Birds and Nature Vol. 10 No. 5 [December 1901]

SNOW-FLAKES

 
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
 
 
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
 
 
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
 

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

 
O wonderful world of white!
When trees are hung with lace,
And the rough winds chide,
And snowflakes hide
Each break unsheltered place;
When birds and brooks are dumb, – what then?
O, round we go to the green again!
 

– G. Cooper, “’Round the Year.”

THE WHITE-EYED VIREO.
(Vireo noveboracensis.)

 
“And then the wren and vireo
Begin with song to overflow.”
 

– Thomas Hill – “Sunrise.”

The vireos form a peculiar and interesting family – the Vireonidæ, which includes about fifty species. All are strictly American and the larger number inhabit only the forest or shrubby regions of Central and South America. The name vireo signifies a green finch and is from the Latin word meaning “to be green.” The body color of nearly all the species is more or less olive green.

About fifteen species frequent the United States. These are all members of the genus Vireo, and some of them have a wide range, only equaled in extent by some of the warblers.

Dr. Coues has said of these birds: “Next after the warblers the greenlets (vireos) are the most delightful of our forest birds, though their charms address the ear and not the eye. Clad in simple tints that harmonize with the verdure, these gentle songsters warble their lays unseen, while the foliage itself seems stirred to music. In the quaint and curious ditty of the white-eye, in the earnest, voluble strains of the red-eye, in the tender secret that the warbling vireo confides in whispers to the passing breeze, he is insensible who does not hear the echo of thoughts he never clothes in words.”

The vireos are strikingly alike. In habit, in color, in structure, in size and in their home-building peculiarities they resemble each other. Their eggs are similar and “fashioned almost as from the same mold, and colored as if by the same brush.”

The vireos build pensile nests that are ingeniously concealed under the surrounding foliage. They are in the form of a rather deep cup, which is suspended from two or more converging twigs. The materials used in the construction are similar in all cases, though they vary somewhat according to the locality and the abundance of desirable textiles. A favorite substance used by some of the birds is the tough and flexible fibers of the inner bark of trees. Thoreau, speaking of this habit, says: “What a wonderful genius it is that leads the vireo to select the tough fiber of the inner bark instead of the more brittle grasses!”

The White-eyed Vireo has an extensive range, extending over the eastern United States from the Atlantic Ocean to the great plains and from Mexico and Guatemala, where it winters, northward to the borders of British America. It nests practically throughout its range within the United States.

This pert and trim little bird is known by other suggestive names. Because of the character of its nest it is called the “little green hanging bird.” Its song, as translated by boys, has given it the name “chickty-bearer,” or “chickity.” Except when nesting this vireo is unsuspecting and will permit a near approach. Dr. Brewer says that “when whistled to it will often stop and eye you with marked curiosity, and even approach a little nearer, as if to obtain a better view, entirely unconscious of any danger.” Impertinent at all times, they are especially so when the nest is approached. At such times it exhibits great uneasiness, and even its expressive eyes seem to flash. Continually scolding the intruder, it utters “a hoarse mewing that is very peculiar.”

The nest of the White-eyed Vireo is a beautiful structure. It is artistic, durable and a wonderfully pretty home for its beautiful architect. It is seldom placed higher than five feet from the ground. Dr. Brewer thus describes one of these nests. It was “composed of a singular medley of various materials, among which may be noticed broken fragments of dry leaves, bits of decayed wood and bark, coarse blades of grass, various fibers, lichens, fragments of insects, mosses, straws, stems, etc. These were all wrapped round and firmly bound together with strong hempen fibers of vegetables. Within this outer envelope was an inner nest, made of the finer stems of grasses and dry needles of the white pine, firmly interwoven.” There are usually either three or four eggs, which are white and speckled at the larger end, with black or some shade of brown.

Mr. Chapman says: “I have always regretted that the manners of this vireo have been a bar to our better acquaintance, for he is a bird of marked character and with unusual vocal talents. He is a capital mimic, and in the retirement of his home sometimes amuses himself by combining the songs of other birds in an intricate potpourri.”

TO A WHITE-EYED VIREO

 
Up there among the maple’s leaves,
One morning bright in May,
A tiny bird I chanced to spy,
And plainly heard him say:
“Sweet, who-are-you?”
 
 
“Dost call to me, in words so fair,
O little friend?” I cried;
“Or to some feathered dame up there?”
For answer he replied:
“Sweet, do you hear?”
 
 
O yes, I hear you, little bird,
All clad in leafy hue;
And I in turn, would like to ask
The question, “Who are you?”
 
 
But you might deem the question vain,
And bid me note your size;
The shading of your dainty coat;
The color of your eyes.
 
 
For there I shall my answer find.
Shall you be answered, too?
Will your wee feathered love reply,
When asked, “Sweet, who-are-you?”
 

– Annie Wakely Jackson.

PLEA OF THE YOUNG EVERGREENS

 
We hide the stony mountain side with green,
And grow in beauty where the plain was bare;
We cling to crannies of the walled ravine,
And through faint valleys waft a strengthening air.
 
 
On coastings gray we stay the creeping sand;
We lift our spears and halt the shifting dunes;
Our bounteous youth makes glad the scanty land,
While it transforms rank fens, and salt lagunes.
 
