Bulletin of the Michigan Oenithological Club. 



15 



sacred tie which binds us to the Heavenly. 



For several years a pair of these birds 

 built their nest close to the door of my 

 wigwam. I knew them when they re- 

 turned each spring, as well as I knew my 

 next-door neighbor when I met him. 

 Each spring, on their return, the bride- 

 groom never failed to take his place on 

 the topmost branch of an elm, so close 

 that I could see each motion of his mouth, 

 his swelling throat, and sparkling eyes. 

 He knew me, seemingly, as well as he 

 knew his bride, for at such times he would 

 sing with all his soul, u Boo-sho-nick-con, 

 Po-ka-gonf ("How do you do, my 

 friend Pokagon?") And I always res- 

 ponded, "Boo-sho-nick-con, Au-pe-tchi?" 



I have often watched these birds search 

 for angle worms under two inches of 

 newly fallen snow. As, with measured 

 tread and tiptoe hop, they moved along 

 the surface, every now and then they 

 would stop, bending their heads low and 

 to one side in listening mood, and thrust- 

 ing their bills through the snow they 

 seldom failed to drag forth a worm. I am 

 fully satisfied that they locate the worms 

 by hearing them squirming under the snow. 



The last time these birds ever returned 

 to our home was about the middle of 

 March, before sunrise. I heard them 

 chattering on the roof, and imagined them 

 to say, " Paw-se-gwin we-wio, paw-se-gvrin 

 we-wih v ("Get up quickly, get up quick- 

 ly. ") I got up and stepped to the door. 

 The bridegroom perched himself at once 

 upon the same tree he had many times 

 before on his return, and sang, Boo-sho- 

 nick-con, Po-Jca-gon?" I repeated back, 

 " Boo-sho-nick-con, Aa-pe-tchi?" ( u How do 

 you do, my friend Robin?" Again he be- 

 gan to chant more spirited than before, 



u Boo-sho-nich-con, Po-ka "when, to 



my surprise, he appeared suddenly to ex- 

 plode, his feathers flying in all directions, 

 quickly followed by the crack of a rifle. 

 Then — oh, then I knew he was shot ! At 

 first I was excited almost beyond control, 

 and rushing towards the trail from whence 

 the sound came — there stood a white boy 

 reloading his gun. Boldly I walked up to 

 him and said, "Sir, you have shot one of 

 my family!'' He looked pale as marble, 

 and for awhile, as dumb. Finally he 

 placed one hand on his head as if he ex- 

 pected to be scalped, saying, "I-I-I only 

 shot a Robin." I said, "Come and see 



what you have done." I led the way to 

 the house; slowly, he followed. I picked 

 up the torn and bleeding bird and handed 

 it to him saying, "Look at it!" During 

 this time his mate flew about in great 

 excitement, crying mur-r-der! mur-r-der! 

 intermixed with the crying of my children 

 who had come to the door. I then pro- 

 ceeded to give the youth a brief history of 

 two birds as connected with our home, and 

 then said, "Now young man why did you 

 shoot that bird ? Is it possible that you 

 have murder in your heart?" Looking 

 the bloody bird over, to my surprise, he 

 began to cry, saying, "I did not want to 

 kill it. I only wanted to see how close I 

 could shoot, so far away. I am sorry I 

 killed it. I will never, never do such a 

 thing again." 



There are too many men, and sportsmen 

 as well, in Michigan and elsewhere, that 

 too much love to show their skill or feel 

 their power. I hate to think that they 

 love to kill merely for the sake of taking 

 life. How I do wish that all sportsmen, 

 and all who carry guns, when moved to do 

 such reckless acts, would learn to repeat 

 these ancient lines : 



"I would not enter on my list of. friends, 

 (Though graced with polish'd manners and fine 



sense, 

 Yet wanting sensibility,) the man 

 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 

 An inadvertent step may crush the snail 

 That crawls at evening in the public path ; 

 But he that hath humanity, forwarn'd, 

 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. ' ' 

 Hartford, Mich. 



Notes on the Great Horned Owl. 



BY W. P. MELVILLE. 



[Extracts from a paper read before the Windsor Popular 

 Science Association.] 



In the winter of 1883-84, I had brought 

 to me to be stuffed, a Great Horned Owl, 

 Bubo virginianus, and on opening its 

 mouth I was surprised to find several 

 porcupine {Erethizon dorsatus) quills 

 sticking into the tongue and through the 

 sides of the mouth, and even protruding 

 through among the feathers. But you can 

 imagine my astonishment on opening the 

 bird, to find the stomach, intestines, liver, 

 and even the walls of the abdomen pierced 

 through and through by ten or fifteen 

 quills. Evidently he had made a dinner 

 of a porcupine and had swallowed some of 

 the quills with the meat, but while he 



