BIRDS

A MONTHLY SERIAL

ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY

DESIGNED TO PROMOTE

KNOWLEDGE OF BIRD-LIFE

VOLUME III.

CHICAGO.

Nature Study Publishing Company.

copyright, 1897

by

Nature Study Publishing Co.

chicago.

[Pg 2]

[Pg 3]

INTRODUCTION.

With the January number of Birds, we enter upon a new year with the
satisfaction of having pleased our readers, as well as rendered an actual service
to the cause of education, ornithological literature, and art. Among the
hundreds of testimonials from competent judges, (many of them scientists),
which we have received, we will permit ourselves the use of one only, as
exemplifying the excellence which we have sought to attain and the rightful
claim which we may make for the future. The writer says: “I find Birds
an everlasting source of pleasure to the children, not less than to myself. I
have one of the few almost absolutely fresh copies of ‘Audubon’s Birds,’ for
which I have refused $3,000, besides later works, and I will say that the
pictures of birds given in your magazine are infinitely more true to life, and
more pleasing, everyway, than any of those presented in either work. The
other day I compared some of your pictures with the birds mounted by myself,
notably a Wood-duck and a Wood-cock, and every marking co-incided. The
photographs might have been taken from my own specimens, so accurately
were they delineated, attesting the truth of your work.”

Some of our subscribers, unaware of the prodigality with which nature has
scattered birds throughout the world, have asked whether the supply of
specimens may not soon be exhausted. Our answer is, that there are many
thousands of rare and attractive birds, all of them interesting for study, from
which, for years to come, we might select many of the loveliest forms and
richest plumage. Of North American birds alone there are more than twelve
hundred species.

The success of Birds is due to its superior color illustrations and the
unique treatment of the text. Popular and yet scientific, it is interesting to
old and young alike.

The classification and nomenclature followed are those adopted by the
American Ornithological Union in 1895.

Nature Study Publishing Company.

[Pg 4]

THE PIGEONS.

Under the big nursery table

Are Sue, Don, Harold, and Mabel,

All playing, with joy and delight,

That pigeons they are, dressed in white.

Don’t you hear their gentle “coo, coo”?

Ah, now they fly out in full view!

And over the meadow they go—

’Tis their own dear nursery, you know—

Where, quick to the tops of the trees

They fly, with lightness and ease;

There each birdie is glad to be

Perched high upon a big chair-tree.

But to their home in swiftest flight

They haste, ere day has changed to night;

Then in they go, with cooing sweet,

And find their home a blest retreat.

And now they tell just where they’ve been,

And all the wondrous sights they’ve seen.

Then with their “coo, coo,” soft and low,

Each pigeon goes to sleep, I trow.

—Emma G. Saulsbury.

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crowned pigeon.

From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

[Pg 7]

BIRDS.

Illustrated by COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.

THE CROWNED PIGEON.

E regret that a full monograph
of this remarkable
bird cannot be given in
this number. It is the
giant among Pigeons and has some
characteristics, on account of its great
size, not common to the family. Very
little has been written about it, and it
would be a real service to ornithology
if some one familiar with the subject
would communicate his knowledge to
the public. These birds pair for life,
and the loss or death of a mate is in
many cases mourned and grieved over,
the survivor frequently refusing to be
consoled.

The Pigeon family is an exceedingly
interesting one, of great variety of form
and color, undergoing constant change
by inter-breeding. There are about
three hundred known species of
Pigeons and Doves, about one third of
which number are found in the New
World. In North America but twelve
species occur, a family small enough
to find room in Birds to sit for their
pictures. Some of these birds, says
Chapman, are arboreal, others are
strictly terrestrial. Some seek the
forests and others prefer the fields and
clearings. Some nest in colonies,
others in isolated pairs, but most species
are found in flocks of greater or less
size after the nesting season. When
drinking, they do not raise the head as
others do to swallow, but keep the bill
immersed until the draught is finished.
The young are born naked and are
fed by regurgitation.

Living specimens of this the largest
species of Pigeons may some day be
brought to the United States and made
to increase as the Ring-necked English
Pheasant has already been domesticated
in their own country. It has
been suggested that their introduction
among us would be a comparatively
easy matter.

[Pg 8]

THE RED-EYED VIREO.

“A bird with red eyes! look, mamma,” said
Bobby. “How funny!”

“And how beautiful,” replied
his mamma. “Not plainly
dressed, like his cousin, the
Warbling Vireo, whose picture
you saw in the
October
number of Birds.”

“The Yellow-Throated, in the
June number,”
said Bobbie, who has a remarkable memory,
“was a lovely bird, too, mamma. Can Mr. Red-eye sing?”

“No, you can’t call his note a
song; it is more like a chatter,
which he keeps up from morning
till night.”

“Like some children,” said
Bobbie, with a sage nod of the
head, “who talk all day long.”

“Yes,” smiled his mamma,
“without saying very much,
either. But this little bird
works while he chatters.”

“I reckon he stops at noon
time,” said Bobbie, “as other birds do.”

“No, even then the silence of
the woods is broken by the Red-eyed
Vireo’s voice. He is such
a busy little fellow, he can’t find
time for a nap.”

“Hm!” remarked Bobbie; “the
other birds must find him a
tiresome fellow, I think.

“Has he any other names, mamma?”

“Yes, he is called the Red-eyed
Greenlet or Red-eyed
Fly-catcher. One gentleman
calls him ‘The Preacher.’ To
him the bird seems to say,
‘You see it; you know it; do you hear me?
do you believe it?’”

“I’m going to look out for that
red-eyed preacher next summer,”
said Bobby, with a laugh.

“One lady who makes a study
of birds thinks he says, ‘I know
it! would you think it? musn’t touch
it; you’ll rue it!’ He makes a
pause, as you see, after each
sentence.”

“Tell me something about
their nests?” said Bobbie,
deeply interested.

“They are made of bark
fibers, cobwebs, bits of paper,
and scraps of hornets’ nests, in
the form of a little pocket. This
is suspended from the fork of
two or more twigs high up in
the tree, making a sort of cradle
for the little ones.”

“Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top,

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

hummed Bobby. “How jolly!”

“Yes,” said mamma; “and they
take care that it is under some
green leaves, which act as an
umbrella to keep the sun out of
the mother’s eyes while she sits
on the four pretty white eggs.”