 
We veil the prairies from the heat, while slow
Across their farmsteads breathes our Summer balm,
And shield them when the winds of Winter blow,
And all our aisles and pleasant rooms are calm.
 
 
Through charming days we spread our branches wide,
And live through drouths, and floods, and whirling storms,
Till comes to man his merry Christmas tide,
That lays in myriad deaths our fairest forms.
 
 
Men drag us from our fragrant winding vales,
They fell us on the mountain slopes, and bare
The prairies unto heat, and freezing gales,
And thinned, the chaparral plains fail unaware.
 
 
They tear us from the wall-chinks of the glens,
And hew us on the marsh we helped to drain,
And where our beauty graced, the tawny fens
Shall lapse to weeds and sworded flags again.
 
 
Up coastings, line the lisping, creeping sands,
While inland move the dunes we bravely stayed,
When we are borne away by wasteful hands,
To tower in rooms, with lights and gifts arrayed.
 
 
Spare us! – oh! spare our youth, with verdure crowned —
Our groves return to deserts when we pass;
The coasts which we revived, in sands are drowned;
Bare slopes but yield their stones and bitter-grass.
 
 
Spare us! we bring you beauty, shelter, wealth,
Oh! waste us not. Oh! keep with guiltless show
The Holy Time; and life, and joy, and health,
Be gifts to you, while winds of Winter blow.
 

– Eliza Woodworth.

THE RIVOLI HUMMINGBIRD.
(Eugenes fulgens.)

In that wonderful and magnificent book “A Monograph of the Trochilidæ,” the family of hummingbirds, Mr. John Gould, the author, writing of his experiences with these mites of bird life, says:

“How vivid is my recollection of the first hummingbird which met my admiring gaze! With what delight did I examine its tiny body and feast my eyes on its glittering plumage! These early impressions, I well remember, gradually increased into an earnest desire to attain a more intimate acquaintance with the lovely group of birds to which it pertained. During the first twenty years of my acquaintance with these wonderful works of creation my thoughts were often directed to them in the day, and my dreams have not unfrequently carried me to their native forests in the distant country of America.”

These birds have ever been an inspiration to the poet. How beautiful are these lines of Maurice Thompson, addressed to the hummingbird:

 
Zephyr loves thy wings
Above all lovable things,
And brings them gifts with rapturous murmurings.
Thine is the golden reach of blooming hours;
Spirit of flowers!
 
 
Thou art a winged thought
Of tropical hours,
With all the tropics’ rare bloom-splendor frought;
Surcharged with beauty’s indefinable powers,
Angel of flowers!
 

It seems cruel and strange that any person should kill these tiny creatures especially for ornamental purpose. They are the gems of nature, yet one day, in the year 1888, over twelve thousand skins of hummingbirds were sold in London. “And in one week during the same year there were sold at auction, in that city, four hundred thousand hummingbirds and other birds from North and South America, the former doubtless comprising a very considerable percentage of the whole number.” When we remember that the hummingbird lays but two eggs, the rapid extermination of some of the species is evident unless this wholesale slaughter is stopped. Even the tropics, where bird life is wonderfully abundant, cannot support such wanton destruction.

The Rivoli, or the Refulgent hummingbird, as it is frequently called, has a very limited range. It is found in the “mountains of southeastern Arizona, southwestern New Mexico and over the table lands of Mexico,” southward to Nicaragua. It is one of the largest and most beautiful of the hummingbirds that frequent the United States. Its royal appearance led Lesson, in the year 1829, to name it Rivoli, in honor of M. Massena, the Duke of Rivoli. It is noted “for the beauty of its coloring and the bold style of its markings.”

Mr. Salvin, writing of the pugnacious character of this species, says: “Many a time have I thought to secure a fine male, which I had, perhaps, been following from tree to tree, and had at last seen quietly perched on a leafless twig, when my deadly intention has been anticipated by one less so in fact, but to all appearances equally so in will. Another hummingbird rushes in, knocks the one I covet off his perch, and the two go fighting and screaming away at a pace hardly to be followed by the eye. Another time this flying fight was sustained in midair, the belligerents mounting higher and higher, until the one worsted in battle darts away seeking shelter, followed by the victor, who never relinquishes the pursuit till the vanquished, by doubling and hiding, succeeds in making his escape.” Not only do they resent the presence of their own kind, but also of other hummingbirds.

Mr. H. W. Henshaw, who was the first scientist to discover that the Rivoli was a member of the bird fauna of the United States, thus describes its nest: “It is composed of mosses nicely woven into an almost circular cup, the interior possessing a lining of the softest and downiest feathers, while the exterior is elaborately covered with lichens, which are securely bound on by a network of the finest silk from spiders’ webs. It was saddled on the horizontal limb of an alder, about twenty feet above the bed of a running mountain stream, in a glen which was overarched and shadowed by several huge spruces, making it one of the most shady and retired nooks that could be imagined.”

The note of this bird gem of the pine-clad mountains is a “twittering sound, louder, not so shrill and uttered more slowly than those of the small hummers.”

As the Rivoli hovers over the mescal and gathers from its flowers the numerous insects that infest them; or, as it takes the sweets from the flowers of the boreal honeysuckle, one is reminded of the words of the poet:

 
“Art thou a bird, a bee, or butterfly?”
“‘Each and all three – a bird in shape am I,
A bee collecting sweets from bloom to bloom,
A butterfly in brilliancy of plume.’”