NATURAL HISTORY. 
noticing the strange object, he was wary, 
jumping around the rat in nervous haste. 
Before many minutes he realized that it 
was dead. Then be caught it in his little 
talons and flew out into the weeds. I failed 
to find him after that, though I tried, in 
order to see if he would put the rat away 
for future use. 
I believe some game laws give hunters a 
right to kill this bird; why, I do not know. 
I have lived in several localities, under 
varying conditions, and have yet to see any 
real harm in this little warrior. If he eats 
a grape now and then, he eats a hundred 
or so worms to pay. If he impales spar- 
rows on thorns, he drives away .hawks to 
atone. Watch him, and condemn him when 
he proves his guilt. 
One of the most common birds in the 
United States is the meadow lark, frequent- 
ly called the field lark. His habits vary, I 
suppose, under varying circumstances. In 
Alabama, they live much like quails, in 
grain and stubble fields; thus earning the 
name of field lark. This is in the winter, 
when they go in flocks. In summer they 
seek the shady places on creeks, where they 
warble sweetly and call to each other. They 
are mated then; no more flocks. 
Down here on Cape Sable we have them 
in considerable numbers on the prairie. The 
quail does not live here, only 2 having been 
seen for some time. In fact, there is no 
‘record of any for over 7 years, except those 
2. Some mean spirited man shot those. 
Therefore the lark must find other modes 
of life than imitating quail. 
Every day I see meadow larks on some 
tall weed or log end or anthill or clump 
of tall grass, warbling their joyous songs. 
One seems idle but happy. Wait! He darts 
down, is busy a minute or 2 and returns to 
his perch on the weed. He has eaten a 
worm. All day they answer. one another 
‘across the prairie. We seldom see more 
than 3 together. 
Larks eat almost as varied a diet as Eng-° 
lish sparrows. One man here, living alone, 
has them so tame that they come to his feet 
to eat oats he scatters for them. 
The lark is a gentle, innocent, helpless 
bird and is not a fighter. 
Another common bird here is the kildeer 
plover, generally called kildee. His habits 
here are not different than elsewhere. He 
is always fond of swampy ground, prefer- 
ring open fields. He is a pretty bird, 
shaped not unlike a dove. His feet are 
light colored, appearing clean, from much 
wading. The marking on kildeers is not 
easily described. When flying he shows a 
good deal of white; when walking he looks 
gray. He has a wild, shy expression, which 
he lives up to. Few birds seem so inca- 
pable of fight when attacked. A few weeks 
ago I heard a kildeer crying in great dis- 
379 
tress. A small, red sparrow hawk, scarcely 
larger than the kildeer, was carrying him 
away. I tried to frighten the hawk, but he 
simply refused to drop his prey and flew 
heavily into the hummock. 
There is one bird that I wish someone 
would identify for me. This is the “mos- 
quito bird,” aS we call hir:.. He is small, 
has a greenish gray back, a yellow gray 
breast and is not unlike what some people 
call a “lettuce bird” in Virginia. He is not 
the bird we see around sunflowers, looking 
like the Baltimore oriole. This mosquito 
bird flits around, apparently living entirely 
on mosquitoes. He comes within 2 or 3 
feet of men, having learned not to fear 
them. In the mornings he can be seen hang- 
ing on the window screen, catching the 
skeeters as they try to get through. 
_Among my friends in Florida are crows, 
lizards, hawks, and others. Hawks here 
do not seem anxious for feathered prey, 
preferring rats and moles. 
f course, we know tragedies occur be- 
yond our human circles, but are not often 
led to believe scandals do, too. Among my 
Florida friends are a rice bird, a mocking- 
bird, several meadow larks, and, now, one 
butcher bird. There were 3 of this last 
kind. ; 
The first tragedy occurred about a month 
before I write. We have a barrel sunk in 
the earth to use beneath a lye hopper. The 
hopper has been destroyed, but the barrel 
is there, half full of water. My friend the 
butcher bird evidently tried to get a drink 
in this and was drowned. For several days 
I missed him; then I happened to glance 
in the barrel and saw him. 
THe second tragedly occurred a day or 2 
ago, also to a butcher bird. We have been 
putting out a phosphorus roach poison, and 
I am afraid the little fellow ate some 
roaches. He had a habit of staying on the 
roof, of our shacks. We had also been 
using Paris green in the cabbage patch. 
Whatever the cause,,I found him one day 
on the gable end, looking unhappy; not 
alert as was his custom, but sitting on his 
feet. Two hours later he was dead. 
The scandal is deeply interesting. The 
old romance of “Cock Robin” has been 
equaled, if not surpassed by my friend, the 
rice bird. He is about the size of a crow 
blackbird, and nearly as black, except for 2 
red spots, one.on each wing. Each spot is 
bordered by an orange band. 
The larks and other birds come to our 
shack to drink out of our water barrels, 
the dry season being unusually dry this 
year. About a month ago I heard what | 
supposed was a lark warbling very hoarse- 
ly. Wondering if it could be ill, I looked 
out of the window and saw my rice bird. 
He was doing his best to imitate the 
meadow lark. 
