The Bluebird 
95 
Insects 
Eaten 
Professor Beal, of the Department of Agriculture, writes, after a 
prolonged study, that 76 per cent, of the Bluebird’s food “consists of 
insects and their allies, while the other 24 per cent, is made up of various 
vegetable substances, found mostly in stomachs taken in winter. Beetles 
constitute 28 per cent, of the whole food, grasshoppers 22, caterpillars 
11, and various insects, including a large number of spiders, comprise the 
remainder of the insect-diet. All these are more or less harmful, except 
a few predaceous beetles, which amount to 8 per cent. ; but, in view 
of the large consumption of grasshoppers and cater- 
pillars, we can at least condone this offense, if so it 
may be called. The destruction of grasshoppers is 
very noticeable in the months of August and September, when these 
insects form more than 60 per cent, of the diet.” 
It is perfectly clear that Bluebirds should receive our most hearty 
good will and protection, for they are birds of most decided economic 
value. 
It is not easy to tempt Bluebirds to an artificial feeding-place ; though 
in winter they will eat dried currants, and make their own selection 
from mill-sweepings if scattered about the trees of their haunts. For, 
above all things, the Bluebird, though friendly and seeking the border- 
land between the wild and the tame, never becomes familiar, and never 
loses the half-remote individuality that is one of his great charms. 
Though he lives with us, and gives no sign of pride of birth or race, he 
is not of us, as is the Song Sparrow, Chippy, or even the easily alarmed 
Robin. The poet’s mantle envelops him even as tfie apple-blossoms 
throw a rosy mist about his doorway — and it is best. 
Writing of the Bluebird in The Craftsman for May, 1913, Mr. 
T. Gilbert Pearson says: “One spring a pair of Bluebirds came into 
our yard, and to the accompaniment of much cheerful bird conversation 
in the form of whistles, twitters, chirps and snatches of song, began 
hunting eagerly for some place to construct a nest. Out in the wood- 
shed I found a box, perhaps five inches square and ten inches long. 
Having cut a small entrance-hole on one side near the top, I fastened the 
box on a young tree, seven or eight feet above the ground. The new- 
comers immediately took possession and began carrying dry grass into 
their adopted sanctuary. Several days elapsed, and then, one morning, 
while standing on the back of a garden-settee and peeping into the hcle, 
I discovered that a pale blue egg had been laid. When 
the nest contained four of these little beauties incuba- 
tion began, a task that would last about a fortnight. 
“One rainy night, while the mother-bird was on duty, she must 
have heard the scratching of claws on the box outside. A moment later 
two yellow eyes blazed at the entrance, and a long arm reached into the 
nest. The next morning, on the grass beneath the window I found her 
wing-tips and many fragments of her plumage. All that day the dis- 
tressed mate flew about the lawn and called continually. He seemed to 
gather but little food, and the evidences of his suffering were pitiful 
The Nest in 
the Box 
