Chapter C: C. M

"Buffalo-bird" was formerly one of the names applied to this bird of strange habits, and Major Bendire, who was long an observer of all that took place on the plains, states that one will rarely see a bunch of cattle without an attending flock of cowbirds, who perch on their backs searching for parasites, or sit with "lazy ease," their familiarity with the cattle suggesting their name of cowbird. They also follow the freshly plowed furrows and pick up worms and larvæ. Mr. P. M. Silloway, who has made a very extended and careful study of the cowbird, says that its strange behavior and stealthy movements at certain seasons have prevented the acquisition of full data concerning many features of its life, and a few unfounded speculations about its habits have become current. It occupies a parallel place with the European cuckoo. It never builds a nest, but deposits its eggs in the homes of other birds, usually those of the smaller species. It is, therefore, a homeless creature, and its young are all orphans or adopted children. "It is, indeed, a peculiar bird, having no attractiveness of color, no beauty of voice, and no home. No wonder that, when in the haunts of other species, it hides and skulks as it seeks a suitable and convenient habitation to house its unborn orphan." Major Bendire gives a list of ninety-one birds in whose nests she has been known to leave her eggs. This includes woodpeckers, flycatchers, orioles, thrushes, sparrows, vireos, wrens, and warblers, but the most frequently imposed upon are so small that the cowbird's big nestling is almost certain to be the one to survive, the smaller birds being crowded out, and left to perish. It is said that as many as seven cowbird eggs have been found in a single nest, but there is generally only one. It is believed that a brood of insectivorous and useful birds is almost invariably sacrificed for every cowbird raised. Mr. Ridgway, in his fascinating book on the birds of Illinois, gives the following vivid picture of the female searching for a nest in which to deposit her egg: "She hunts stealthily through the woods, usually among the undergrowth, and when a nest is discovered, patiently awaits from a convenient hiding-place the temporary absence of the parent, when the nest is stealthily and hastily inspected, and if found suitable, she takes possession and deposits her egg, when she departs as quietly as she came." "In the village of Farmington, Conn.," says Florence A. Merriam, "we once saw a song sparrow on a lawn feeding a cowbird bigger than she. When she handed it a worm, one of my field class exclaimed in astonishment, 'I thought the big bird was the mother!'"

Some of the foster parents abandon their nests, or build a second nest over the eggs, but usually the little bird works faithfully to bring up the foundling. Sometimes the egg is recognized by the mother and quickly thrown out. Frequently, also, the cowbird will eject one or more eggs of the owner to make room for her egg, or to deceive the owner and leave the same number of eggs as were in the nest before her visit. Sometimes an egg of the owner is found on the ground near a nest containing an egg of the cowbird, and it is no unusual occurrence to find an egg of the cowbird lying near a nest of a species regularly imposed upon by the parasite. Silloway says that the wood thrush, towhee, field and chipping sparrows, yellow-breasted chat, and the Maryland yellow-throat are oftenest selected to bear the burden of rearing the young of the cowbird.

In their courtship the males are very gallant. They arrive from the south several days in advance of the females. At this season--about the middle of March--they generally associate in groups of six or eight, and the males are easily distinguished by the gloss of their black plumage in contrast to the dull brown of the female. They do not pair, the females meeting the advances of the males indiscriminately. Dr. Gibbs, however, thinks that the birds may pair frequently for the summer, and suggests this as reasonable, referring to an incident coming under his notice when he saw a blue jay, on the point of despoiling the nest of a vireo, driven away by a pair of cowbirds in a most valiant manner. In going to the nest he found a large over-grown cowbird occupying the largest share of the structure, "while a poor little red-eyed vireo occupied a small space at the bottom, and beneath his big foster brother."

The eggs of the cowbird hatch in eleven or twelve days. They average .88 by .65 of an inch, the length varying from .95 to .67 of an inch, and the width varying from .72 to .58 of an inch. The ground is a dingy white or gray, and the markings vary through all the shades of brown, sometimes evenly distributed over the surface, and at other times predominating around the larger end. There is so much diversity in the appearance of different specimens, that frequently the investigator is puzzled in distinguishing the true eggs of the towhee, cardinal, and other species from those of the cowbird.

In the breeding season the male grackles, red-winged blackbirds, and the cowbirds of both sexes, nightly congregate to roost together. Early after the breeding season they form into flocks of from fifty to sixty. The birds have then finished moulting, and the glossy black of the males has been changed into the duller colors of the females and the young. They assemble with the blackbirds of various species where food is most abundant and easy to be procured.

Late investigations of the food habits of the cowbird indicate that the species is largely beneficial. Prof. Beal showed the food of the cowbird to consist of animal and vegetable matter in the proportion of about twenty-eight per cent. of the latter. Spiders and harmful insects compose almost exclusively the animal food, while weed seeds, waste grain, and a few miscellaneous articles make up the vegetable food. Mr. Silloway thinks "it is not improbable that the so-called insectivorous birds displaced by the cowbird are thus kept in check by this natural agent, and their mission performed by the usurper in directions as helpful as the special functions of the sufferers. We may later come to understand that one cowbird is worth two bobolinks after all."

THE LEGEND OF SAINT SILVERUS.

There runs an old, old legend,
A tale of Christmas time,
Low breathed round the fireside
In distant Northern clime;
It tells how once an angel
Looked down in mercy sweet,
And bade the people listen
To hear the Master's feet:
"Behold the Christ-child cometh!
The King of love is near!
Oh! bring your gifts of Noel
Unto the Lord most dear."