“And out of the little ones’
red eyes, too,” laughed Bobbie.
“How cute!”

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red-eyed vireo.

From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

[Pg 11]

THE RED EYED VIREO.

ED-EYED VIREO, Red-eyed
Greenlet, and Red-eyed Fly-catcher
are the names variously
applied to this
pretty representative of
his family, of which there are about
fifty species. The Red-eye is an inhabitant
of Central America and Mexico,
its northern limit being the lower Rio
Grande valley in Texas.

The exquisite little creature is tinted
even more delicately than the Wax-wing,
but with much the same glossy
look and elegant air. The ruby-tinted
eye, and the conspicuous white line
above it, with its border, are good
characteristics by which to distinguish
it from its relatives.

The Red-eyed Vireo is found alike
in the shade trees of lawns, in orchards
or woodlands, and is especially fond of
sycamore groves along streams. The
male is a tireless songster, and even at
noon-tide of a sultry summer-day, when
all other warblers are silent, his monotonous
song will be heard. He-ha-wha,
or he, ha, whip, in rising inflection, and
he, ha, whee, in falling cadence. He
has also a chip, a chatter like a miniature
of the Oriole’s scold, heard only
in the season of courtship, and a
peculiarly characteristic querulous note
which, like others, can not be described
with accuracy.

“The Preacher,” a name which
Wilson Flagg has given this Vireo,
exactly reflects the character of the
bird and its song. “His style of
preaching is not declamation,” says
the writer. “Though constantly talking,
he takes the part of a deliberate
orator who explains his subject in a
few words and then makes a pause for
his hearers to reflect upon it. We
might suppose him to be repeating
moderately, with a pause between each
sentence, ‘You see it—You know it—Do
you hear me?—Do you believe it?’
All these strains are delivered with a
rising inflection at the close, and with
a pause, as if waiting for an answer.”

From morning till night this cheery
bird sings as he works, from May to
September. “His tender and pathetic
utterances,” says Brewer, “are in striking
contrast to the apparent indifference
or unconsciousness of the little vocalist
who, while thus delighting the ear of
the listener, seems to be all the while
bent on procuring its daily food, which
it pursues with unabated ardor.”

As noxious and destructive insects
constitute the Vireo’s chief food he
may properly be classed among the
beneficent birds. Seeking for these
is his constant occupation, as he hops
along a branch, now peering into some
crevice of the bark or nook among the
foliage, ever uttering his pretty song
during the interval between swallowing
the last worm and finding the next.

The nest of the Red-eye is built in a
horizontal branch of a tree, usually in
a small sapling that responds to all the
caprices of the wind, thus acting as a
cradle for the little ones within. The
nest is cup-like in shape, and always
dependent from small twigs, around
which its upper edges are firmly bound,
with a canopy of leaves overhead. It
is woven of a variety of materials, fine
strips of bark, fibres of vegetables, and
webs of spiders and caterpillars. It is
said that two nests of the same species
are rarely found alike. Some are built
of paper fibres, and bits of hornets’
nests, and another may be a perfect collection
of scraps of all sorts.

The eggs are three or four, white
with a few black or umber specks
about the larger end.

It was in the nest of the Red-eyed
Vireo that Hamilton Gibson found
twisted a bit of newspaper, whose
single legible sentence read: “* * *
have in view the will of God.”*

[Pg 12]

THE EARLY OWL.

An Owl once lived in a hollow tree,

And he was as wise as wise could be.

The branch of learning he didn’t know

Could scarce on the tree of knowledge grow,

He knew the tree from branch to root,

And an owl like that can afford to hoot.

And he hooted—until, alas! one day,

He chanced to hear, in a casual way,

An insignificant little bird

Make use of a term he had never heard.

He was flying to bed in the dawning light

When he heard her singing with all her might,

“Hurray! hurray! for the early worm!”

“Dear me,” said the owl, “what a singular term!

I would look it up if it weren’t so late,

I must rise at dusk to investigate.

Early to bed and early to rise

Makes an owl healthy, and stealthy, and wise!”

So he slept like an honest owl all day,

And rose in the early twilight gray,

And went to work in the dusky light

To look for the early worm at night.

He searched the country for miles around,

But the early worm was not to be found;

So he went to bed in the dawning light

And looked for the “worm” again next night.

And again and again, and again and again,

He sought and he sought, but all in vain,

Till he must have looked for a year and a day

For the early worm in the twilight gray.

At last in despair he gave up the search,

And was heard to remark as he sat on his perch

By the side of his nest in the hollow tree:

“The thing is as plain as night to me—

Nothing can shake my conviction firm.

There’s no such thing as the early worm.”

—O. Herford.

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fox sparrow.

From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

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THE FOX-COLORED SPARROW.

N “Wood Notes Wild,” S. P.
Cheney says this song-loving
Sparrow has a sweet voice and
a pleasing song, which he has
set to music. No Sparrow, he
says, sings with a better quality of
tone. A distinguished musician himself,
no one was better qualified to
give a final opinion upon the subject.
Others have spoken in praise of it,
Burroughs characterizing it as “a
strong, richly modulated whistle, the
finest Sparrow note I have ever heard.”
Baird says, “in the spring the male
becomes quite musical, and is one of
our sweetest and most remarkable
singers. His voice is loud, clear,
and melodious; his notes full, rich,
and varied; and his song is unequalled
by any of this family that I have ever
heard.” Mr. Torrey finds a “Thrush-like”
quality in the song of the Fox
Sparrow. In his “Birds in the Bush”
Mr. Torrey describes an interesting
contest as follows:

“One afternoon I stood still while a
Fox Sparrow and a Song Sparrow
sang alternately on either side of me,
both exceptionally good vocalists, and
each doing his best. The songs were
of about equal length, and as far as
theme was concerned were not a little
alike; but the Fox Sparrow’s tone was
both louder and more mellow than the
others, while his notes were longer,—more
sustained,—and his voice was
‘carried’ from one pitch to another.
On the whole, I had no hesitation
about giving him the palm; but I am
bound to say that his rival was a
worthy competitor.”

