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Bird - Lore 



this spring, to nest in a Tartarian Honey- 

 suckle bush. There they built nest No. i and 

 hatched three birds. Two of the little fellows 

 soon disappeared but they reared the other 

 one to maturity. They then moved over 

 about 2 feet in the same bush and built nest 

 No. 2. On the day the third egg was laid 

 the House Wrens destroyed all three eggs. 

 The Cardinals promptly moved to the 

 trellis over the conservatory and built nest 

 No. 3 and laid three eggs. Two of these eggs 

 were typical Cardinal eggs, the other was a 

 funny little egg and almost a clear white 

 color. We could readily see in the nest from 

 inside the conservatory, and we speculated 

 considerably on the hatching of this small 

 egg. In due time it hatched out a Cardinal 

 which grew to maturity while the other two 

 normal looking eggs never hatched. 



Now, while the Cardinals were occupied 

 with nest No. 3, a pair of Catbirds having 

 raised their first brood, and were looking for 

 a site for their second nest, discovered 

 Cardinal nest No. 1 and appropriated it to 

 their own use rather than build a new nest. 

 Soon the nest had three baby Catbirds, but 

 before they were feathered there came up a 

 wind storm during an afternoon and tore 

 down the nest. This was discovered two 

 hours later when we picked up the naked and 

 chilled birds, placed them in the battered 

 nest, and replaced it securely in the bush. 

 Mrs. Catbird promptly hovered and warmed 

 them and they were reared to maturity. 



To return to the Cardinals. After having 

 reared the single bird from nest No. 3 they 

 built nest No. 4 about 6 feet down the same 

 trellis and also in such a position that we 

 could see into the nest from the conservatory. 

 Three young Cardinals in due time arrived 

 and were about half feathered when there 

 occurred a tragedy that makes us heartsick 

 to think about. Being away from home all 

 day until late in the evening, we discovered, 

 upon returning, that Mr. Cardinal was dis- 

 tressed and calling his mate. We became con- 

 cerned and a hunt resulted in finding her 

 dead in the Sparrow-trap, thus leaving a 

 family of three little children, two young to 

 shift for themselves, to the care of the father. 

 All the next day Mr. Cardinal mourned the 

 loss of his mate and only occasionally fed the 



hungry mouths, spending most of his time in 

 calling and hunting the lost mother. We 

 were unsuccessful in getting them to eat for 

 us and during the day they crawled out of the 

 nest and fell to the ground. That night we 

 gathered them up and placed them in the 

 nest and the nest in a cage. The next day the 

 father fed them through the bars but he had 

 such difficulty in giving them food that the 

 day following we released them and at night 

 caught them and placed them in the cage. 

 The fifth night we could not find them and 

 feared for their safety and welfare. 



The next day we found all three and, to 

 our surprise, Mrs. Catbird was feeding them 

 and continued to feed and mother them until 

 they were as large as their father. Mr. 

 Cardinal resented this and would fight and 

 drive her away every time he brought food, 

 but mother Catbird never faltered in re- 

 paying the debt she owed for the nest she 

 stole rather than build one. 



I am assuming that this was the same Cat- 

 bird and a female regardless of the fact that 

 we had two pair of Catbirds with us, but the 

 story is more complete to think it was the 

 mother Catbird from Cardinal nest No. 1 who 

 reared the orphan Cardinals. — Earl Brooks, 

 D.D.S., Noblesville, Ind. 



An Exceptional Music Lesson 



If hearing vocal lessons deliberately given 

 and practised by birds is as unusual an ex- 

 perience among others as it is with me and 

 those of my friends to whom I have told what 

 I had the pleasure of hearing a few years ago, 

 it might be of interest to give this bit of 

 experience wider publicity. 



It took place in Conneaut, Ohio, in the 

 summer of 1916. A large apple tree stood 

 near one of my windows, which was always 

 open at night. This tree was a rendezvous 

 for both the familiar resident birds and others 

 merely passing through in their migrations. 



Early one morning a Wren song broke out 

 suddenly, and as suddenly I was wide awake, 

 and for half or three-quarters of an hour was 

 an unbidden listener to a bit of child-training 

 that is one of the treasures of my memory. 

 The full song was sung through lustily, then 

 a pause. A timid little voice piped out two or 



