404 
‘FOREST AND STREAM. 

Fer Forest and Stream. 
AN OPEN SECRET. 
——_>—-_——_ 
(FROM THE GERMAN.) 
E. C. G. 
HE stood among the roses red, 
AsI came through the waving field; 
‘*A happy day!’’ was all I said; 
She looked to earth, her face to shield, 
In silence safest welcome lies, 
For wood has ears and field has eyes! 
She plucked a rosebud from off the tree, 
The sweetest in the sunny land, 
And as she blushing gave it me, 
I kissed it from her lovely hand. 
The rose I kissed, no harm there lies, 
For wood has ears and field has eyes. 
a\las, that I have grown so whitel 
My cheek all pale does love reveal! 
Who sees me now will guess at sight 
What all my secret heart does feel, 
And where my love and longing lies, 
For wood has ears and field has eyes. 
a 2d ae 
for Forest and Stream. 
OTHER DAYS. 
= 
BY MRS. EUNICE B. LAMBERTON. 
OME sing to me of the sad sea waves 
That sigh on a pebbly shore, 
That foam and surge with a solemn wail 
For days that will comeno more. 
Bring to mine ear asthe night shades fall 
Echoes from caverns so deep, 
Under the sea, the beautiful sea, 
Green dells where the mermaids sleep. 
Twine mea wreath of the coral rare, 
Branching like spray *mid the wave,} 
Pure ascrystals that gleam on the shores, 
Shores that the wide waters lave. 
Tell of the ships that go sailing on, 
With canvass spread to the breeze, 
The lonely wife and the sailor’s bairns, 
Ah! whisper me not of these. 
For winds will howl and the breakers roar, 
And sea gulls scream in affright; 
God pities them when the fire burns low, 
And the storm fiend walks the night. 
Linger in dreams sweet airs of my youth, 
Fragrant of scenes that are fled, 
Wafting sweet incense over the graves, 
Low graves of the early dead. 
Vision return of a sandy cliff. 
A light-house towering high, 
Of tangled moss and the tiny shells, 
And boats that are stranded nigh. 
Come chent again to the weary soul 
Nature’s melodious lays, 
A silvery sound, an ocean’s breath, 
Swect anthem of other days. 
RocuHeEstTeHR, N. Y., January 21, 1874. 
Oo 
OUR WINTER BIRDS. 
—+ 
Tis generally taken for granted that we have none of 
I our feathered friends left uswhen the wild winds of win- 
ter have sent the last of our songsters hurryin& from our 
presence in town and city. The majority of city folk, aye 
and of the country too, seem to think that our forests and 
fields are annually depopulated with the falling of leaves 
and the appearance of snow. That such is not the case 
only those who have studied the habits of birds in open air 
ean testify. Our woods and fields are alive with a vast 
host, busily searching trees and shrubs, weeds and grass, 
for insects and seeds. Along our coast, however, are birds 
the most abundant, principally visitors from the north, to 
whom our winter winds are as balmy zephyrs, and our 
storms and ice but small inconvenience. From that vast 
‘Jiquid magazine of nature,” the Atlantic, they draw their 
food, and upon its surface assemble in noisy flocks, 
March is a good month in which to take a review of the 
winter, that is, for us who are interested in birds, asin that 
month most of our winter birds depart for the north, and 
the first harbingers of spring put in appearance from the 
south. Of the three hundred species known to have been 
found in New England, about one hundred remain through 
the winter, some of them residing here throughout the year, 
but the majority coming from the north in autumn, de- 
parting inthe spring. ‘That the readers of the Forrest anp 
STREAM may have a general acquaintance with them, I 
purpose to mention briefly the species, speaking chiefly 
from my own observation. 
The robin is the best known of our early arrivals; the last 
of February brings a few from the south, but March sends 
a hundred for every one of February, and the air is vocal 
with their music by the last of that month. Though gen- 
erally supposed to pass the winter in warmer climes, it can 
be found nearly every month in the year by a close ob- 
server. Thelast week of January I saw a flock of thirty- 
five flying high in the air. They frequent the woods in cold 
weather, subsisting upon such berries and grubs as they can 
find. 
The blue bird, in his cerulean coat, and with his pleas. 
ing warble, is a welcome arrival about the same time as the 
robin. If there is any one bird that brings a blessing with 
it, tis the blue bird. 
There is a little fellow who stays with us the year round, 
and who does a vast amount of good in his silent, unobtru- 
sive way. I mean the chickadee, black cap. Titmouse 
is his proper name, but his well known name of chickadee 
is more simple and appropriate, as itis so called from his 
cheerfulsong. Almost any day in winter you may see him 

gleaming among your apple trees, now hanging head down, 
now flying by the window with a glad chirp and a glance 
of his bright black eye. He is a merry fellow, this little 
downy chickadee, and winter would be dreary enough 
without him. 
Another member of his family is here, the creeper, but 
not very often seen, though he and the nuthatches are 
busily at work upon the bark of the trees, dodging around 
them in their queer way, not letting a single obtainable 
grub escape. 