The Fox-colored Sparrow is also
one of the largest and finest of his
tribe, breeding from the Gulf of St.
Lawrence and Labrador north into
Alaska; in winter it is met with south
over the whole of the eastern United
States to the Gulf coast. Audubon
found it nesting in Labrador from the
middle of June to the 5th of July. Its
nest has been found in trees and on
the ground in the Arctic regions, on
the Yukon river in July. According
to many observers, the nests are, for
the most part, placed on the ground,
usually concealed by the drooping
branches of evergreens. They are
made of grass and moss, lined with
fine grass and feathers. Some nests
are three or four inches in depth,
strong, compact, and handsome. The
eggs are three or five, oval in form, of
a clayey greenish ground color, dotted
with dull reddish brown and chocolate.
They vary in coloration.

In the early spring the Fox Sparrow
is often seen associated with small
parties of Juncos, in damp thickets
and roadside shrubbery; later, according
to Mr. Bicknell, it takes more to
woodsides, foraging on leaf-strewn
slopes where there is little or no
undergrowth. In the autumn it is
found in hedgerows, thickets and
weedy grainfields, rarely however,
straying far from some thickety cover.
It is a great scratcher among dead
leaves, and “can make the wood
rubbish fly in a way which, in proportion
to its size, a barn-yard fowl could
scarcely excel.”

The Sparrows are worthy of close
study, many of them possessing habits
of great beauty and interest.

[Pg 16]

BOB WHITE!

I’m a game bird, not a song
bird with beautiful feathers,
flitting all day from tree to tree,
but just a plain-looking little
body, dressed in sober colors,
like a Quaker.

It wouldn’t do for me to wear
a red hat, and a green coat, and
a yellow vest. Oh, no!, that
would be very foolish of me,
indeed. What a mark I would
be for every man and boy who
can fire a gun or throw a stone,
as I run along the ground in
clearings and cultivated fields.
That’s the reason I wear so plain
a coat. At the first glance you
would take me for a bunch of
dried grass or a bit of earth, but
at the first movement, off I go,
running for dear life to some
thickly wooded cover, where I
hide till danger is passed.

Cute! Yes, I think so. You
would have to be sharp, too, if
you were a game bird. Through
the summer we don’t have much
trouble, but just as soon as cold
weather sets in, and our broods
have grown to an eatable size,
“pop” go the guns, and “whirr”
go our wings as we fly through
the air. It is only at such times
we take wing, sometimes seeking
refuge in a tree from our
enemies. I’m sorry we are such
nice birds—to eat—for really
we like to stay around farmhouses,
and barn-yards, eating
with the chickens and other
fowl. We are easily tamed, and
the farmers often thank us for
the injurious insects we eat, and
the seeds of weeds.

How do we know they thank
us? Why, we must know that,
when they scatter seed for us
on the snow. Kind deeds speak
louder than words, for in the
winter we suffer a great deal.
Sometimes when it is very cold
we burrow down under the snow,
in snow-houses, as it were, to
keep warm. That is risky,
though; for when it rains and
then freezes over, we are in a
trap. A great many Quail die
in this way during a hard
winter.

Is Quail another name for
Bob White? Yes, but people
like Bob White better. Did
you ever hear me whistle? If
not, come out in the country in
the spring, and hear me call to
my mate. I sit on a fence rail,
and, to let her know where I
am, I whistle, Bob White! Bob
White! and if she pretends to
be bashful, and doesn’t answer
me at once, I whistle again, Bob,
Bob White! Poor Bob White!
She takes pity on me then, and
comes at my call.

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[Pg 18]

bob white.

From col. F. M. Woodruff.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

[Pg 19]

BOB WHITE.

OB WHITE is a plump,
fine-looking fellow, known
in the New England and
Middle States as the
Quail and in the Southern
States as the Partridge. It is said,
however, that these names belong to
other and quite different birds, and at
the suggestion of Prof. Baird, Bob
White, which is its call note, has
become its accepted and present name.
In the language of Mr. N. S. Goss
these birds appear to thrive best in
the presence of man, and were they
protected during our cold winters,
would soon become quite tame. They
often nest near our dwellings. “In the
spring of 1867,” says Mr. Goss, “I was
shown on Owl Creek, Woodson
County, Kansas, a nest containing
nineteen eggs. It was placed in the
dooryard, and not over twenty-five
yards from the house; several dogs
were running about the yard, and the
house cat was purring near the doorway.
Fearing the eggs would be
destroyed, I suggested the building of
a high, tight fence round the nest.
‘Oh,’ said the farmer, ‘that is not
necessary; our cats and dogs will not
harm them, for they know them well,
as they have for a long time run about
with the chickens, and feed with them
from food thrown from the doorstep.’
I am confident that if man were as
friendly to the birds as they are to
man, they would soon become
thoroughly domesticated. Trapped
and hunted as they are with dog and
gun it is not strange that as a whole
they remain timid and mistrustful, and
were they not naturally birds of
civilization would rapidly disappear
with the settlement of the country.
As it is, they seem to realize that man
is only at times their enemy, and that
his cultivated fields afford them a safe
refuge from many other enemies, and
insure a more certain and bountiful
supply of food than found elsewhere.”

Quails destroy injurious insects and
seeds of weeds, upon which they
largely feed. When startled they rise
with a loud whirring sound, their
flight being very swift, low, and direct,
a rather laborious effort. They move
about in small coveys or family
groups, pairing during the nesting
season, and share alike in the duties
of protecting and rearing the young.

The nest is placed on the ground,
in a depression, usually in the grass
upon the prairies, sometimes in a
thicket, under a low bush. It is usually
arched over with grass, with entrance
on the side.

From fifteen to twenty pure white
eggs are usually laid.

S. P. Cheney pleasantly says:
“Familiar as I have been with almost
all parts of Vermont for more than
thirty years, I have seen only one
Quail in the state, and he was evidently
a ‘tramp.’ I heard him just at night,
the first day of July, 1884. Did not
get sight of him till the next morning,
when he came out into the sun, stood
on the top rail of a fence, warmed
himself, and whistled his spirited,
forceful tune, his solid little body
swelling and throbbing at every note,
especially when he rose to the tonic.
I was prepared for him, and made an
exact copy of what he gave: Bob, Bob,
White! Bob White! Bob, Bob, White!
After the performance he stood, evidently
listening for a reply; none
came, and without another note he
disappeared, to be seen no more.”

[Pg 20]

BIRDS IN THE SCHOOLS.

