense. 

 The bird's general usefulness is such, however, that all reasonable means of pro- 

 tecting orchard fruit should be tried before killing the birds. 



No bird holds so prominent a place in the minds of the American people as 

 the robin. It is distinctively a companion of man, and wherever his hand has 

 cleared the wilderness the robin has followed. From Mexico to the Yukon the 

 traveler meets it, and the residents will tell him of its coming and going. It has 

 passed into the literature of the country, and one reads of it in the books of 

 science and of romance. Poets weave its image into their witchery of rhyme, 

 lovers fondly spy upon its wooing, and by the fireside of every household children 

 lisp its name when stories are told in the twilight. 



Heedless indeed is the ear that does not harken when the robin sings. Loud 

 and clear it calls at dawn, and sweet are the childhood memories it brings of fresh 

 green fields swept by gentle winds and apple blossoms filled with dew. 



One spring, a pair built their nest on the limb of a balsam standing beside a 

 much-used walk near my home. In gathering the material for the nest, the 

 greatest care was exercised to worI<! at those hours when there was the least 

 chance of being observed. Thus, the greater part was done in the early morning 

 when few people were astir. Perhaps one reason for this was that the blades of 

 dead grass, twigs, and other nesting material, were then damp and pliable from 

 the dews of night, and were much more easily woven into position than after 

 they had become dry and brittle. Only during the last few days of construction 

 did I detect the birds working in the afternoon. The mud for their nest was 

 found by a little pool at the end of a leaky horse-trough. 



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