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GAYLORD
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE
Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill
ACADIAN OWL

** From that day to this she and her descendents, ashamed of their bent
noses and flattened faces, have hidden themselves in lonely places.’?

 
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

BY
MARGARET COULSON WALKER

; AUTHOR OF
**Birps ano Turrr NeEstTLines”?
AND
**Lapy Houtynock anp Her Frienps’?

“Among the Romans not a bird -
Without a prophecy was heard;
Fortunes of empires often hung
On the magician magpie’s tongue.’’

NEW YORK

THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
1908
OzniTH
QL
6%6
W2ak

CopyrricuHT, 1908
BY
THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY

 

PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1908

THE PREMIER PRESS
NEW YORE
O ye delicious fables, where the wave
And the woods were peopled, and the air, with things
So lovely! Why, ah! why has science grave
Scattered afar your sweet imaginings ?
Barry Cornwall,
FOREWORD

ELIEVING that bird lovers generally will be inter-
ested in the literary history of these objects of their
affection, the author has endeavored to get together

the most important avian legends and superstitions and also
to discover in them evidences of apparent truth. Some of
the most agreeable and interesting legends of the past were
gathered about these guests of our groves whose actions
formed the basis of innumerable fancies and superstitions.
Birds exercised a strong influence on prehistoricreligion,
having been worshiped as gods in the earlier days, and,
later, looked upon as living representatives of the higher
powers. The Greeks went so far as to attribute the origin
of the world itself to the egg of some mysterious bird.
Then in the days when mortals did not die at all, but
“passed,” these small creatures, flitting about among the
trees, represented to those inhabiting the earth the visible
spirits of departed friends. The ‘Aztecs believed that all
good people, as a reward of merit, were metamorphosed at
the close of life into feathered songsters, and as such were
permitted to pass a certain term in the beautiful groves of
Paradise. 'To them, as to all North American Indians, thun-
der was the cloud bird flapping his mighty wings, while the
lightning was the flash of his eye./ The peoples of other coun-
tries believed that the higher powers showed their displeasure

1x

oF
f

[

\

FOREWORD

by ,transforming wrongdoers into birds and animals as a

ishment for their crimes.

In all lands birds were invested with the power of proph-
ecy. ey were believed to possess superior intelligence
through being twice born, once as an egg and again as an
animal. Because of their wisdom, not only they, but their
graven images also, were consulted on all the important
ae of life.

“The chief birds of portent were the owl, the raven and
‘the woodpecker, though there were a number of others on
the prophetic list. It will be remembered that Coleridge
made the omen of a bird the leading motive of his poem.

> Many nations, notably the Japanese, are still believers in

4

~

 

 
  

the direct communication between man and unseen beings,
through birds and other agents. In Japan birds are re-
garded as sacred, and for this reason the agriculturist gladly
shares with them the fruit of his toil.

- While we of to-day attach no supernatural significancé
to the presence of these feathered creatures, and even though
to us they possess no powers of prophecy, we can find a great
deal of pleasure in observing these beings whose boding crie
were regarded as omens by the greatest of earth-beings, whose
actions in Vespasian’s time were considered of vital national
importance. An eagle perching on his tent proved to the
people that beyond a doubt a true Judean ruler had bee
found.

Aside from their historic and literary interest these mul-
titudinous and often contradictory legends and superstitions
are of interest to us as a part of the faith of our fathers,
much of which, combined with other and higher things, is
in us yet. These beliefs of theirs, like many of what we are

 

x

  

 
FOREWORD

pleased to think our original ideas and opinions of to-day,
were hereditary and largely a matter of locality.

An interest in bird life, once quickened, is destined to
live always. As you become better acquainted with them,
may these inhabitants of the air, regarded with respect and
confidence by all nations of antiquity, prove equally inter-
esting to you and a source of perennial pleasure; may their
presence be ever significant of good, and may their voices
bode you no misfortune.

THE AUTHOR.

xi
CONTENTS

Foreword . :

Legend of the Owl

Owl Life.

Origin of the Wren

Wren Life

Legend of the Eagle .

Eagle Life

The Origin of Swallows

Swallow Life .

The Origin of Magpies

Legend of the Magpie’s Nest Building .

Magpie Life

The Origin of the Kingfisher :

The Lone Fisher

The Origin of the Hawk

Hawk Life . ‘

How the Buzzard or vhildane Was Clothed

Vulture Life

Genesis of the Robin :

Robin Life. . 2. 4.
xiii

PAGE

1x

27
31
43
44
55
56
71
72
75
85
91
117
122
135
139
147
1538
The Raven or Crow in Literature .