HE movement to protect the
birds of America and prevent
them from being transformed
into millinery in such prodigious
numbers, is having a marked
revival in many parts of the country,
especially in the state of New York.
In New York City there was recently
held a large public meeting, under the
auspices of the Audubon Society and
the American Museum of Natural History,
to protest against the wholesale
and indiscriminate destruction of
native birds for personal adornment.
State Superintendent of Schools Skinner
of that state has established a
“bird day” in the public schools in
connection with Arbor Day, in which
the pupils will be taught the great
value of birds to mankind. Mr. Skinner
also has in preparation a manual upon
the subject, 100,000 copies of which he
will have distributed among the New
York state schools.

Public ignorance regarding the
value of birds in the economy of nature
and especially to human life is so great
as to be almost incomprehensible. A
number of estimates recently made by
Morris K. Jesup, President of the American
Museum of Natural History, show
how important it is that a stronger
safe-guard, in the shape of public sentiment,
should be thrown about our
feathered benefactors. In a late interview
upon this subject, Mr. Jesup said:

“Among the birds most worn this
winter are the Herons, which are killed
for their aigrettes; the Terns, or Sea
Swallows and Gulls; in short mostly
marsh and maritime birds.” It is
known that the killing of a great
number of these shore birds has been
followed by an increase in human mortality
among the inhabitants of the
coast, the destroyed birds having formerly
assisted in keeping the beaches
and bayous free from decaying animal
matter. New Orleans had a plague of
bugs about the middle of September,
just when the yellow fever began, and,
strange as it may seem, the bugs
proved far more troublesome than the
disease, and certainly the annoyance
was more immediate. The people
called it a mystery, but the scientists
said it was merely the result of man’s
improvidence in destroying the birds.
The destruction has been going on in
Louisiana, particularly on the Gulf
coast, for years, and has been carried
on by professional hunters, who kill
the birds solely for millinery purposes.
Nature revenged herself on New
Orleans, as she will on every place
where birds are destroyed for fashionable
purposes.

Would it not be a good thing to
increase the intelligence of the present
and rising generation respecting the
value of birds by introducing into the
schools of every state in the Union the
idea which has been adopted by State
Superintendent Skinner? And we
respectfully suggest that the use of this
magazine by teachers, through the
wise co-operation of school boards,
everywhere, as a text book, would
quickly supply the knowledge of bird-life
and utility so sadly needed by the
community. We present some of the
innocent creatures each month in
accurate outline and color, and the
dullest pupil cannot fail to be impressed
by their beauty and the necessity for
their protection. “Our schools, public
and private, can hardly be criticised as
instructors in the common branches of
learning, but they could also teach the
rising generation the equally important
truths relating to the material world
with which we are encircled.” In Colorado
and in some other states Boards
of Education have supplied their
teachers with Birds in sufficient quantities
to enable their pupils to study
the subjects in the most profitable
manner.

—C. C. Marble.

[Pg 21]

THE PASSENGER PIGEON.

F the reader is interested in numbers,
he will appreciate the
statement written about 1808
by Wilson, who estimated that
a flock of Wild Pigeons observed
by him near Frankfort, Kentucky,
contained at least 2,230,272,000 individuals.
If he is also interested in the
aspect presented by these birds in
flight, cloud-like in form and apparently
boundless in extent, he will read the
full and graphic descriptions given by
Audubon. In 1863, when the writer
was a boy, he remembers seeing the
birds brought to town in barrels and sold
at a price which did not justify transportation
to market. What appeared
to be a cloud, dark and lowering, was
not infrequently seen approaching, soon
to shut out the light of the sun, until
the birds which composed it, on the
way to or from their feeding or roosting
places, had passed on. Now hear
what Major Bendire, as late as 1892,
says: “It looks now as if their total
extermination might be accomplished
within the present century. The only
thing which retards their complete
extinction is that it no longer pays to
net these birds, they being too scarce
for this now, at least in the more settled
portions of the country, and also,
perhaps, that from constant and
unremitting persecution on their
breeding grounds, they have changed
their habits somewhat, the majority
no longer breeding in colonies, but
scattering over the country and breeding
in isolated pairs.”

The natural home of the Wild Pigeon
is within the wooded lands, and they
are seldom met with upon the broad
prairies. Audubon observed that it
was almost entirely influenced in its
migrations by the abundance of its
food, that temperature had little to do
with it, as they not infrequently moved
northward in large columns as early
as the 7th of March, with a temperature
twenty degrees below the freezing
point.

“The Wild Pigeons are capable of
propelling themselves in long continued
flights and are known to move
with an almost incredible rapidity,
passing over a great extent of country
in a very short time.” Pigeons have
been captured in the state of New
York with their crops still filled with
the undigested grains of rice that must
have been taken in the distant fields
of Georgia or South Carolina, apparently
proving that they must have
passed over the intervening space
within a very few hours. Audubon
estimated the rapidity of their flight
as at least a mile a minute.

The Wild Pigeon is remarkable for
its ease and grace, whether on the
ground or the limbs of trees. Though
living, moving, and feeding together in
large companies, they mate in pairs.
Several broods are reared in a season,
nesting beginning very early in the
spring. The nests are placed on trees,
being a slight platform structure of
twigs, without any material for lining
whatever. Two white eggs are laid.

Mr. Goss says (1891) that the Passenger
Pigeon is still to be found in
numbers within the Indian Territory
and portions of the southern states,
and in Kansas a few breed occasionally
in the Neosho Valley.

[Pg 22]

THE PASSENGER PIGEON.

Some people call us the Wild Pigeon
and the Gypsy among birds. We do
wander long distances in search of food,
and when we have eaten all the beech
nuts in one part of the country, take
wing, and away we go like a great
army to another place.

And such an army! We form in a
column eight or ten miles long, thousands
and thousands of us, our approach
sounding like a gale among the rigging
of a vessel. Not always in a straight
course do we go, but in a winding way
looking for all the world, against the
sky, like a vast river. Then our
leaders give the word, our captains,
you know, and we form in a straight
line, sweeping along as you have seen
regiments of soldiers marching on
parade. We are just as fond of forming
new figures as they are, and our
captains, by their actions, give their
orders much in the same way.

“Down, Up! Right, Left!” and
away we go forming our evolutions in
the air.

