THE OSPREY. 



lU) 



was their simulation. If I turned my sight for 

 an instant fi'om the scantily protocte:! nest 

 it was liard to find again. I watclied lliose 

 birds grow, but a sad day came, just before 

 they should have flown. One mornin;^ a little 

 heap of earth, where the nest had been, 

 showed how carnivorous a mole may be. A 

 week or so later, on my open field, a male bird 

 went down, with his beak full and manner pa- 

 ternal, disappearing' on a bare spot, whence 

 his mate emerged and rapidlj' flew away. There 

 were young in a hole in the ground, with no 

 shelter but a clod, and no nest but a half-dozen 

 blades of grass. The following June, as I rode 

 homeward one day, I saw a male lark gather- 

 ing food beside the road near m\' barn. \V]ien 

 loaded, he flew over m.y head, and alighted 

 close to the road. The nest, which I found at 

 the spot, contained three young. It was lo- 

 cated only fourteen inches from the well- 

 beaten highway, among shoots of rag-weed 

 about three inches high, and was very scanty 

 and jioorly concealed. My experiences with 

 the nesting of the Horned Lark in this semi- 

 boreal region, where North Dakota. Minne- 

 sota and Manitoba meet, have been few, but 

 very instructive. On the 20th of last May, 

 while waiting for a train at Morris, Man., I 

 looked about me, as an ornithologist will, and 

 soon saw opposite the section house, on the 

 main track of the N. P. Ey., a. Lark gathering 

 grasses between the rails and whilom seizing 

 a bit of cotton waste. It soon became evident 

 that my close presence was unwelcome, for 

 the little worker lost no time in trying to 

 show her wishes. The hint was enough, and 

 I was soon viewing the nest-building from a 

 discreet distance. Hardly had I backed away 

 when the bird vanished between the rails. I 

 ran to the spot, the mother flew, and there 

 were the beginnings of the nest in a hole dug 

 at the end of one of the ties. Two weeks later, 

 glad that business should again call me that 

 way, I hurried from the train to the spot, 

 with my camera set, hoping to record a novel 

 nesting site; Init, as might have been foreseen, 



I found the two eggs that the nest contained 

 broken by a pebble, tossed by the train, or by 

 the section boss' shovel. So all that I have by 

 way of proof is the crushed nest, showing on 

 one corner the imprint of the tie. 



On the 5th of last July, while crossing a 

 field at Hallock, making a short cut to a par- 

 ishoner's house, a fresh Lark's nest caught 

 my sight. And no wonder, for among the short 

 fresh barley blades a three-inch deep hole, 

 slanting to the north, had been dug beside a 

 drill-row, and scantily lined with last year's 

 wheat leaves. The hole contained three fresh 

 eggs. 



It would seem that early nests of the Lark 

 are likely to be well lined with grasses, and to 

 be comparatively well sheltered from observa- 

 tion and from winds, while later ones are 

 scant of material and little protected, depend- 

 ing upon sinnilation for their safety. 



Let niebegTiiE Osi'REYfor space to close this 

 short sketch by reprinting a Horned Lark 

 ode, in part set to the metre of Longfellow's 

 Auf Wiederseh'u, and published in one of the 

 closing issues of the "0. and 0.": 



When February yields. 



From lanes and furrowed fields, 



Her billowy drifts of January snow. 



And softening south winds blow. 



The lark, with clear, exhilarating notes, 



ICxultant as she sings, and singing floats 



On poised and fitful wings, 



Her spring-time message brings. 



In stubble fields at rest. 



She builds her snow-girt nest. 



And broods her eggs, while blustering March 

 winds blow. 



Yet softer, milder grow; 



Then feeds her joung, frail, hungry, clamor- 

 ous thing's. 



Quaint emblems of the fruitage summer 

 brings. 



When showers of April rain 



Have kissed the growing grain. 



CHICKADEE HABITS. 



By C. H. MoKKELL, Pittsfield, Maine. 



In Slimmer the Chickadee is modestly unol)- 

 trusive. Other birds with brighter plumage 

 and sweeter songs throng wood and meadow, 

 challenging the interest of the observer and 

 attracting his attention in many varied ways 

 that make the summer days seem all too 

 short. I'ut when the frosts of early winter 

 have driven our summer birds from the State 

 of Maine to a more genial Southern clime, 

 our little friends, no longer unobtrusive, be- 

 come the most noticeable of our winter birds. 

 Then, their's is often the only bird voice to 

 echo through the leafless trees and across the 

 broad expanse of snow. They are the wood- 

 chopper's companions, busily moving through 

 the trees, scratching among the scattered 

 chips, or g.athered about the camp door to 

 feast upon scattered crumbs. They are 

 usually found in .small fioeks and, especially 

 toward spring, are often accompanied by 

 Nuthatches, Kinglets, a Brown Creeper and 



Downy Woodpecker or two, all busily search- 

 ing for food and constantly uttering their 

 notes. As spring approaches their conversa- 

 tional notes become more varied, and now is 

 most frequently heard the note which may be 

 called their song, the "soft elfin whistle," 

 usually described as consisting of two notes, 

 but more often heard with three intonations, 

 to my ear like "fwe-e-e-fwer-r-ter." 



In The OsrnEY (Vol. 1, No. 5, p. 65), Mr. 

 Hoag mentions their habit of carrying a sub- 

 stance to a limb in their claws, there pecking 

 it apart in search of food. I have noticed this 

 habit many times. I remember in particular, 

 one bright winter day when I had an excellent 

 opportunity to observe this trait. We were 

 at dinner in camp in the woods. The day was 

 pleasant: the camp door was open, and about 

 it was the usual company of Chickadees, 

 searching for scattered crumbs. A quantity 

 of baked beans had been thrown out and lay 



