THE FAMILIAR BIRDS 



fury of the elements made them turn to the old 

 cradle; and very human-like they were in so do- 

 ing. During the day they left its protecting arms, 

 never to return. 



One season a brood of house wjens on the corner 

 of the veranda all left the nest, amid much cackling 

 and chattering from both old and young, in a short 

 time early one June morning. One by one they 

 scrambled outside the box, then off into the honey- 

 suckle-vines, where they lingered an hour or more 

 before they tried their wings in short flights to 

 near-by bushes. 



I have seen young barn swallows cling to the 

 outside of their nest and beat their wings vigorously 

 a day or two before taking flight; The young of the 

 grouse and quail and of the small water and shore 

 birds run away from the nest the day they are 

 •hatched; they trust to their legs long before their 

 wing-quills have sprouted. The young humming- 

 birds that I have seen leave the nest shot up into 

 the air as if a spring beneath them had been re- 

 leased. 



The current notion that the parent birds teach 

 the young to fly — that of set purpose they give 

 them lessons in flying — is entirely erroneous. The 

 young fly automatically when the time comes, as 

 truly so as the witch-hazel nut explodes, and the 

 pod of the jewel-weed goes off when the seeds are 

 ripe. The parent birds call to their young, and I have 

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