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  AMERICAN 
  HOMES 
  AND 
  GARDENS 
  

  

  April, 
  1907 
  

  

  My 
  Bird 
  Family 
  

  

  By 
  Craig 
  S. 
  Thorns 
  

  

  'EVENTEEN 
  children 
  are 
  a 
  good 
  many 
  for 
  

   a 
  twentieth 
  century 
  family; 
  yet 
  this 
  is 
  the 
  

   number 
  of 
  birds 
  that 
  regularly 
  come 
  into 
  

   my 
  backyard, 
  and 
  for 
  whose 
  visits 
  I 
  watch 
  

   as 
  eagerly 
  as 
  ever 
  did 
  mother 
  for 
  returning 
  

   sons 
  and 
  daughters. 
  

  

  In 
  the 
  spring 
  the 
  bluebirds 
  are 
  the 
  first 
  

   to 
  greet 
  me; 
  they 
  usually 
  come 
  in 
  late 
  March 
  to 
  peep 
  in 
  at 
  

   last 
  year's 
  nest, 
  which 
  they 
  built 
  in 
  an 
  old 
  flicker 
  hole 
  that 
  I 
  

   found 
  in 
  a 
  dead 
  branch 
  and 
  set 
  up 
  in 
  my 
  yard 
  for 
  them. 
  They 
  

   found 
  their 
  nest 
  as 
  they 
  had 
  left 
  it 
  in 
  the 
  autumn, 
  and 
  seemed 
  

   pleased. 
  During 
  April 
  they 
  are 
  in 
  and 
  out 
  every 
  few 
  days 
  to 
  

   make 
  friendly 
  calls, 
  and 
  to 
  see 
  that 
  no 
  other 
  birds 
  usurp 
  the 
  

   nesting 
  place 
  where 
  they 
  successfully 
  reared 
  last 
  year's 
  brood. 
  

   Nearly 
  every 
  time 
  they 
  come 
  they 
  have 
  a 
  passage 
  at 
  arms 
  with 
  

   the 
  English 
  sparrows, 
  just 
  to 
  keep 
  them 
  

   well 
  reminded 
  of 
  the 
  many 
  times 
  they 
  

   were 
  whipped 
  last 
  year. 
  Although 
  the 
  

   sparrows 
  are 
  numerous, 
  strange 
  to 
  say, 
  

   none 
  of 
  them 
  dare 
  to 
  build 
  in 
  the 
  blue- 
  

  

  the 
  sweetest 
  notes 
  that 
  bird 
  ever 
  uttered, 
  tell 
  me 
  that 
  love 
  

   never 
  changes, 
  that 
  it 
  is 
  the 
  same 
  in 
  winter 
  as 
  in 
  summer, 
  anil 
  

   as 
  faithful 
  in 
  plain 
  plumage 
  as 
  in 
  gay. 
  

  

  The 
  wood-thrush 
  calls 
  very 
  informally. 
  He 
  slips 
  in 
  to 
  the 
  

   back 
  fence, 
  perches 
  there 
  a 
  while, 
  and 
  looks 
  at 
  the 
  house 
  

   wistfully 
  to 
  see 
  if 
  I 
  am 
  at 
  home. 
  Bless 
  his 
  heart! 
  He 
  has 
  

   come 
  to 
  invite 
  me 
  to 
  the 
  ravine 
  grove 
  — 
  which 
  is 
  to 
  hold 
  his 
  

   nest 
  — 
  to 
  hear 
  his 
  matin 
  songs. 
  And 
  I'll 
  go; 
  for 
  there 
  are 
  no 
  

   songs 
  like 
  his, 
  save 
  that 
  of 
  his 
  near 
  cousin 
  — 
  the 
  hermit-thrush. 
  

   It 
  is 
  a 
  song 
  of 
  the 
  heart, 
  and 
  of 
  the 
  truest, 
  sweetest, 
  and 
  most 
  

   innocent 
  heart 
  among 
  all 
  the 
  feathered 
  folk. 
  It 
  is 
  an 
  evening 
  

   prayer 
  of 
  thanksgiving- 
  — 
  such 
  a 
  mingling 
  of 
  hope, 
  content- 
  

   ment, 
  and 
  thankfulness 
  as 
  I 
  have 
  heard 
  from 
  no 
  other 
  voice 
  in 
  

   Nature. 
  

  

  One 
  morning 
  in 
  May, 
  as 
  I 
  look 
  out 
  of 
  the 
  window, 
  I 
  seem 
  

   to 
  see 
  many 
  wood-thrushes; 
  but 
  upon 
  

   looking 
  more 
  closely, 
  I 
  observe 
  that 
  they 
  

   are 
  a 
  little 
  smaller, 
  slightly 
  more 
  olive- 
  

   colored, 
  and 
  not 
  so 
  heavily 
  spotted 
  upon 
  

   the 
  breast. 
  The 
  veerys 
  are 
  migrating. 
  

