Bird - Lore 



come low down on a dead branch and shown 

 me how he did it. I watched the bird some 

 time after that and saw him throw his head 

 up each time the Flycatcher note was 

 uttered and then continue on with his 

 regular song without any lost time in 

 between; or in other words, the ordinary 

 song of the Red-eye was simply punctuated 

 at intervals by the high-pitched quirp of 

 the Crested Flycatcher. A pair of the 

 latter had been in the vicinity all the spring 

 but were neither seen nor heard that day. 

 — F. A. Doolittle, Paincsville, Ohio. 



Yellow-throated Vireos 



One day in the middle of June, a 

 'function,' seemed to be at its height in 

 the old tree at the corner of the house, and 

 I discovered eight or ten olive-green and 

 yellow songsters fluttering and singing 

 among the lower branches, evidently intent 

 upon pleasure alone, and the contralto 

 chorus from so many voices seemed in 

 some way to be suggestive of Mendels- 

 sohn's Wedding March. 



And a wedding it must have been, for 

 after that joyous occasion only two of the 

 flock were seen in the tree. They grew 

 daily more untiring both in labor and 

 song, incessantly repeating their richly 

 sweet dialogue: "Here I am, see me? 

 Where are you?" with an occasional burst 

 of trills wholly untranslatable. 



Search that tree as I might, inch by 

 inch, and with strong glasses, it was not 

 until the Fourth of July that I discovered 

 that what had appeared to be a dried 

 leaf was the cleverly constructed basket 

 cradle of the Vireos. There, about two 

 feet from the end of the lowest branch, 

 but well out of reach of marauders, swung 

 between two horizontal twigs with its 

 bottom resting on the branch, and almost 

 concealed by overhanging leaves, was the 

 handiwork of the second-besl bird archi- 

 tects (tin- freely swinging nest of the 

 Baltimore Oriole deserves first place), 

 and over the edge peered two brightly 

 i urious but fearless eyes of Madam Vireo. 

 While I watched there came tin- mate with 

 a morsel for her refreshment. 



Fager to test their reputation for friend- 

 liness, I tacked to the end of a stick a tiny 

 tin cup filled with moistened crumbs. 

 To my unspeakable delight the very first 

 time the cup's contents were offered, the 

 bird on the nest stretched her charming 

 little head over the edge and ate with 

 relish; soon came the male, and alighting 

 silently on a near-by twig thrust his bill 

 into the cup again and again! 



On closer inspection the nest looked like 

 a diminutive cap fashioned from birch 

 bark, the greyish white appearance being 

 due to scraps of printed newspaper firmly 

 laced into place by long slender grasses. 

 It needed but a couple of days' watching 

 to learn two of the Yellow-Throat's habits: 

 first, never was the nest left alone for a 

 moment during incubation, the two birds 

 sharing equally their duties, both of sitting 

 on the eggs and keeping the dainty home 

 in repair and well cleaned; the other 

 habit was the strictest silence when near 

 or on the nest; even when a note of warning 

 was thought necessary it was given from a 

 distant branch. To be sure the days of 

 song were past, for now the serious business 

 of housekeeping and rearing a family 

 was all-absorbing, and it became a rare 

 treat to hear the male give voice to his 

 joyful satisfaction with events. I noticed 

 that although he chose a perch far away. 

 it was within sight of the nest. 



I had never seen a small bird dare a 

 personal encounter with a four-footed 

 enemy, and knowing the Vireo's habitual 

 silence I was surprised one day to hear 

 loud, unmistakable scolding notes. I 

 hastened to the back porch and saw a great 

 black cat on the fence just below the nest. 

 and although it was not near enough to do 

 any harm, both the little parent birds 

 seemed to be in danger of splitting their 

 throats, and in addition to their torrent 

 of rage, the male was making swifl . straight 

 dashes almost into the face of the enemy, 

 who. satisfied of the uselessness of any 

 attempt to attack that nest, leisurely 

 walked away to the end of the fence. It 

 was some time before the excited little 

 lighter K'rew calm: he Bitted about the 

 oest, making no pretence at gathering 



