38 



Bird- Lore 



bark-covered retreat, or sets up a vine- 

 draped tent from which to observe and pho- 

 tograph birds, sometimes using ingenious 

 devices by which the perching bird literally 

 takes its own picture, is the only one whose 

 observations of the living bird are of serious 

 value, the patient waiterwho, having located 

 a nest, or even suspected its location, goes 

 quietly, sits down and waits. Do you 

 remember what that quaint individuality 

 who wrote under the name of " Nessmuck " 

 said about waiting? "There is an art little 

 known and practiced, that invariably suc- 

 ceeds in outflanking wild animals: an art 

 simple in conception and execution, but re- 

 quiring patience: a species, so to speak, of 

 high art in forestry — the art of sitting on a 

 log." Now, many bird students do not 

 care to sit on logs and wait; their time is 

 limited and they wish to produce certain 

 results with little trouble. Instead of going 

 to the nest, they remove nest, young birds 

 and all, to a place of visual or photographic 

 vantage, trusting to the parental love to 

 follow and tend the young or to hover in an 

 agony of fear until the nest is returned ; 

 anything, in short, so that they do not 

 intentionally kill the birds; if they die from 

 exposure, long fasting, etc., — well, it's a 

 pity, but — accidents will happen, you 

 know. 



A few years ago a writer in " Recreation " 

 expressed a doubt about the general study of 

 the living bird by the masses, saying (I can- 

 not quote literally) that "if the birds could 

 speak they would say, ' Love us and leave 

 us alone.'" At the time it seemed rather 

 sweeping, but a few year's experience proves 

 it true as far as the nesting season goes. 

 Tne intimate study of the home-lite and 

 habits of wild birds should be done by the 

 individual the same as the study of its anat- 

 omy, and not attempted by the mob. 



The promiscuous field bird class should 

 be for the identification of the adult bird 

 alone, not the ferreting out of nests. I once 

 inadvertently drove a pair of rare warblers 

 from my own woods. Through thoughtless- 

 ness I took two bird lovers to see the nest on 

 the same day, which bred distrust in the 

 parent birds, though they were perfectly 

 accustomed to me, and they abandoned the 



nearly hatched eggs. What damage can be 

 done to a park or grove, as a breeding haunt, 

 if a dozen or twenty people are "personally 

 conducted " to examine its various nests and 

 literally addle the unhatched eggs by mis- 

 placed enthusiasm! 



It is the solitary student capable of sitting 

 on the log, who sees the things and makes 

 the discoveries. Among our women students 

 Mrs. Olive Thome Miller was, I think, the 

 first to practice this theory. There is little 

 of value to be learned by what a recent 

 nature story calls "A Cook's Tour in Bird- 

 land," the leader of which goes to any length 

 to show a given amount for given pay, irre- 

 spective of damage to the birds, or to ob- 

 tain a marketable photograph at any cost, 

 or an exhibition in a minor degree of the 

 same spirit of commercialism that de- 

 prives birds of their plumage to supply 

 the millinery market. 



In short, as the wild slowly but surely is 

 becoming subject to the civilized, extreme 

 conservatism must prevail in all branches of 

 nature study if we expect to still have nature 

 to study. Also, the economic effect is the 

 same whether a collector robs a nest, care- 

 less observers cause it to be abandoned, or 

 the young die from an overdose of pho- 

 tography. 



A story of the study of a living bird is 

 going the rounds of the papers. It concerns 

 experiments recently made at Antwerp re- 

 garding the swiftness of a Swallow's flight. 



The bird was nesting in the gable of the 

 railway station, and it was sent to a point 

 140 odd miles away. On being liberated the 

 bird flew back to its nest in one hour and 

 eight minutes, or at the rate of 128 miles 

 per hour. What does this teach, — can that 

 flight under the spur of parental anguish be 

 considered typical? 



Once upon a time there was a little boy, 

 a very bright, inquiring lad, who, if he often 

 got into mischief, probably did it because, 

 with boys, mischief and brightness are fitted 

 as closely together as the rind to the orange. 

 This boy joined the Audubon Society, put 

 his popgun away in the garret, and resolved 

 in future only to add spoiled eggs to his 

 cabinet. 



He listened to a lecture about the obser- 



