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Bird - Lore 



with some peas that were left on the vines 

 for seed, and that another garden always 

 had mosquito netting over the pea vines, 

 as otherwise the peas were all eaten up by 

 them. I have frequently known of their 

 eating Robin's eggs and once saw them 

 attack a young Robin which was just out 

 of the nest and could scarcely fly. On the 

 other hand, Blackbirds undoubtedly eat 

 great quantities of insects and some weed 

 seeds. I have seen them following a plow 

 about ten feet behind the driver and eat- 

 ing all the worms, grubs and insects that 

 were turned up. 



On quite a number of occasions I have 

 seen Crows take young Robins from the 

 nest and, as a rule, they killed all the young 

 Robins in the nest before they flew off 

 with one. When engaged in such work 

 they are very furtive and silent and they 

 will take the early hours of the morning, 

 before people are about, to search for nests 

 near houses. 



One Fourth of July some children were 

 sitting on the front steps of a porch indus- 

 triously throwing fire-crackers onto the 

 walk in front of them and at times setting 

 off whole packs. At one end of the steps 

 within reach of one of the children was a 

 Chipping Sparrow's nest in a white 

 hydrangea bush. During the whole per- 

 formance the old Chipping Sparrows kept 

 feeding their young quite as unconcernedly 

 as if nothing were going on. Once when a 

 pack of fire-crackers was exploding, one of 

 the old Chipping Sparrows brought a small 

 worm to the nest, flying about four feet 

 over the pack. 



In shooting on places where there were 

 many birds I have found that Robins, 

 Wood Thrushes, Song and Chipping Spar- 

 rows very soon learned that I was not 

 after them and paid no particular atten- 

 tion to the noise of the gun. As far as my 

 observation goes, shooting around a place 

 or the setting off of fire-works has no 

 tendency to drive away the birds not shot 

 at or pursued. 



In one case a man tried to break up a 

 Grackle roost in the fall by firing a gun 

 under the roost where hundreds of Black- 

 birds had assembled. Not succeeding, he 



took to shooting the birds themselves. 

 This did not prevent their returning night 

 after night as they had been in the habit 

 of doing for years. I understand he shot 

 thirty or forty birds. The next year, how- 

 ever, the roost was abandoned. In walking 

 under one of these roosts at night I have 

 clapped my hands suddenly and startled 

 the Blackbirds and Robins out of the trees. 

 After doing this two or three times, the 

 Robins would pay no attention to the 

 noise but the Blackbirds would always fly 

 off. — -F. R. Welsh, Philadelphia, Penna. 



The Ruby-crowned Kinglet 



He was long an unsolved puzzle. He had 

 a large family and they seemed to prefer 

 the garret rooms of the tree houses. One 

 could not be sure how much of his want 

 of size was due to his remoteness. 



It is a question whether the time and 

 energy consumed in the miles of chase the 

 acquaintance of most birds costs the ama- 

 teur find their value received. In the mo- 

 mentary delight that follows sure identi- 

 fication? Sensation as a compensation has 

 its value, and the keenest is sometimes the 

 fleetest. There is a royal road to bird-lore. 

 It is traveled alone, on foot and without a 

 glass. It was along this highway the King- 

 let met me several times and at intervals 

 of miles and months, to be truthful, before 

 that supreme moment of identification. 

 From the tree-tops they looked like a 

 company of goldfinches in their winter 

 uniform. One day they marched to a new 

 tree pasture without the hop-skip-and- 

 jumpy flight of the Goldfinch. At that 

 moment a new interest was born. 



Near the close of the fourth migration, 

 which brings us to the springtime of the 

 next year but one, a long tramp brought 

 me to a gooseberry patch just at nightfall. 

 The dainty green leaves were half grown 

 and probably teeming with small life, for 

 half a hundred pale olive birds, two-thirds 

 the size of a corpulent Wren, were busy 

 getting supper. Who were they? Ah! 

 my friends of the tree-tops. Yes, but who? 

 Wing-coverts alternate white and black, 

 making a thread stripe herringbone at the 