Crow Life

CONTENTS

Origin of the Woodpecker

Woodpecker Life

Owl Lore
Wren Lore.
Eagle Lore
Swallow Lore
Magpie Lore
Robin Lore
Raven Lore

Woodpecker Lore

BIRD LORE

xiv

PAGE

167
174
187
191

203
207
212
214
216
218

222

227
ILLUSTRATIONS

Acadian Owl : ‘ : : ‘ P Frontispiece

FACING PAGE
Screech Owl . . : ‘ . ‘ : i 6
Screech Owl Awakening . : ’ : ‘ 10
Great Horned Owl . ‘ ‘ 5 : : . 14
Young Acadian Owl . : ‘ : 3 ; 18
Screech Owl Awake and Asleep. ‘ ; » 22
Wren Scolding . , é ; é : ; 28
Wrens at Home ? ‘ ; : . 82
The Eagle and His Mate at Home . ‘ ‘ 44
Eagle’s Talon . : s . 48
Nests of Cliff Swallows Under Eaves of ‘Cabin ‘ 56
Young Cliff or Eave Swallows d ‘ ‘ - 60
Young Bank Swallows : : ‘ ‘ : 64
The Magpie, The Scandal of the Grove. ‘ . 72
Magpie’s Nest . , ‘ é . 76
Young Magpies Just Out of the Nest j , - 80
The Lone Fisher 4 : ‘ ‘ 86
Kingfisher Excavating the Deane ; i s. “8
Young Kingfishers 2 : ‘ : ‘ : 102

XV-
ILLUSTRATIONS

Young Kingfisher Family
Kingfisher’s Youth ;
The Angry Tereus as He Looks Today
Nest of the Red-Tailed Hawk

The Hawk Spreading Over Prey
Young Red-Shouldered Hawks
Turkey Vulture

Young Turkey Vulture

Robin Feeding Young

Robin Inspecting Young

Young Robins Roosting .

The Many-Wintered Crow .

Young Crows . :
Flicker Bearing Food to His ev bngiaie
Flicker Feeding His Young

xVI

FACING PAGE

106
110
118
122
126
130
136
140
148
156
160
168
178
188
194
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE
Mourn not for the owl, nor his gloomy plight!
The owl hath his share of good:
If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight,
He is lord in the dark greenwood!
Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate,
They are each unto each a pride;
Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange, dark fate
Hath rent them from all beside.
Bryan W. Procror (Barry Cornwall).
LEGEND OF THE OWL

(ESKIMO)

N the old days when mortals were sometimes changed
into other creatures if they happened to do anything
to displease certain wicked fairies who seemed to be

always conveniently near and ready to take offense, a wise
and beautiful maiden did something to incur the enmity of
one of these powerful beings and was immediately changed
by her into a bird.

The once beautiful nose of the maiden became a hard
beak; her eyes grew round with fright; the tender nails
on her feet became long and horny and hooked; while from
every pore in her body graying feathers started. Worst
of all she knew that the spell cast over her could never be
broken; she must remain as she was for all time—she and
her children’s children.

Blind with terror, she flew frantically and aimlessly
about for hours, heedless of everything save her awful condi-
tion. Her wild wandering continued till, striking with great
force against the hard ice-built wall of an igloo, her horny
beak was bent and her face flattened by the blow. A cry of
agony escaped her—a cry oft repeated through the night—
a cry which henceforth was to be her only means of expres-
sion; and though she had the feet and feathers and wings
of a bird, she still had the face of a mortal—flattened and
with affrighted eyes.

From that day to this, she and her descendants, who
could not be even as other birds, ashamed of their bent noses
and flattened faces, have hidden themselves, making their
homes in hollow trees, or in lonely barns or belfries, going
abroad only in the darkness, out of which sometimes come
their ghostly, boding cries to warn us of its dangers.

5
OWL LIFE
W oor the silence of the summer night is disturbed

only by the ethereal music of myriads of insects,

and by occasional breezes rustling through the
leaves—and the stealthy movements of nocturnal feeders on
the herbage beneath—’tis then that the ghost walks—then
that the weird wail of the owl is heard boding misfortune to
the vast army of rats and mice, bats and moles, beetles and
crickets, and other small night prowlers who fare forth at that
time to seek their food. To them her supernatural, startling
cry is a portent of woe, a certain harbinger of approaching
death—a death that must occur that the owl and her family
may live, for it is on these small creatures that she feeds and it
is these that she carries to her young.

