PNotes from Field and HStuap 
A Trait of the English Sparrow 
The pleasure of many a stroll in the 
May woods, particularly during the end 
of that month, has been spoiled, either 
completely or partially, by a small green 
caterpillar, or inch-worm. This annoying 
little pest has a habit of suspending him- 
self from the branch of the tree on which 
he probably was born, by means of a 
long, delicate, silk thread, which is visible 
only as it shimmers in the sunlight. 
Consequently, when one walks through 
a piece of woods infested with these inch- 
worms, it is not long before one’s clothing 
is covered with them and their fine, sus- 
pending threads. Sometimes, too, the 
threads cling to one’s face, and if the day 
is at all hot and humid, as so many of our 
days are, the sensation is anything but 
pleasant. Still less agreeable is it to have 
a worm strike one’s face, and then insist 
upon exploring it. 
After a few experiences with these most 
annoying nuisances, one is ready to 
welcome with open arms anything that 
will aid in any way in destroying them. 
It is a rather curious case of poetic justice 
that the friend in need should turn out 
to be the much criticised, condemned 
and despised English Sparrow. 
In the spring of 1907, they first at- 
tracted attention in a little piece of woods 
on the western edge of Bronx Park that 
was thickly infested with the inch-worm 
pest. Every now and then, one of the 
Sparrows would fly a few feet from the 
ground, hover in air with beating wings, 
descend, and then repeat the whole per- 
formance. Selecting one and watching 
him carefully, it was soon discovered that 
he was busy capturing and devouring 
the small green caterpillars that made 
walking unpleasant. Since then, the same 
thing has been observed each spring. 
The Sparrows are not content with 
catching one caterpillar and eating that 
before seizing another, but they must 
needs continue catching until their bills 
can hold no more, then they rest either 
upon the ground or on the lower branch 
of some tree and finish their meal. They, 
evidently, regard these inchworms as a 
great delicacy, for it is an exceedingly 
difficult thing to compel them to drop 
any of them, even when their bills are 
so full that the caterpillars hang out on 
all sides. Nor, when they have deposited 
them upon the ground preparatory to 
eating them, does a quick and sudden 
rush cause them to leave any; on the 
contrary, the bird quickly seizes them, and 
then flies with them to the nearest low 
branch. Epwin W. Humpureys, New 
York City. 
Replacing a Fallen Swift’s Nest 
In the summer of 1908, I unexpectedly 
found that a Chimney Swift’s nest, 
with three young, had fallen into one of 
our fireplaces. The young birds were 
small, probably not more than three or 
four days old. At first I tried feeding 
them milk by means of a medicine dropper, 
but this proved useless, the weakest of 
the three dying in about four hours. 
When I decided to try to get them up 
into the chimney, where the old bird 
could take care of them. The method 
adopted proved simple and successful. 
Two boards were nailed together, as 
shown in the accompanying photograph, 
and the nest was fastened onto the ver- 
tical board. The lower board was pro- 
vided principally to keep the nest from 
falling down the chimney again, in case 
the string should happen to break. I 
then put the two remaining young ones 
into the nest and climbed up onto the 
roof. The whole thing was lowered, by 
means of string, down into the chimney, 
and fastened when it was about twelve 
feet below. 
The young were very weak when they 
were put down the chimney, but they 
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