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A Trait of the English Sparrow 



The pleasure of many a stroll in the 

 May woods, particularly during the end 

 of that month, has been spoiled, either 

 completely or partially, by a small green 

 caterpillar, or inch-worm. This annoying 

 little pest has a habit of suspending him- 

 self from the branch of the tree on which 

 he probably was born, by means of a 

 long, delicate, silk, thread, which is visible 

 onl}' as it shimmers in the sunlight. 

 Consequently, when one walks through 

 a piece of woods infested with these inch- 

 worms, it is not long before one's clothing 

 is covered with them and their fine, sus- 

 pending threads. Sometimes, too, the 

 threads cling to one's face, and if the day 

 is at all hot and humid, as so many of our 

 days are, the sensation is anything but 

 pleasant. Still less agreeable is it to have 

 a worm strike one's face, and then insist 

 upon exploring it. 



After a few experiences with these most 

 annoying nuisances, one is ready to 

 welcome with open arms anything that 

 will aid in any way in destroying them. 

 It is a rather curious case of poetic justice 

 that the friend in need should turn out 

 to be the much criticised, condemned 

 and despised English Sparrow. 



In the spring of 1907, they first at- 

 tracted attention in a little piece of woods 

 on the western edge of Bronx Park that 

 was thickly infested with the inch-worm 

 pest. Every now and then, one of the 

 Sparrows would fly a few feet from the 

 ground, hover in air with beating wings, 

 descend, and then repeat the whole per- 

 formance. Selecting one and watching 

 him carefull)-, it was soon discovered that 

 he was busy capturing and devouring 

 the small green caterpillars that made 

 walking unpleasant. Since then, the same 

 thing has been observed each spring. 



The Sparrows are not content with 

 catching one caterpillar and eating that 

 before seizing another, but the>- must 



needs continue catching until their bills 

 can hold no more, then they rest either 

 upon the ground or on the lower branch 

 of some tree and finish their meal. They, 

 evidently, regard these inchworms as a 

 great delicacy, for it is an exceedingly 

 difficult thing to compel them to drop 

 any of them, even when their bills are 

 so full that the caterpillars hang out on 

 all sides. Nor, when they have deposited 

 them upon the ground preparatory to 

 eating them, does a quick and sudden 

 rush cause them to leave any; on the 

 contrary, the bird quickly seizes them, and 

 then flies with them to the nearest low 

 branch. — Edwin W. Humphreys, New 

 York City. 



Replacing a Fallen Swift's Nest 



In the summer of 1908, I unexpectedly 

 found that a Chimney Swift's nest, 

 with three young, had fallen into one of 

 our fireplaces. The young birds were 

 small, probably not more than three or 

 four days old. At first I tried feeding 

 them milk by means of a medicine dropper, 

 but this proved useless, the weakest of 

 the three dying in about four hours. 

 When I decided to try to get them up 

 into the chimney, where the old bird 

 could take care of them. The method 

 adopted proved simple and successful. 

 Two boards were nailed together, as 

 shown in the accompanying photograph, 

 and the nest was fastened onto the ver- 

 tical board. The lower board was pro- 

 vided principally to keep the nest from 

 falling down the chimney again, in case 

 the string should happen to break. I 

 then put the two remaining young ones 

 into the nest and climbed up onto the 

 roof. The whole thing was lowered, by 

 means of string, down into the chimney, 

 and fastened when it was about twelve 

 feet below. 



The young were very weak when they 

 were put down the chimney, but they 



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