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Bird -Lore 



October 29. — Sanderling, 62, — a large 

 number for this date. Almost every bird 

 was maimed or wounded in some way, 

 the majority with a broken wing, and 

 a few minus a leg. Ipswich Sparrow, i, — 

 my earliest date of arrival. 



November 7. — Pectoral Sandpiper, i; 

 Piping Plover, 2. This is by far the latest 

 record for Long Island, the average date 

 of departure being early September. Dr. 

 W. H. Wiegmann, Messrs. C. H. Rogers 

 and S. V. LaDow, and I obtained e.xcel- 

 lent views of these little birds, which, 

 with their characteristic tameness, per- 

 mitted a very close approach. They were 

 not disabled in any way. — Ludlow 

 Griscom, A'cio York City. 



The Birds of Little Elk Canon 



In the southwest corner of South 

 Dakota lies the beautiful Black Hills 

 country — beautiful, even now, though 

 stripped of its forests and robbed of its 

 gold; strangely wild and beautiful in the 

 old days when clothed with the forest 

 primeval — a garment which softened its 

 startling outlines and tempered its crystal- 

 line daylight. 



In the early '8o's, my father located 

 in a wild canon known as Little Elk, a 

 tract of timber, and, erecting a rough 

 house there, removed his family thither. 



It is a rare experience to a nature lover 

 to be the "first who ever burst" into, or 

 at least inhabited, a new country. To 

 give the wild creatures their first impres- 

 sion of humanity is a privilege and a respon- 

 sibility. That they make perfectly logical 

 and intelligent response to this impres- 

 sion is unquestionable. 



The forest was pine — open, parklike, 

 with no undergrowth, the climate very 

 dry. Birds, at first, were comparatively 

 few, though, in a few years the favorites 

 of civilization followed settlement. During 

 our first summer, occasional flights, twit- 

 terings in the tops of trees, the melting 

 notes of the Water Ouzel at sunset, the 

 Mourning Dove from the hollows of the 

 hills, the Meadow Lark, and the Poor- will, 

 with a few others, kept bird thoughts 



alive in our minds. It was with the first 

 snowfall that birds came down and dwelt 

 among us. The dry Arctic snow lay 

 heaped upon every feature of the land- 

 scape. The world was buried. 



Touched by the petitions of a chilly 

 Junco or two at the kitchen door, we 

 swept clean the broad front porch and 

 scattered there a few seeds and crumbs. 

 Lo! we had inaugurated a custom that 

 was to endure for fifteen years. During 

 all those fifteen winters, our porch was 

 alive with the flutterings of birds — the 

 woods about vocal with their twittering 

 conversation. 



Juncos, Nuthatches, Chickadees, Rocky 

 Mountain Jays — these were our perma- 

 nent boarders. Crossbills, Cedar Wax- 

 wings, dark blue Jays and Magpies, all 

 these in flocks were transients on the 

 place, but never frequented the porch. 

 x\ll of our porch boarders wore grays, or 

 black and white — true little winter birds. 

 From the dining-room window we watched 

 them — the family kitty among us, most 

 interested of all. Little by little we 

 learned and catered to their tastes. 



The Rocky Mountain Jays, aggressive, 

 noisy, omnivorous, beautiful creatures, 

 were our chickens, and obligingly devoured 

 anything and everything set before them 

 as long as the big mouthfuls lasted. The 

 little birds hung back before the onslaught 

 of the Jays, but came in for their innings 

 later, when only crumbs and seeds re- 

 mained. 



The Juncos dined daintily on seeds 

 from the Canaries' cages, and millet, which 

 was one of the crops of the country. The 

 Nuthatches, funny little mouselike creep- 

 ers, loved crumbs and meat, and toiled 

 ceaselessly all day up and down the bark- 

 covered piazza, tucking away their trea- 

 sures. 



The Chickadees were meat-eaters pri- 

 marily. All winter, meat-bones hung for 

 their edification ornamentally along the 

 eaves. On these they swung and picked, 

 and between them and the trees made their 

 quick, darting rushes punctuated with 

 bright, sharp queries and observations. 

 Marrow-bones were the best of all. In 