If the month be very mild the white-bellied swallow 
sometimes, though erroneously called martin, will gladden 
us with his presence. He is the one with whom the blue 
birds have such comical squabbles over the possession of the 
martin houses. 
It is rarely that the cedar bird leaves with us a single 
representative during winter, but he has been known to do 
so. Of course you know the bird, with its cinnamon-col- 
ored coat and yellow tipped tail, its wings with tips of red, 
like sealing wax. 
Perhaps, if everything be favorable, his cousin, the wax- 
wing, may be seen, but it is hardly possible, as he is a rare 
bird and prefers the air of Greenland and Hudson’s Bay to 
ours. 
If. you are an observer of birds, you may have noticed 
one about the size of the robin, though with a longer tail, 
of a gray color, and having a sharp, hooked bill, following 
the flocks of small birds and preying upon them. It is the 
shrike, or “butcher bird,” sometimes called the ‘‘nine-kil- 
ler,” from an idea that he always kills just ni>« birds, 
beetles, etc., before eating any. Whether he does kill that 
exact number or not, I would not like to say; but he has 
one peculiarity that renders him especially noticeable; 
after killing anything he hangs it up to dry upon a thorn 
or whatever is convenient, leaving it until he feels like 
eating it. I know of one kept in a cage who retained this 
habit, always hanging up the raw meat given him on some 
part of the cage. 
The pine grosbeak is sometimes found in spruce and fir 
thickets, some winters being of quite common occurrence, 
and others not arriving from the ice fields of the north at 
all. It subsists upon the seeds of the pine and other cones, 
and has a thick strong beak for the purpose of tearing them 
apart. The crossbills, however, beat the grosbeak in the 
manner of beaks, their mandibles crossing one another, 
and having a peculiar twist that enablesthem to extract the 
seeds in an admirable manner. There are two species of 
the latter, the red and the white winged, and they both 
stay when they come all winter. The red crossbill has 
been known to breed in Maine as early as February. 
Some of the goldfinches remain with us, and the fields are 
often visited by great flocks of red poll linnets, who doa 
great deal of good, eating the seeds of the many noxious 
weeds. 
Along the shore and in old fields are immense flocks of 
snow buntings, their plumage of blended white, black and 
gray, admirably suited to their haunts, the brown weed- 
stalks and the gravel of the beach. 
That very rare bird, the Lapland longspur, is sometimes 
found in these flocks. ‘ 
The shorelarks, or skylarks may be found upon the 
islands in our bays and upon the shores of our mainland. 
If I only had space here, I would like to give you Audu- 
bon’s description of its nest, built in barren Labrador, but 
this article is not intended for description but enumeration 
of species. With the pen of even that great naturalist, 
Audubon, I could not give a sufficiently accurate descrip- 
tion; the best. way to obtain a gond idea of any bird is to 
see it alive, or well preserved. The museum at Central 
Park is easily accessible, where will be found most of our 
birds with their names attached. 
The little blue snow bird is a winter resident, and comes 
to us in October. Rare instances are known of their breed 
ing south of Maine. I found a young bird unfledged on 
the Hoosacmountain, Mass., in July, 1873. 
There are four species of sparrow here in winter, the song, 
tree, swamp and fox sparrow. The one we see oftenest is 
the. song sparrow. Who can forget its melodious song 
when the fields are dead and bare? 
Of course everybody knows that audacious corn thief the 
red wing blackbird; he has a bad name in some localities, 
but in New England he can’t muster in sufficient force to 
do the damage he does in some places. Look for him the 
first of March, it is his time of arrival. 
The purple grakle, or crow blackbird, and his near 
cousin, the rusty grakle, arrive somewhere from the first 
tothe twentieth of Mareh. The latter is rarely seen, but 
the former is well known, making his presence felt by his 
harsh notes and sailing through the air in large flocks 
Of all noisy birds, the blue jay is the noisiest at certain 
seasons. He lives with us the whole year, and we may 
suppose he has sore need—when the fields are covered with 
snow—of the hoards of nuts, acorns: and: corn which he 
secretes during the autumn months. He and _ his hated 
neighbor the crow, are equally hated by the farmer, though, 
I think, without cause. Weighed in the balance, the good 
and evil they perform, I am confident the latter would 
kick the beam. The crows that winter here are probably 
from the north, our summer crow moving south as winter 
comes on, giving room to these. It’s a hard living they get, 
when even the traditional ‘‘old horse” is frozen solid. 
The last of March we hear the pewee or phebe, ‘‘phebe! 
phebe!* The wintry winds seem to lose some of their 
rigorous cold when these sweet simple notes are borne to 


our ears. It is among the first of our birds to set up house- 
keeping in spring. 
The rattle of the kingfisher is heard along our shore the 
last of the month. 
