THE GREAT-TAILED CRACKLE. 



(Quiscalus macrourus.) 



The Great-tailed Crackle belongs to a 

 family of birds that is "eminently charac 

 teristic of the New World, all the species 

 being peculiar to America." It is the 

 family of the blackbird and oriole, of the 

 bobolink and the meadowlark. It is called 

 the Icteridae, from a Greek word ikteros, 

 meaning a yellow bird. The majority of 

 the one hundred and fifty or more species 

 that are grouped in this family make their 

 home in the tropics where their brilliant 

 colors are emphasized by the ever green 

 foliage and the bright sunshine. 



The family is interesting because the 

 species, though closely related, vary so 

 widely in their habits. They "are found 

 living in ground of every nature, from 

 dry plains and wet marshes to the densest 

 forest growth." Here are classed some 

 of the birds which are among the most 

 beautiful of our songsters. Here, too, are 

 classed some species that never utter a 

 musical sound, and whose voices are 



harsh and rough. The sexes are usually 

 dissimilar, the female being the smaller 

 and generally much duller in color. 



The Great-tailed Grackle is a native of 

 Eastern Texas, and the country south 

 ward into Central America. The Crackles 

 are sometimes called Crow Blackbirds. 

 There are five species, all found in the 

 United States, The Bronzed and the Pur 

 ple Crackles are the most generally dis 

 tributed and best known. 



The Great-tailed Grackle, as well as the 

 other species, usually builds rude and 

 bulky nests in trees, sometimes at quite a 

 height from the ground. It will also nest 

 in shrubs and it is said that it will oc 

 casionally select holes in large trees. The 

 males are an iridescent black in color and 

 the females are brown and much smaller. 

 Both sexes spend most of their time on 

 the ground. Their feet are strong and 

 large, and, when upon the ground, they 

 walk or run and never hop. 



THE EAGLE. 



He clasps the crag with hooked hands; 

 Close to the sun in lonely lands, 

 Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. 



The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; 

 He watches from his mountain walls, 

 And like a thunderbolt he falls. 



Alfred Tennyson, 



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