With golden grain of plenty
Fair shone each raptured home;
The corn crown'd every dwelling
Whereto the Christ should come.
And one, a blue-eyed stripling,
In longing all unknown,
With heart aflame had labored
For gift that God might own:
"Behold the Christ-child cometh!"
Up rose the music blest,
And Silverus stood waiting
With sheaf the richest, blest.

A tiny bird, nigh fainting,
A little trembling thing,
Through chilling airs of Christmas
Drew near on drooping wing;
The people raised a clamor,
They chased it from the corn,
They drove it from the garlands
That gleamed for Christmas morn:
"Behold the Christ-child cometh!"
His praise they fain would win;
How could they bring to Jesus
An offering marred and thin?

On drooping, dying pinion
That vainly sought relief,
The shivering bird down lighted
Where shone the proudest sheaf;
And Silverus moved softly,
Though dews all wistful stirred,
Close, close within his bosom
He fed the fainting bird:
"Behold the Christ-child neareth!"
He spake in faltering tone,
"The golden ears are broken,
Yet broken for His own."

And while the sheaf of beauty
Grew marred and spent and bare,
The sweet bird flew to heaven;
The King of love stood there:
"Oh! tender heart and Christlike,
Whose yearnings soared on high,
Yet could not see, uncaring,
My weakest creature die!
Lo, I am with thee always,
My Christmas light is thine;
The dearest gift of Noel
Is pity poured for mine!"

BIRDS GATHERED HIS ALMOND CROP.

An almond-grower of this locality hit upon a neat device for gathering his crop last fall. His trees bore largely, and this early became known to the yellowhammers, a species of the woodpecker tribe of birds, and they had regularly stored away large quantities of ripe nuts taken from the orchard in the limb of an oak tree near by. The astute orchardist watched operations, and at last hit upon a novel nut and labor-saving plan, and he lost no time in putting it into execution.

The limb was sawed from the tree and replaced by a square-shaped funnel, long enough nearly to reach the ground; a bucket was then set underneath. A genuine robbing game then went merrily on. The birds gathered the nuts, which they dropped into the funnel and down into the bucket below, and as regularly as night came the almond-grower would in his turn empty it of its contents and set it back for a new supply. This was kept up until the entire crop had been gathered and the yellowhammers had departed broken-hearted at the heartless deception practiced upon them.--_Sutler (Cal.) Enterprise._

STORIES FROM BIRDLAND.

A specimen of the egg of that rara avis, the great auk, which was discovered after twenty-seven years in a disused attic in the house of Lord Garvagh in England, recalls to mind the fact that only about seventy of these zoölogical treasures are now known to exist. Of these G. F. Rowley of Brighton possesses half a dozen, while Prof. Alfred Newton of Cambridge, the well-known zoölogical expert, has half that number. The same gentleman discovered a splendid set of ten, labeled "penguin eggs," in the Royal College of Surgeons upward of thirty years ago, while the university museum at Cambridge possesses four, which were the gift of the late Lord Lilford, whose beautiful grounds at Oundle were a veritable paradise of bird life. One of these was brought to light in a farm-house in Dorsetshire, and another changed hands in Edinburgh for a mere trifle. It is a remarkable fact that, whereas in 1830 the market price of a great auk's eggs was no more than $1.25, Lord Garvagh's specimen was bought from Dr. Troughton in 1869 for $320; Sir Vauncey Crewe, in 1894, paid $1,575 for one; in 1897, another was knocked down in London for $1,470, and a slightly cracked specimen went about the same time for $840; not so long ago a couple of these eggs was purchased at a country sale for $19 and resold for $2,284.

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Some few years ago a robin took up his abode near the communion table in the old abbey at Bath, England, and remained there for some considerable time; his victualing department being presided over by a friendly verger, he naturally had every inducement to remain, and remain he did. During sermon time, with the exception of an occasional chirp of approval, he preserved an exemplary silence, neither coughing nor yawning, but when the hymns were sung, and he perched himself on the communion rail, his voice could be heard high above those of the human singers. All redbreasts, however, do not behave so well, and one at Ely cathedral some time ago carried on in such a manner that he brought disgrace on his tiny head. During the service he behaved fairly well, but when the clergyman ascended the pulpit and began to speak, the robin deliberately perched himself on an adjacent pinnacle of the chancel screen and began to sing, and the louder the preacher spoke the greater volume of sound proceeded from the irreverent bird, till he had to be removed.

* * * * *

The first place in the ranks of birds was until lately given by naturalists to eagles and hawks. The low-foreheaded tyrants are now dethroned, and the highest development of the race is reached in the family of the sparrows, if the following story be true. A man was feeding with breadcrumbs a wood pigeon at his feet. One of the bird's feathers, which was ruffled and out of place, caught the eye of a sparrow; the little bird flew down, seized the feather in its beak and pulled its best. The feather did not yield at once, and the pigeon walked off with offended dignity. The sparrow followed, still holding on; and, in the end, flew off triumphant with the trophy to its nest.

DECEMBER.

Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,
From the snow five thousand summers old;
On open wold and hill-top bleak
It had gathered all the cold,
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek;
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;
The little brook heard it and built a roof
'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof;
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the lashes of light that trim the stars;
He sculptured every summer delight
In his halls and chambers out of sight.

* * * * *

'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay
In his depths serene through the summer day,
Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky,
Lest the happy model should be lost,
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry
By the elfin builders of the frost.
--_Lowell._

THE WILD CAT.

(_Lynx rufus._)