  

  The 
  Bluejay 
  Carries 
  off 
  Your 
  Suet 
  

   in 
  Winter 
  

  

  Wilson's 
  Bluebird, 
  the 
  First 
  to 
  Arrive 
  

   in 
  the 
  Spring 
  

  

  The 
  Catbird 
  Comes 
  from 
  the 
  South 
  During 
  

   the 
  Last 
  Week 
  in 
  Apnl 
  

  

  bird's 
  home, 
  though 
  the 
  bluebirds 
  are 
  absent 
  for 
  days 
  at 
  a 
  

   time. 
  The 
  question 
  of 
  ownership 
  was 
  settled 
  last 
  year 
  in 
  

   many 
  encounters 
  in 
  which 
  the 
  bluebirds 
  demonstrated 
  their 
  

   powers, 
  and 
  now 
  the 
  sparrows 
  keep 
  at 
  a 
  respectful 
  distance. 
  

  

  What 
  dear 
  old 
  friends 
  the 
  robins 
  are 
  ! 
  plain, 
  honest, 
  soci- 
  

   able. 
  How 
  could 
  we 
  keep 
  our 
  lawns 
  and 
  gardens 
  without 
  

   them? 
  Their 
  train 
  is 
  on 
  time 
  every 
  spring, 
  and 
  the 
  same 
  ones, 
  

   accompanied 
  by 
  others, 
  alight 
  at 
  the 
  same 
  depot. 
  Home 
  

   again 
  ! 
  and 
  a 
  thousand 
  times 
  welcome. 
  "Have 
  a 
  drink 
  from 
  

   the 
  pan 
  at 
  the 
  hydrant; 
  snatch 
  a 
  worm 
  from. 
  the 
  lawn; 
  take 
  a 
  

   bath 
  in 
  the 
  wooden 
  trough; 
  sing 
  from 
  the 
  same 
  old 
  tree 
  and 
  

   build 
  your 
  nest 
  among 
  its 
  shady 
  branches; 
  your 
  young 
  I'll 
  

   protect 
  if 
  I 
  have 
  to 
  kill 
  every 
  cat 
  in 
  the 
  neighborhood." 
  

  

  The 
  goldfinches 
  peep 
  in 
  on 
  me 
  every 
  spring 
  just 
  to 
  tell 
  me 
  

   that 
  they 
  have 
  not 
  been 
  far 
  away, 
  but 
  did 
  not 
  like 
  to 
  be 
  seen 
  

   until 
  the 
  homely, 
  work-a-day 
  garb 
  of 
  winter 
  had 
  been 
  dis- 
  

   carded 
  for 
  the 
  new 
  wedding 
  suit 
  of 
  gold 
  and 
  black. 
  They 
  

   perch 
  upon 
  my 
  gate 
  ; 
  swing 
  upon 
  some 
  long 
  spears 
  of 
  grass 
  by 
  

   the 
  back 
  fence; 
  take 
  a 
  sip 
  of 
  water 
  from 
  the 
  trough; 
  and, 
  in 
  

  

  They 
  have 
  dropped 
  down 
  out 
  of 
  the 
  dark 
  — 
  for 
  most 
  birds 
  

   migrate 
  at 
  night 
  — 
  to 
  rest 
  and 
  feed 
  and 
  renew 
  old 
  associa- 
  

   tions. 
  I 
  see 
  them 
  every 
  year, 
  whether 
  the 
  same 
  ones 
  or 
  not, 
  

   I 
  can 
  not 
  say. 
  For 
  a 
  few 
  days 
  the 
  premises 
  are 
  theirs; 
  they 
  

   hop 
  along 
  the 
  walk, 
  perch 
  upon 
  the 
  fence, 
  rest 
  upon 
  the 
  wood- 
  

   pile, 
  come 
  to 
  the 
  very 
  door 
  as 
  though 
  for 
  food. 
  Then 
  next 
  

   morning, 
  or 
  a 
  few 
  mornings 
  after, 
  when 
  I 
  look 
  for 
  them, 
  

   they 
  are 
  gone. 
  Farther 
  north 
  you 
  will 
  find 
  them 
  singing 
  

   love 
  songs 
  and 
  building 
  nests. 
  

  

  Every 
  spring 
  the 
  catbirds 
  look 
  in 
  from 
  the 
  back 
  fence 
  in 
  

   about 
  the 
  same 
  way. 
  I 
  see 
  them 
  first 
  on 
  the 
  lower 
  board. 
  

   Evidently 
  they 
  want 
  to 
  survey 
  the 
  premises 
  without 
  being 
  

   seen. 
  When 
  satisfied 
  it 
  is 
  really 
  the 
  same 
  place 
  that 
  they 
  

   left 
  in 
  the 
  autumn, 
  and 
  that 
  they 
  will 
  be 
  as 
  safe 
  here 
  this 
  year 
  

   as 
  last, 
  they 
  scud 
  across 
  my 
  neighbor's 
  lot 
  to 
  explore 
  the 
  

   prospect 
  of 
  a 
  nesting 
  place 
  in 
  the 
  bushes 
  that 
  skirt 
  his 
  garden. 
  

   Their 
  visits 
  become 
  regular 
  now, 
  and 
  the 
  birds 
  grow 
  bolder 
  

   with 
  each 
  meal. 
  Their 
  favorite 
  hopping 
  place 
  is 
  the 
  cap- 
  

   board 
  of 
  the 
  fence 
  at 
  the 
  back 
  of 
  the 
  yard, 
  where 
  they 
  are 
  

  

  