73 2 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 9, 1908. 
Hours in Bird Land. 
June; what month, in the country, affords 
more pleasure than June? The fall months 
have their charm, indeed. I enjoy them all, even 
the sleety winter months, when, housebound, 
one sits up nights and repairs tackle, mucking 
his fingers with ferrule cement or shellac, or 
wears his fingertips sore re-wrapping favorite 
rods. 
About thirty miles out of Jersey City, in the 
lower tier of New York State counties, the little 
village lay some half dozen miles from the 
noble Hudson. Here I had spent a few days 
with my trout rod, field glasses and notebook. 
The dawn breeze was blowing briskly across 
the broad piazza, rocking the empty chairs and 
murmuring (“Minne-wa-w-a” as the Indians 
interpret it) through the lofty pine at the side 
of the house when I turned out. The sun had 
not yet peeped above the hill, but fleecy pink 
and amber clouds were scurrying out of its 
path. To my mind this is the best part of the 
day in the country, and the most frequently 
slept through by the average pleasure seeker. 
Away off on my right came the metallic ring of 
the reaper whetting his scythe, the cattle lowing 
as they passed down the lane to the pasture, 
the deep and not unmusical low of old Bloom- 
cow, so suggestive of peace and contentment. 
In a trice the su-n had risen, the air was filled 
with song, and every covert contained some 
hidden songster from whose throat poured forth 
such a flood of song as would seem to deluge 
the whole valley. 
“Happy time, little friend, enjoy your first 
mating season; life is but fleeting, to say the 
best. Ha! did you hear it? Yes, it comes from 
the oak away down in the field opposite. Take 
the glasses; see him away up on the extreme 
tip; a meadowlark. Now listen closely, for 
where we see the lark there we may expect his 
little friend of the protean name, the jolly little 
bobolink. There he is away down there, sing¬ 
ing as he goes, over that field of clover. Mark 
the fine contrast of his tan-gray and black nup ■ 
tial gown, which later in the year he will change 
before ending his Southern sojourn, where he 
will also change his name. This change is his 
reedbird suit, and a dangerous one it is to wear, 
where the hotel menus name reedbirds. All 
this elaborate dressing is not for an idle pur¬ 
pose, for in it he will journey nearly four thou¬ 
sand miles, and in passing through Cuba he 
changes his name again to Chambergo on his 
way to the Amazon region. Little do we know 
what passes through that shrewd, lovable head 
of vours.’’ 
All this time an incessant twittering had been 
in progress, and gazing up we saw the chimney- 
swifts chasing one behind the other like school¬ 
boys playing follow-my-leader. Barn swallows 
flitted by with their beautiful forked tails 
spread to their fullest extent, while a tiny maze 
seemed to dart in and out, in straight lines, 
from the old-fashioned trumpet vine. Suddenly 
it remained stationary, and then we recognized 
the tiny ruby-throated hummingbird whom we 
followed to the orchard, and there found the 
daintiest bit of bird architecture imaginable. 
Just as we were about to answer the breakfast 
gong, a querulous “What” was heard followed 
by a series of congratulatory chuckles. Though 
often heard the originator is rarely seen. That 
day, however, I played my glasses on the sugar 
maple and saw a great crested flycatcher; only- 
for a second, however, but long enough to 
identify him, as with erect crest he darted over 
to the honey locust and was lost to view, al¬ 
though his call was occasionally heard. 
Breakfast over, I repaired to the piazza to 
smoke and contemplate. Ere I finished my cigar 
I had seen a baby cottontail in the road, and 
a dainty Bobwhite who called, imagining no 
doubt that the stranger, sitting in a cloud of 
smoke, was ignorant of the mate and nest in 
the grass near that old fence post. A red-eyed 
and a yellow-throated vireo, together with a 
redstart, filled the time consumed with my cigar. 
It was nearly 10 o’clock when I decided to try 
the brook for trout. In all the streams I have 
fished I find the trout rather late risers, and so 
I waited purposely that morning. I passed 
down through the back pasture, starting a Balti¬ 
more oriole, an orchard oriole, a yellow-billed 
cuckoo, and any number of chipping sparrows, 
and just as I passed from the orchard to the 
pasture I started out of a dead tree a pair of 
flickers, known variously as high-hole, yellow- 
hammer, clape, and in Louisiana as piquebois 
jaune. Crossing around the edge of the wheat 
field, where the brook runs, I started a spotted 
sandpiper and her brood, the mother bird sitting 
on the fence post giving danger signals. Once 
when snipe shooting I flushed a bunch of these 
little fellows, and was greatly surprised to see 
them fly into a field of tomatoes, alighting on 
the branches of the vines like so many house 
sparrows. It seemed such an unusual perch 
for any of the snipe family. 
