70 Bird - Lore 



ejecting Crows and English Sparrows; nevertheless, the squirrels must see by 

 this time that the Flickers have my sympathy and aid in clearing the sassafras 

 holes from which, by the end of May, they will look out upon the first field- 

 daisies that bloom hereabout, and find delectable food in the ant-hills that 

 underlie the old meadow grass of the slope. The squirrels will chatter at them 

 from their box in the nearby chestnut, but neutrality will be declared, even 

 if it is of the usual armed variety common in greater affairs. 



The second party of belligerents is drawn from the tribe of Crows, that 

 spend their winter days in clamming on the beach. Every spring they insist 

 upon nesting in one or more of the spruces, and cause us endless trouble and 

 climbing to dislodge them. On their house-hunting search, which began in 

 early March, they encountered the Black-crowned Night Herons that have 

 made a winter rookery in the best and thickest group of spruces. Immediately 

 the Crows declared war, not openly, but by sneaking through the trees, slip- 

 ping from branch to branch in the same manner as when hunting for squab 

 Robins later in the season. 



At first the great, awkward Herons, when startled, would utter a dis- 

 tressed "quok!" flop to another branch, and finally leave the tree altogether. 

 Now, however, they are gaining assurance, and, though they sway to and 

 fro deliriously, — their feet lacking the sure grip of small perching birds, — 

 they hold their places, and open their long beaks and gape, rather than snap, 

 in the face of their tormentors in a most ludicrous way. A moving-picture 

 exhibition of a few of the scenes that I have watched within a couple of hundred 

 feet of the house would, I am sure, create a sensation. Unfortunately, how- 

 ever, the Crows vanish at the sight of a camera and the shade of the spruces 

 is very deep, so all that I have been able to prison with a few^ random snaps 

 has been a chance Heron of the party of eight. But I've a feehng that it is to 

 be a case of Heron "rampant," to use a heraldry term, and that we shall have 

 young Herons in the spruces in May, instead of material for an April Squab 

 Crow Pie, — which a Russian-Pole, who is especially adroit in helping dislodge 

 Crow nests, assures me is "Fine, sure fine! If you let they get not too much 

 feathers." 



One of the most thrilling sights of early spring is the mating flight of the 

 Red-shouldered Hawks. Coming down from a stretch of oak woods, they 

 will sail to and fro a half day at a time, going to the extreme edge of the 

 open meadows below and returning against the wind. At times their calling 

 is so frequent as to be almost rhythmic, and then will follow long periods of 

 silence. 



The Crows have a sort of courting flight also, but it wholly lacks the majesty 

 of the Hawks' aerial courting. With the Crows it seems to be a serio-comic drama 

 in two acts, in the first of which several birds dash about in the air in gradually 

 widening circles, all calling together. When this has gone on for an indefinite 

 time, one of the Crows, presumably a female, takes a lookout position on the 