But you should see us when Mr.
Hawk attacks our flock. Then, like a
torrent, and with a noise like thunder,
we rush into one compact mass, each
pressing upon the other toward the
center. Swiftly we descend almost to
the earth, then up again, forming as
we do a straight column, twisting,
turning, looking, when far up in the
air, like a great serpent. At other
times we fly straight ahead, very swiftly,
going at the rate of a mile a minute.
I don’t believe any of you little folks
have ever traveled as fast as that behind
a locomotive.

Then our roosting places! Ah, you
ought to see us there! There was one
in Kentucky, I remember, in a dense
forest, where the trees were very large,
a forest forty miles long and three wide,
larger than many cities. The Pigeons
began to collect after sunset, thousands
upon thousands, flock after flock continuing
to arrive even after midnight.
There were not trees enough to go
around, and so many of us perched
upon one limb that the largest branches
broke, killing hundreds of Pigeons in
their fall. The noise we made
could be heard at the distance of
three miles. People who like Pigeon
pie came with long poles and guns,
and when morning broke, and the
Pigeons that could fly had disappeared,
there were heaps and heaps of little
fellows lying dead upon the ground.

We occupied that roost about two
weeks. When we left it for good, the
forest looked like it had been swept
by a tornado.

[Pg 23]

passenger pigeon.

From col. Ruthven Deane.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

[Pg 24]

[Pg 25]

THE SHORT-EARED OWL.

“I think,” said Bobbie, looking
over the present number of
Birds, “that the Owl, instead of
the Red-eyed Vireo, ought to be
called ‘The Preacher.’”

“Why?” said his mamma,
always pleased at her boy’s fancy.

“Because the Owl looks so wise—and—solemn!”
said Bobby.

Mamma laughed.

“He does look solemn,” she
agreed, “but about his wisdom
I am not so certain. Turn to
the text and let us see what he
does say about himself.”

“Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!”

“That doesn’t sound very
wise,” said Bobbie, reading
aloud, “though Mr. Shouter’s
preaching sounds like that to me
sometimes.”

“Does it?” replied mamma,
suppressing a smile, “well, go on
and see what else he says.”

“I’m not a Screech Owl, nor a
Barn Owl, nor a Great Horned Owl,
nor a Long-eared Owl, though
I am related to each of them.
Mr. Screech Owl thinks he is
a singer, and so does Mr. Horned
Owl. Between you and me, I
think both their songs most doleful
ditties. One gentleman says
Mr. Horned Owl hoots in B flat,
another says in F sharp, and
another in A flat. I must confess
it all sounds very flat to me.
I don’t pretend to sing at all.
Sometimes I feel like saying
something, just to hear the sound
of my own voice, and then I
shout ‘Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!’ as loud
as I can. If there are little
Owls in the nest, and anything
approaches them, I give a shrill,
hollow cry, at the same time
snapping my bill spitefully.

“I am sometimes called the
Marsh Owl, because I frequent
the grassy marshes instead of
the woods. I don’t confine myself
to prowling around only in
the night time, like some Owls I
know, but you will see me about
also on dark days, and sometimes
even when the sun is shining.

“My eyes, you see, are round
and yellow just like a cat’s,
shining in the dark like his.
Indeed there is a good deal of
the cat in my nature. When
stealing on my prey I go about
it just as stealthily as he does.
Like him I catch mice too, but
I also like beetles, gophers, and
all sorts of little water birds.

“I have only two eyes, but I
have two sets of eyelids. One I
draw over my eyes in the day
time, a thin sort of curtain to
keep out the light, and the other
a heavy curtain which I pull
down when I go to sleep. I’m
going to sleep now. Good night!
or, rather, good morning!”

[Pg 26]

THE SHORT-EARED OWL.

ARSH OWL, Meadow
Owl, and Prairie Owl,
are some of the names of
this species of an
interesting family,
which is found throughout North
America at large, though in greater
numbers in the Arctic regions during
the nesting season than in the United
States. It is believed that no land bird
has so extensive a range as this species,
occurring, as it does, throughout all
the grand divisions of the earth’s surface,
except Australia. In America it
is found everywhere in favorable localities,
from Alaska and Greenland to
Cape Horn. Truly a cosmopolitan
bird, observed by the inhabitants of
nearly all countries.

The Short-eared Owl is seen in the
marshes, the thickets of bottom lands,
and Davie says it seems to be particularly
common in the tall weeds and
grass of fields and meadows. In the
west it is found on the extensive
prairies, along sloughs, hiding in the
day-time among the sage bushes and
tall grass. It is a night wanderer, but
often hunts its food on dark days, and
field mice, moles, shrews, and other
small rodents are captured by it while
on noiseless wing, or while standing
motionless watching for its prey.

The nest of the Short-eared Owl is
made on the ground in the matted
grass of marsh land; sometimes in a
depression at the foot of a bush, beside
a log, or in a burrow made by a rabbit
or a muskrat. A few sticks, soft
grasses, and some of its own feathers
usually comprise the nest proper,
though the eggs are not infrequently
laid on the bare ground. These are
from four to seven, white and oval.
In Ohio they are laid in April, sometimes
as early as the latter part of
March, or as late as the middle of May,
within which dates it doubtless may
be found breeding throughout the
United States.

Mr. Nelson says that this is the most
abundant species of the Owl family.
They are common everywhere in Illinois
during the winter, remaining
concealed in a bunch of grass or weeds
until almost two o’clock p.m., when
they commence flying low over the
ground in search of food. When
approached, while standing on the
ground, they crouch and try to escape
observation. They are harmless and
are easily tamed, and as a rule, are
silent. Mr. Nelson heard one of the
birds, in Alaska, utter rapidly a loud
cry which sounded like the syllables
Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, in a higher key than
the note of the Horned Owl, and in
a much less sonorous tone. When
alarmed for their young, they have been
heard to utter a shrill hollow cry, and
at the same time make quite a noise
by spitefully snapping their bills.

We fancy the Owl family alone will
enable Birds to furnish a collection
of pictures—perhaps forty in number—that
will fascinate the bird lover, and
make him eager to possess other
groups for study, wonder, and delight.

[Pg 27]

short-eared owl.

From col. O. C. Pagin.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

[Pg 28]

[Pg 29]

THE ROSE COCKATOO.

I look like a foreigner, don’t
I? You may search through
the forests of America and you
won’t find a bird that looks like
me.

My family live in New Guinea;
we speak English when we get
among English people, Spanish
when we get among Spanish
people, and French when we get
among French people.