There are two species of woodpeckers resident here, 
called the downy and hairy woodpeckers from the texture 
of their feathers. They are both black and white, the 
males with a scarlet crescent adorning the backs of their 
heads. The downy is the smaller species, being the small- 
est woodpecker we have. The three-toed woodpeckers 
sometimes occur, though rarely. The golden wing wood- 
pecker is the most common as well as the handsomest of 
the family; he is best known by his local names, such as, 
“flicker,” “yellow hammer,” ete. Though a very tew may 
winter here, March is as early as any are generally seen. 
Of the eight or nine species of owls found in New Eng 
land, probably the most common are the mottled and great 
horned* The former is the ‘‘screech owl,” so dreaded by 
the children who have heard it cry. The latter visits the 
farm and barn yards during the night, and takes as lawful 
prey such hens and chickens as he may find. The Acadian, 
or “‘saw-whet owl,” is the smallest species we have, and in 
some localities the most plentiful. His ery resembles the 
filing of asaw. Along the coast, among the sand hills, 
may be found the snowy or arctic owl, the largest of the 
family and a rare prize. 
If you live long enough and search diligently you may 
possibly find the golden eagle, for he sometimes comes 
down from his mountain fastnesses during winter. The 
white headed eagle, however, is not so rare and may be 
frequently seen on the coast during winter. He is a mean 
bird, with not half the noble qualities of the fish-hawk he 
so often robs. Now that his purveyor, the fish-hawk, is 
absent, he lives on dead fish and carrion; he may be easily 
induced to show himself for a dead horse left on the beach 
or in the pastures. 
There are six species of hawks, any one of which is 
worth looking for. The most common are the red-tailed 
andred-shouldered, generally known as ‘“‘hen hawks,” from 
the havoc they commit in the poultry yards. They some- 
times lay their eggs by the last of this month. Though 
rarely seen, the smallest of the family, the sparrow, and 
the next in size, the pigeon hawks, sre residents in winter. 
The gos-hawk is abundant in some places, while the noble 
jer-falcon is so rare as to be considered an accidental visitor. 
Who has not heard the whirr and drumming of ‘he grouse 
in autumn? The ruffed grouse is the only representative 
left us, excepting a few, very few, of the pinnated grouse 
or “‘prairie chickens.” It is a resident here all the year, 
and subsists in winter upon berries and leaves. 
The little quail is becoming more plentiful every year, 
and if protected will soon be as abundant as twenty years 
ago, before the great snow storm buried o i:many of them. 
Towards the last of March the wild goose g seen steering 
northward; high over head, in wedge.like columns, they 
cleave the air, speeding towards their summer homes in 
far off Labrador or Greenland. They have been known to 
breed in Massachusetts. 
“Black duck,” sprig-tail,” ‘‘old wife,” ‘golden eye,” 
“dipper,” “‘harlequin,” and half a dozen others of the duck 
family, including the famous eider, pass the winter in our 
waters. 
The “‘gannet” and cormorant are sometimes seen off the 
capes. 
Of the plovers but one species, the “‘rock plover,” or 
purple sandpiper, remains. 
Six species of gulls, the vulture of the ocean, may be 
found, picturesque elements ina winter scene, upon our 
marshes, and about our rocky headlands. 
‘Mother Carey’s chickens,” or petrel, two species, play 
about our coast all winter. 
The great northern diver, or loon, is an inhabitant of our 
waters throughout the year, but his startling, quavering 
cry is not heard at this season. 
Two kinds of grebes, or “‘devil divers,” exercise their arts 
to the discomfiture of gunners. They join the throng that hies 
to the north at the opening of spring. I wish I could in: 
clude in the list that prince of divers, the great auk, but as 
he is supposed to be extinct, ’twill be best to oinit him, 
He used to frequent our waters though. The puffins, guil. 
lemots and murres, and divers other divers, are well versed 
in the art of navigation, and visit our shores annually, 
when the ice fields north of Scotia get uncomfortably 
thick. 
Our list closes with the last and least of the divers, the 
sea dove, or little auk, who is sometimes blown out of his 
latitude, and left to the mercy of the inhabitants of the 
coast. tp 
This catalogue is necessarily meagre, covering as-it does 
so much ground; but after this introduction, I hope to be 
able to present a fuller and more interesting account of the 
arrival and departure and time of nesting of our birds. 

*This owl lays his eggs in Massachusetts as early as February, j 
<2 0 7 
—St. Augustine, Florida, has on exhibition a remarkable 
fragment of stone, taken from the ruins of an ancient 
structure on Observation Island, in Lake Okeechobee. It 
is of immense weight and solidity, and, what is most re. 
markable, unlike any rock on this continent. It resembles 
granite more nearly than any other, and is of a remarkably 
beautiful appearance In its structure. It looks like granite 
granulated with innumerable particles of a glittering sub- 
stance resembling gold. This fragment may develop some- 
thing startling in the history of that part of the continent. 
The Indians have reported frequently that there were ruins 
of an ancient building on one of the islands of that lake 
and this confirms it. : ii 