Crawling along the brook to reach a favorite 
pool, I saw a dainty little ovenbird walking 
among the dead leaves, bobbing his head as he 
went. Later on, I heard him call, “Teacher, 
teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher,” each succeed¬ 
ing call louder than the other, and the last 
amounting to a shrill whistle. My first cast 
landed a fifteen and one-half inch brook trout; 
a little later I killed a fourteen-inch rainbow 
trout and some five or six ten-inch brook trout. 
At noon I crossed a swale, my approach to 
which was heralded by a red-shouldered black¬ 
bird’s “O-ka-lee.” I also saw a little green 
heron, a red-shouldered hawk and some half 
dozen muskrats. 
When I caught my largest trout he dashed 
about, leaping clear of the water, and making 
an elegant fight. Evidently this displeased 
some acquaintance of mine in the bird world, 
for I received a terrible scolding from a yellow¬ 
breasted chat, who I have no doubt disliked 
having his solitude disturbed. Chapman says 
Mr. Burroughs, in speaking of this phenomenon 
says: “Now he barks like a puppy, then quacks 
like a duck, then rattles like a kingfisher, then 
squalls like a fox, then caws like a crow, then 
mews like a cat—C-r-r-r-r-r-r-whrr—that’s it— 
chee-quack, cluck, yit-yit-yit—now hit it—tr-r-r- 
when caw-caw-cut, cut—tea-boy—who, who— 
mew, mew.” 
Dinner consisted of broiled trout and baked 
potatoes. The afternoon was spent observing 
my bird neighbors and added a bunch of cedar 
waxwings to the list. That evening I went 
frogging with a red ibis fly and brought home 
forty-two frog’s legs which, with broiled trout 
and crisp bacon, made a sumptuous feast. Thus 
ended the first day, which was pretty well 
crowded with incidents. The remaining three 
days were spent pretty much on the same order, 
save that on the evening of the third day, just 
at dusk, I had the rare pleasure of seeing eight 
wild pigeons alight in the roadway, remaining 
long enough for me to call my wife, who en¬ 
joyed seeing them as much as did I. their grace¬ 
ful figures fading out against the belt of woods, 
while the dusk gathered over everything. Yes, 
they were real live wild pigeons; it reminded 
one of the old times. 
Then came the saddest part of a summer out¬ 
ing. Going-home time. The depot wagon drew 
up outside with the team anticipating the race 
for the train. A hurried leavetaking, a swift 
drive, a wheezing engine swung round the 
curve, escaping steam, then the clicking of the 
rails and home. George Wesley Beatty. 
Martin Houses. 
Hendersonville, N. C., April n.— Editor 
Forest and Stream: In a recent number a cor¬ 
respondent asks for information regarding the 
blue martins. He had built a little house for 
them to nest in, but the female would go in and 
there would be quite a good deal of talk in their 
bird language, but she refused to locate. 
I have seen, this again and again, yet never 
knew these birds to refuse to nest and rear their 
young in gourds hung to high poles, and also 
quite a number have I seen at home in a small 
roughly built little house on a pole. I do not 
think they like a* rigidly fixed square room to 
nest in. It may be for the reason their eggs 
roll from under the sitting bird, and for this 
cause they like the round bottom gourd in which 
their eggs remain in one place, never mind how 
the wind blows. If he will hang his small 
house to a hook and not paint it in too bright 
colors (as much as possible a gourd color wilL 
do) and round out the corners of the little- nest¬ 
ing rooms I think the birds will stay with him. 
Ernest L. Ewbank. i 
Plague of Rats. 
A press dispatch from Santa Cruz, Cal., dated 
April 28, announces another plague of rodents, 
this time in California. It reads as follows: 
“One of the most destructive pests with which 
vineyardists have to contend, known as the 
kangaroo rat, has made its appearance in the 
vineyards around and on the summit of Ben 
Lomond Mountain. They are appearing by the 
hundreds, and are feeding on the young buds 
of the grape vines, and if some effective means 1 
of killing them is not hit upon they will destroy 
the entire crop.” 
Wanted, Copies of Forest and Stream. 
Owing to a recent fire in our bindery we wish; 
to secure the following copies of Forest A Mil 
Stream : Three of Nov. 9 and two of Dec. 7. 
1907. For these we shall be glad to pay the retail 
price, ten cents a copy. Address Forest and 
Stream Publishing Co., 127 Franklin street, New 
York. 
— 
Michigan Tree Planting. 
Tree planting has begun on the Au Sable 
(Mich.) Forest Farm, and it is expected that 
10,000 seedlings, mostly white pines, will be set 
out this year. If funds are available, this plant¬ 
ing will be kept up for a number of years. 