If you don’t believe it, just say
“Parlez-vous Français, Monsieur?”
and see how quickly I’ll open
my pretty mouth and answer
“Oui.”

If you don’t understand that,
ask your teacher what it means.
I once lived in a French family,
you see.

You don’t think my mouth is
pretty, did you say? Well, that
is according to taste. I think it
is. Of course, my bill turns in
like a hook, as Miss Poll Parrot’s
does, and my tongue is thick
like hers, but I fancy I talk much
plainer than she does. Anyway
I talk louder. Why, if you
should happen to hear, without
seeing me, you would think it
was a man’s strong voice talking
to a deaf person.

And then my laugh! You
should hear me laugh when I’m
angry. Whew! Have you ever
heard a hyena in the Zoo? Well,
it sounds something like that.

I am a large, handsome bird.
My eyes also are large, and so
are my feet. That is the reason
I not only talk, but walk Spanish,
I suppose.

But, my cap! That is what
distinguishes me. You never
saw a common Parrot with a
crest like that. When I am
angry the feathers stand straight
up, opening and closing just like
a lady’s fan.

The next time your mamma or
papa takes you to the Zoo, turn
to the cage of foreign birds and
see if one of our family is not
there. Maybe he will talk to
you and maybe he’ll not. He
would if you could get into his
cage and stroke his head. I am
sure he would laugh if you tell
him Mr. Rose Cockatoo sends his
love.

[Pg 30]

THE ROSE COCKATOO.

HE Rose Cockatoo, as may be
seen, is a remarkably handsome
bird. The species is
gregarious, and they are very
numerous in South Australia, where
they frequent woods and feed on seeds,
fruits, and larvae of insects. Their
note is harsh and unmusical. The
young ones tame readily and some
species show remarkable intelligence.
They associate in flocks of from one
hundred to one thousand and do great
damage to newly planted grain, for
which reason they are mercilessly
destroyed by farmers. Two eggs only,
of a pure white color, are laid in the
holes of decayed trees or in the fissures
of rocks, according to the nature of
the locality in which they live.

This is a rather large bird, equalling
a common fowl in dimensions, and
assuming a much larger form when it
ruffles up its feathers while under the
influence of anger. Many of these
birds are fine talkers, and their voice
is peculiarly full and loud.

An authentic anecdote is told of a
Cockatoo which was quite celebrated
for its powers of conversation; but as
he was moulting at the time, his voice
was temporarily silenced, and he sat in
a very disconsolate manner on his
perch, looking as if he had fallen into
a puddle and not had time to arrange his
plumage. All the breast and fore-parts
of the body were quite bare of feathers
and even the beautiful crest had a
sodden and woe-begone look. By dint,
however, of talking to the bird and
rubbing his head, he was induced to
say a few words, which were given in
a voice as full and rounded as that of
a strong voiced man accustomed to
talking to deaf people. Presently the
spectators were startled with a deafening
laugh, not unlike that of the
hyena, but even louder and more weird-like.
On turning around, they saw
the Cockatoo suddenly transformed
into a totally different bird, his whole
frame literally blazing with excitement,
his crest flung forward to the
fullest extent, and repeatedly spread
and closed like the fan of an angry
Spanish lady, every feather standing
on end and his eyes sparkling with
fury while he volleyed forth the
sounds which had so startled them.
The cause of this excitement was the
presence of two children who had come
to look at the bird, and whom he
recognized as having formerly excited
his ire. He always objected to children,
and being naturally irritable from
the effect of moulting, his temper
became uncontrollable.

The Cockatoo is not gifted with
the wonderful imitating powers of the
true Parrot, and on account of its deafening
cries is not an agreeable inhabitant
of the house. It is in a state of
nature that the birds are most interesting.
They are not shy or wary, are
very vociferous, and, like the common
Parrots, rise up in bodies toward sunset
and fly two-and-two to their resting
places. It is a superb sight to see
thousands of these beautiful creatures
flying overhead, low enough to permit
a full view of their feathered mantles.

[Pg 31]

cockatoo.

From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

[Pg 32]

[Pg 33]

PLEAS FOR THE SPEECHLESS.

Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.—Shakespeare.

F all the birds should die, not a
human being could live on
earth, for the insects on which
the birds live would increase so
enormously as to destroy all
vegetation.—Michelet.

Prof. E. E. Fish estimates that birds
save, for agricultural purposes alone,
annually, one hundred million dollars
in the United States, and we are told
that insect life in many places has
increased so as to make human life
almost unendurable.

The bravest are ever the most
humane, the most gentle, the most
kind; and if any one would be truly
brave, let him learn to be gentle and
tender to everyone and everything
about him.—Rev. Arthur Sewell.

“Every first thing continues forever
with a child; the first color, the first
music, the first flowers paint the foreground
of life. The first inner or
outer object of love, injustice, or such
like, throws a shadow immeasurably
far along his after years.”—Jean Paul Richter.

We have long ago found that the
great remedy for all these wrongs lies,
not in law and prosecuting officers,
but in the public and private schools;
that a thousand cases of cruelty can
be prevented by kind words and
humane education, for every one that
can be prevented by prosecution; and
that if we are ever going to accomplish
anything of permanent value for the
protection of those whom our societies
are organized to protect, it must be
through the kind assistance of the
teachers in our public and private
schools.

We found another important fact,
that when children were taught to be
kind to animals, to spare in spring-time
the mother-bird with its nest full
of young, to pat the horses, and play
with the dogs, and speak kindly to all
harmless living creatures, they became
more kind, not only to animals, but
also to each other.—Geo. T. Angell.

I am in thorough accord with the
proposition to have the birds protected,
and my words cannot be clothed in
too strong language. We are a nation
of vandals. Birds make the choir of
the heavens and should be protected.—Cardinal Gibbons.

[Pg 34]

THE MOUNTAIN PARTRIDGE.

HIS, one of the most beautiful
of the Partridges, is much
larger and handsomer than
Bob White, though perhaps
not so interesting or attractive as a
game bird. The pretty plumes are
noticeable in the chick just from the
egg, in the form of a little tuft of
down, and their growth is gradual
until the perfect plumage of the adult
is obtained.

The Mountain Partridge is found
breeding along the Pacific coast region
from California north into Washington.
According to the observer Emerson,
it is found nesting in the higher
mountain ranges, not below four
thousand feet. In some portions of
Oregon it is very abundant, and would
be sought for by the sportsman with
great assiduity were the regions that
it inhabits more accessible. As it is,
it is not only hard to find but very
difficult to secure when once flushed,
hiding easily from the dogs, who
become discouraged by repeated
unsuccessful efforts to find it.

