56 



or;n^ithologist 



[Yol. 14-No. 4 



Another Phase of Bird Life. 



As our birds have a certain time of appear- 

 ance in the spring, and of disappearance in tlie 

 fall, so at least some have a daily time of 

 arising and retiring, if we might use the term 

 as applied to the gemts homo. If this habit is 

 not of enough importance to command an 

 extensive treatise, it is surely of interest 

 enough to call for momentai-y notice, in the 

 every-day experience of the average ornitholo- 

 gist, giving as it does an insight into another 

 of the specific characters of our feathered 

 friends. 



During the vernal and autumnal migrations, 

 the restless warbler hosts are apparently con- 

 stantly on the move. While the winter months 

 last the Snowbird (Junco) may be seen astir as 

 soon as it begins to get fairly light, followed 

 very soon by the Crow, Bluejay, Chickadee 

 and Nuthatch consecutively. But the best 

 and most comfortable time to watch the daily 

 appearance and disappearance of the birds is 

 in the spring or summer, after our summer 

 residents have mated and begun housekeeping. 

 At this time the robin is the first to be astir. 

 As the last notes of the Whip-poor-will die 

 upon the air and the first faint light streaks 

 the eastern horizon, his lively chirp can be 

 heard, soon followed by his cheerful song, as 

 if he was loudly heralding the morning to his 

 sleepy neighbors. As the gray in the east 

 turns to crimson and the soft morning breeze 

 stirs the leaves, the Oriole begins to talk to his 

 mate, while from the depth of the woods 

 comes the cry of the Bluejay, followed, as the 

 sun lights the tops of the tallest trees, by the 

 Brown Thrush, as he tunes up preparatory to 

 putting to shame the Song Sparrow, which is 

 trying his vocal organs as he stands perched 

 on yonder fence. Suddenly now as the sun 

 spreads its beams over the whole landscape, 

 the Pewee, from the barnyard, the Kingbird 

 from the orchard, the Red-eyed Vireo from the 

 wood, the Catbird from the roadside thicket, 

 are all heard joyfully welcoming the new day. 

 The Robins, Orioles, Song Sparrows and Brown 

 Thrushes redouble their efforts. All the other 

 denizens of the forest spring to life and the 

 morning is fairly begun. As evening ap- 

 proaches and the sun begins to set the birds, 

 one by one, seek their respective places of 

 rest, the smaller ones first, followed by the 

 larger. The Chewinks are active and noisy, 

 but gradually they become still. The Catbird 

 sings a low refrain from the top of some bush 

 by the roadside and then disappears in the 



swamp. The Brown Thrush, after pouring 

 forth his wild melody from the top of some 

 lofty tree, dives into the thicket and is heard 

 no more. But after the sun is set and the 

 shades of eve grow deep, the Robin is still ac- 

 tively fiying hither and thither, improving 

 every moment until he too seeks the woods 

 from which now and then comes his chirp, 

 interspersed by the mellow pipe of the Wood 

 Thrush, as if they vied with each other in 

 being the last to retire. But finally they, too, 

 are still, the Robin generally having the last 

 word, and the Whip-poor-wills and Owls are 

 all that are left to guard the silent night. 



R. II. C. 

 Brockton, Ma.S8. 



Notes on the Woodpeckers. 



In the charming little paper entitled "Win- 

 ter Neighbors,' " by Mr. Burroughs, which we 

 have enjoyed very much, he writes: — 



" It seems not to be generally known to our 

 writers upon ornithology that certain of our 

 woodpeckers — probably all the winter residents 

 — each fall excavate a limb or the trunk of a tree 

 in which to pass the winter, and that the cavity 

 is abandoned in the spring, probably for a new 

 one, in which nidification takes place. So far 

 as I have observed, these cavities are drilled 

 out only by the males. Where the females 

 take up their quarters I am not so well informed, 

 though I suspect that they use the abandoned 

 holes of the males of the previous year. 



In digging out these retreats the woodpeckers 

 prefer a dry, brittle trunk, not too soft. They 

 go in horizontally to the centre, and they turn 

 downward, enlarging the tunnel as they go, till 

 when finished it is the shape of a long, deep 

 pear." 



A few days ago I took a walk, with a school- 

 mate, down the road which leads past the 

 church and the cemetery. A little farther on, 

 we turned into a pasture on the left, and saun- 

 tered along the foot-path that crosses the field 

 and leads to the bridge, not far from the station. 

 In the midst of an animated conversation, my 

 attention was attracted by the appearance of a 

 bird, which I immediately recognized as the 

 Golden-winged Woodpecker, or High-hole. 



Surprised at seeing him out at this season of 

 the year, and on such a cold day, I paused, and 

 looked around to see if perchance he had a 

 home near. At the right stood a small clump 

 of stumpy cedars, their gnarled, leafless 

 branches standing out in relief against the 



