Birds of a Smoky City 13 



of the grackles in Lincoln Park, but I have long since ceased 

 to place any confidence in the powers of observation of the 

 ordinary park guardian. One morning when I had seen and 

 identified within the limits of the pleasure-ground thirty-eight 

 varieties of native wild birds, I was informed by a policeman, 

 who said he had seen five years of service in the same place, 

 that in all that time there had been nothing wearing feathers 

 in evidence except English sparrows. 



Before that first March day trip was ended we saw within 

 the Lincoln Park limits a few robins and bluebirds, and great 

 numbers of juncoes and fox sparrows. The white-breasted 

 nuthatches performed their gymnastic feats on every third 

 tree trunk. One of the lessons for beginners in bird-study to 

 learn from this bleak outing — and there was one beginner who 

 learned it well — is, that no matter how forbidding weather 

 conditions may be, there are always surprises in store for him 

 who seeks the birds in their haunts. 



The presence of ponds in all the larger parks of our cities 

 makes these breathing places of the people especially attract- 

 ive to the birds. To the ponds the city dweller owes it 

 largely that the variety as well as the number of the feath- 

 ered visitors is so great. During the fullness of the tide of 

 migration the bird visitors are not limited to the smaller land 

 species. In the early morning hours the wild ducks are to be 

 found upon the waters, plovers and sand-pipers run along the 

 shores, herons perch upon tree branches in secluded places, 

 and bitterns rest in the sedge grasses. In Lincoln Park on 

 the same day I saw the ruby-throated humming bird and the 

 great bald eagle. The eagle was not one of the forlornly 

 feathered and unhappy looking prisoners in the big gilded 

 cage, but a great soaring bird whose birthright was freedom. 