The Mountain Partridge deposits its
eggs on the ground, on a bed of dead
leaves, under a bush or tuft of grass
or weeds. Its habits are exceedingly
like those of the Bob White. From six
to twelve eggs are laid of a cream color,
with a reddish tint. They have been
described as miniatures of those of
the Ruffed Grouse, only distinguishable
by their smaller size.

This Partridge will usually run
before the dog, is flushed only with
much trouble, and often takes to the
trees after being started. California
is comparatively destitute of wood
except on inaccessible mountain sites
and canons, localities preferred by these
birds. It is not known to descend
to the valleys.

BOB WHITE.

“I own the country here about,” says Bob White;

“At early morn I gayly shout, I’m Bob White!

From stubble field and stake-rail fence

You hear me call, without offense,

I’m Bob White! Bob White!

Sometimes I think I’ll ne’er more say, Bob White;

It often gives me quite away, does Bob White;

And mate and I, and our young brood,

When separate—wandering through the wood,

Are killed by sportsmen I invite

By my clear voice—Bob White! Bob White!

Still, don’t you find I’m out of sight

While I am saying Bob White, Bob White?”

—c. c. m.

[Pg 35]

mountain partridge.

chicago colortype co.

From col. F. M. Woodruff.
Copyrighted by

Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

[Pg 36]

[Pg 37]

THE NEW TENANTS.

By Elanora Kinsley Marble.

Father and mother are building a nest;

They have found in Greenwood the place that is best.

They are working so hard through the long summer day,

Gathering grasses and hair and hay.

They are so happy, for soon they will hear

The eager “Peep, peep!” of their babies so dear.

Dear mother, gather them safe ’neath each wing;

Kind father, hasten, for food you must bring.

Now mother and father will teach them to fly:

“Come, timid birdies; come, try; come, try.

Fly out in the Greenwood, dear birdies, with me;

Then back to the nest in the dear old tree.”

Mrs. Wren was busy that morning.
She had been away all winter, among
the trees in the south, but was back
in the old neighborhood now, getting
her house in order for the summer
season.

Mr. Wren, with a number of other
gentlemen Wrens, had arrived some
weeks before and had been kept pretty
busy looking about for a desirable
apartment in which to set up housekeeping.
Several had struck him as
being just the thing, among them a
gourd which one thoughtful family
had set for a Chickadee. “I’ll fetch
some sticks and straws and put a few
in each house,” said he, with the
greediness of his kind, “so the other
birds will think it is rented. Mrs.
Wren is so particular maybe none
of them will suit her. She always
wants something better than Mrs. John
Wren, her cousin, and I notice Mr.
John looking about in this neighborhood,
too.”

In the low bushes and shrubbery
Mr. Wren flitted from day to day,
keeping his eye on one apartment,
especially, which he considered particularly
fine.

“I do wish she would hurry up,” he
thought, anxious for Mrs. Wren to
arrive. “It takes a female so long to
get ready to go anywhere. I saw an
impudent Blue Jay around here this
morning and he may take a fancy to
that apartment up there. I wouldn’t
like to tackle him, and so, to let him
see that it is rented, I’ll fetch a few
more straws,” and off Mr. Wren flew,
returning in a very little while with
his bill full.

Well, about the first of April Mrs.
Wren arrived, quite tired with her
journey, but as sprightly and talkative
as ever. Mr. Wren greeted her with
one of his loudest songs, and they flew
about chattering and singing for quite
a while.

“I suppose,” said she, resting at
length on the limb of a maple tree,
“that you have been flying about, eating
and drinking and talking with the
other Mr. Wrens, and not looking for
[Pg 38]
a house at all. That is the way with
your sex generally, when there is any
work to be done.”

“Oh, it is?” said Mr. Wren, his
feathers ruffled in a minute. “That’s
my reward for staying about this house
and the grounds all the time, is it?
My whole time has been taken up in
house hunting, let me tell you, Mrs.
Wren, and in keeping my eye on one
particular apartment which is to let up
there.”

“Where?” chirped Mrs. Wren, her
bright eyes traveling up and down the
side of the house before them. “I
don’t see a box or crevice anywhere.”

“Oh, you don’t?” said Mr. Wren,
mimicking her tone and air, “not a
single box or crevice anywhere. Who
said anything about either, I’d like to
know?”

“Why, you did, Mr. Wren,” said
Mrs. Jenny, every feather on top of
her head standing on end. “You did,
as plain as could be.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” retorted
Mr. Wren, “I never mentioned a box
or crevice once.”

“Then what did you say,” returned
Mrs. Wren with a little cackling sort
of a laugh, “what kind of a house is
up there to let anyway?”

“Talk about females being as sharp
as we males,” muttered Mr. Wren, “I
never saw so stupid a creature in my
life”—then aloud, “don’t you see that
tin tea-pot hanging on a nail under
the porch, Mrs. Wren?”

“A tin tea-pot!” scornfully. “Do
you think a bird born and bred as I
was would go to housekeeping in an
old tea-pot, Mr. Wren? You forget,
surely that my father was a——”

“Oh, bother your father,” ungallantly
retorted Mr. Wren. “I’m tired
and sick of that subject. If you don’t
like the looks of that house up there
say so, and I’ll take you to see several
others.”

“Oh, well,” said Mrs. Wren, who
all the time had thought the tea-pot
just the cutest little apartment in the
world, “I’ll fly up there and examine
it. Maybe it will do.”

“It’s just lovely,” she announced,
flying back to the tree, and for a minute
or two they chattered and sang,
and fluttered about in such a joyful
manner that some of their bird neighbors
flew over, curious to hear and see.

“Still,” remarked Mrs. Jenny the
next day, when fetching material for
the nest, “I had hoped, my dear, that
you would have followed my father’s
example in selecting a house for your
family.”

“Still harping on ‘my father,’”
groaned Mr. Wren, dropping on the
porch the straws he had fetched in
his bill. “Well,” cheerfully, “how
did he do, my dear?”

