NATURAL HISTORY. 
When abird or a wild animal is killed, that is the end of it. 
If photographed, it may still live an 
its educational and scientific value is multiplied indefinitely. 
BIRDS AT THE FLORIDA KEYS. 
Flamingo is at the extreme Southern end 
of Florida. The people here are truck 
growers, using the rich, shallow soil to 
raise onions, tomatoes, sugar cane, bananas 
and other staples. They are intelligent, and 
law abiding, including the game laws. We 
have curlew, teal, ducks, pelicans, cormor- 
ants, herons, cranes and many other water- 
fowl in the marshes; while deer, bear, pan- 
thers, lynxes, raccoons, opossums and small- 
er burrowing animals are numerous. Our 
rabbits are shy and I have never seen one 
yet, though signs prove them to be plentiful. 
Vegetation is peculiar; black and red 
mangos, palmetto, buttonwood and dog- 
wood cover the hummock land. The dog- 
wood is not like that of our Middle States. 
Cacti and vines grow thickly in these hum- 
mocks, while air plants that resemble pine- 
apples live on the trees. 
This island is about 20 miles long and 6 
miles wide. On the South, Florida bay 
splashes, and Whitewater bay is on the 
North. To the West we see the Gulf. The 
island is composed of a series of keys, or 
patches of ‘hummock land, surrounded by 
salt prairie. Most of this prairie is over- 
flowed in summer, but comparatively dry 
in winter. The long saw grass hides many 
creatures. We have a bird that these peo- 
ple call prairie chicken, a waterfowl that I 
believe to be a kind of darter. It has a 
coarse, cracking, squawk and greenish yel- 
low legs and is colored brownish; some- 
thing like a brown leghorn hen. 
The “man-’o-war hawk” is a big bird that 
sails over the bays and occasionally over 
these marshes. He has a big stretch of 
wing and a long neck. I have never been 
close enough to one to give a good descrip- 
tion, but he has a neat appearance, rather 
angular, and is a fishing bird. There is a 
“gull hawk” here that looks much like a 
white gull, but has a shorter neck, a heavier 
beak, and shorter, stiffer looking wings. 
He stays over the salt water. 
Our post-office is named for a bird that 
is seldom seen and is considered the wild- 
est, shiest bird in existence. He has some- 
times been seen here. Near here is a rook- 
ery where curlew roost by thousands. 
Every evening big flocks come in from the 
day’s work of finding food. The young 
ones are a slate blue color, which vanishes 
in old age, leaving them almost white. We 
have plenty of meadow larks, but no quails 
nor grouse. Doves are abundant and are 
not wild. Hawks are too numerous; fish 
hawks, blue hawks, gray hawks, red hawks 
and some that I do not know. The smaller 
sparrow hawk also exists. We see the 
butcher bird everywhere. He is a brave 
little warrior and I have seen them chase 
even the largest hawks away. 
The butcher bird has been frequently ac- 
cused of wrongdoing that can not be proved 
against him. Because a sparrow happens 
to be impaled on some thorn, or a grass- 
hopper or a beetle meets with such an acci- 
dent, it does not follow that a butcher bird 
did the cruel deed. When someone tells 
me he has actually seen the bird in the act 
of filing meat for future reference, I shall 
believe; not until then. 
The butcher bird is my friend, and should 
be everybody’s friend, because he is all the 
time working for us human beings. The 
following facts will, I hope, put truth be- 
fore some readers of RECREATION. 
The true name of this bird is unknown 
to me. I believe he is the Carolina shrike. 
He is small, with a general slate blue color, 
a black, stocky beak, with a black line run- 
ning from bill to eyes. His head is rather 
flat and broad. A black strip runs across 
each wing and his tail is of medium length. 
He is a neat, military looking bird. 
Two of these birds spend most of their 
time on the end of our ridgepoles. We 
have 2 shacks and these birds flit from one 
to the other, always alert. With remark- 
ably keen eyesight they scan the ground 
and woe to the worm which comes out 
within 50 feet of our butcher bird! With 
a quick “stoop” the bird is on his prey and 
back on his perch. 
The butcher bird is belligerent, fighting 
hawks and large birds more eagerly than 
smaller ones. Mine (I claim these 2) do 
not molest the only mockingbird I see in 
this neighborhood, nor do they trouble the 
mosquito bird, which is tiny. The truth 
is, the brave little fellow appears to feel 
responsible for the safety of his helpless 
neighbors, and keeps a lookout for hawks. 
The air of responsibility sometimes makes 
him seem worried. 
When annoyed, or when night comes and 
he is still hungry, he utters a plaintive cry, 
not unlike the long drawn chirp of a young 
chick after the old hen has turned it loose 
on the world and it is troubled about some- 
thing. : 
One evening 
the corn bin. 
I killed a small mule rat in 
Taking the pitchfork, I put 
_ the rat on the gable end, where my friend 
278 
was generally found. Soon he came, and 
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