“As a bird of courage would, Mr.
Wren. He never looked for a vacant
house, not he! From place to place,
from tree to tree he flew, and when he
espied a nest which pleased him, off
he chased the other bird and took
possession. Bluebird or Martin, it was
all the same to him. Ah, indeed, my
father was a great warrior.”

“Hm, yes!” said Mr. Wren, who
didn’t like to be thought less brave
than another. “That accounted for
his one eye and lame leg, I presume.”

“The scars of battle are not to be
laughed at, Mr. Wren,” loftily said
[Pg 39]
Mrs. Jenny, “Papa’s one eye and
crooked leg were objects of great pride
to his family.”

“The old scoundrel,” muttered Mr.
Wren, who looked upon his father-in-law
as no better than a robber, but to
keep peace in the family he said no
more, and with a gush of song flew off
to gather some particularly nice sticks
for the nest.

For some days Mr. and Mrs. Wren
were too busy to pay much attention
to their neighbors. Mr. Wren, unlike
some birds he knew, did not do all the
singing while his mate did the work,
but fetched and carried with the utmost
diligence, indeed brought more sticks,
Mrs. Wren told her friends, than she
had any use for.

“Such a litter, ma’am,” said Bridget
the next morning to the mistress of
the house, “as I do be afther sweepin’
up from the porch ivery day. A pair
of birds, I do be thinkin’, are after
building a nest in that owld tin pot on
the wall. It’s this day I’m goin’ to
tear it down, so I am. Birds are
nuisances anyway, and it’s not Bridget
O’Flaherty that’s goin’ to be clanin’
afther them, at all, at all.”

“Oh don’t!” chorused the children,
“we want to see with our own eyes how
the birds go to housekeeping in the
Spring. It’s ever so much better than
just reading about it. Tell Bridget,
mamma,” they pleaded, “to leave the
pot alone.”

Mamma, who found bird-life a delightful
study, was only too willing to give
the desired command, and thus it
chanced that Mr. and Mrs. Wren grew
quite accustomed to many pair of eyes
watching them at their work of building
a nest, every day.

“Do you know,” said Mrs. Wren,
placing a particularly fine feather in
the nest one day, “that I have a notion
to name our birdlings, when they
come out of their shell, after our landlady’s
family? I think it is not more
than fair, since we have got a cute
apartment and no rent to pay.”

“A capital idea!” chirped Mr. Wren,
“her children have such pretty names, too.”

“And pretty manners,” returned
Mrs. Wren, who, being of such genteel
birth, was quick to recognize it in
others. “Let me see, there’s just six.
Pierre, Emmett, Walter, Henry, Bobby,
and that darling little fair-haired girl,
Dorothy. I had my head tucked
under my wing the other evening, but
all the same I heard her speaking a
piece that she said she had learned at
school that day.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Wren, tilting his
tail over his back and singing loudly,
“I think we are very fortunate to have
such a family for our neighbors. You can
pick up so many things their mamma
says to the children, and teach our
birdies the same lessons, you know.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Wren, standing
on the edge of the pot and eyeing
her work with great satisfaction, “I had
thought of that before. I already have
some of her sayings in my mind. But
come, we musn’t be standing here
chattering all day. The nest must be
ready to-morrow for the first egg.”

“Hm! You don’t say?” replied Mr.
Wren, beginning to count his toes,
“why, bless me, to-morrow is the
twelfth day. Well, well, how time flies
when one is busy and happy,” and off
they both flew, singing as they went
for very joy.

[to be continued.]

[Pg 40]

SUMMARY.

Page 6.

CROWNED PIGEON.—Columbidæ goura.

Range—New Guinea and the neighboring
islands.

Page 10.

RED-EYED VIREO.—Vireo olivaceus.

Range—Eastern North America, west to Colorado,
Utah, and British Columbia; north to
the Arctic regions; south in winter, from Florida
to northern South America. Breeds nearly
throughout its North American range.

Nest—Pensile from horizontal branches of
trees, five to twenty feet above the ground;
made of vegetable fibres and strips of pliable
bark, lined with fine round grasses, horse hairs,
and the like.

Eggs—Three or four, pure white, sparsely
sprinkled with fine, dark reddish-brown dots,
chiefly at the larger end.

Page 14.

FOX SPARROW.—Passerella iliaca.

Range—Eastern North America, west to the
plains and Alaska, and from the Arctic coast
south to the Gulf states. Winters chiefly south
of the Potomac and Ohio rivers.

Nest—Of grass and moss, lined with grass
and fine feathers; on the ground, concealed by
the drooping branches of evergreens.

Eggs—Four or five, pale bluish green,
speckled, spotted, and blotched with reddish-brown,
or uniform chocolate brown.

Page 18.

BOB WHITE.—Colinus virginianus.

Range—Eastern United States; west to the
Dakotas, Kansas, Indian Territory and eastern
Texas; north to southern Maine and Southern
Canada; south to the Atlantic and Gulf States.

Nest—On the ground, of grasses, straws,
leaves, or weeds.

Eggs—Fifteen to twenty-five, often only
twelve, but usually about eighteen, of pure
white.

Page 23.

PASSENGER PIGEON.—Ectopistes migratorius.
Other name: “Wild Pigeon.”

Range—Eastern North America, from Hudson
Bay southward, and west to the Great Plains,
straggling thence to Nevada and Washington.
Breeding range now mainly restricted to portions
of the Canadas and the northern border of
the United States, as far west as Manitoba and
the Dakotas.

Nest—In trees; a mere platform of sticks.

Eggs—Usually one, never more than two,
pure white, and broadly elliptical in shape.

Page 27.

SHORT-EARED OWL.—Asio accipitrinus.
Other name: “Marsh Owl.”

Range—Entire North America; nearly cosmopolitan.

Nest—On the ground in the matted grass of
marsh land, of a few sticks, soft grasses, and
some of its own feathers.

Eggs—Four to seven, white, and oval in shape.

Page 31.

ROSE COCKATOO.—Cacatua Leadbeateri.

Range—South Australia.

Nest—In holes of decayed trees, or in fissures
of rocks.

Eggs—Two, of pure white.

Page 35.

MOUNTAIN PARTRIDGE.—Oreortyx pictus.
Other name: “Plumed Partridge.”

Range—Pacific coast from San Francisco
north to Washington.

Nest—On the ground, consisting of a bed of
dead leaves, under a bush or tuft of grass or
weeds.

Eggs—Six to twelve, of a cream color with a
reddish tint.