In the early twilight, the hour when moths fly hum-
ming, the owl and her mate leave the woodland retreat where
they have spent the day in slothful slumber and go forth
into more open places, each seeking some solitary post of
vantage where she perches to watch for tiny field mice who
may be walking abroad in the twilight in quest of succulent
roots and grasses; or for unwary young rabbits who have
come out to nibble the plantains; or possibly a toad who
may be dampening his warty back in the dewy herbage.

As one of these approaches, silently sits the owl, ap-
parently dozing, but really with every sense alert, till the

6
 

Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill

SCREECH OWL

“* On seeing her sitting close to the hole of a tree where, with
her protective coloration, she might easily be mistaken for a
knot, we readily recognize the flattened face of the erstwhile
maiden, with its close-pressed nose and affrighted eyes.”
OWL LIFE

faint sound of parted grasses, or a barely perceptible stir of
leaves below, causes her, after a first quiver of excitement,
to drop seemingly without motion upon her quarry, when, as
it is tightly clasped in her claws, her sharp talons pierce its
vitals, causing instant death.

Her smaller prey she carries to her perch, where, after
a moment, it is tossed up with her beak and caught in its
descent and swallowed whole. Larger animals, such as
young squirrels, chipmunks and gophers, are dismembered
and swallowed piecemeal. After a time the indigestible por-
tions of all food are ejected in the form of compact pellets
or “owl balls.” Sometimes as many as a bushel of these are
found in and around the nest.

The dietary range of the owl is not confined entirely to
four-footed creatures: the fat beetle and night-flying moths
are dainty morsels which she especially values as food for the
owlets in the nest. Occasionally young birds are eaten, but
not often. In winter, when other food is scarce, she is not
averse to young barnyard fowls, for which the owner is amply
repaid by the service rendered in ridding the place of mis-
chievous vermin.

As the owl goes on her way—flying low, just above the
lower bushes, or close to the ground in the open—her muf-
fled wings make no sound. As with noiseless flight she
moves forward in sidelong fashion in search of small animals,
her gaze is turned on every moonlit spot where they may
possibly be feeding, and on every patch of shadow where
these tiny refugees, having heard her distant cry, may be
claiming the right of sanctuary till her gruesome presence
has passed. Aided by silence and partial darkness, the cap-
ture of her prey is almost certain. Sometimes, with a fear-
some cry, she casts a necromantic spell over these creatures

9
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

on the ground, fastening them to the spot, when they are
easily picked up. In this way she rids our fields of what
might become troublesome pests if not held in check, thereby
insuring the proper balance of nature.

The call of the owl, heard most frequently in the early
part of the nights of late spring and early summer, when the
young are in the nest, seems to be a cry of recognition or
salutation between mates or parent birds and their young,
calling to each other in a tongue meaningless to us, but full
of purport to them. There is no more blood-curdling sound
in all nature than the quivering wail of the great horned owl
beginning on a high key and with a piercing tremolo running
down the scale-—a sound, once heard, never to be forgotten.
It is like the scream of a woman in terrible agony. To one
hearing it, the Eskimo story is plausible enough, for nothing
less than a crushed face could call forth such a shriek.

On seeing the owl issuing from her hole in a tree or
sitting on a limb close to its bole, where, with her protective
coloration, she might easily be mistaken for a knot, we read-
ily recognize the flattened face of the erstwhile maiden, with
its close-pressed nose and affrighted eyes, and as she movesoff
across the wood her stunned, staggering flight, also, tells of
the misfortune from which the years have not aided her in
recovering.

In every land some of her descendants may be found,
in all some two hundred species, and although they differ
somewhat in size and in color, they each and every one bear
the marks—in appearance, expression and nature of the
calamity that befell their earliest progenitor—the flattened
face, the pained human voice, the shrinking habits.

The most common forms in America are the speckled
buff barn, or monkey-faced owl—belonging to a family dis-

10
 

 

Photograph by James H. Miller

SCREECH OWL AWAKENING

**At nightfall we hear her soliloquy of comfort
as she snuggles close to her dormitory bough
for a final nap after a day of deeper slumber.”’
OWL LIFE

tinct from the others—and the various species of the horned
and hoot owls.

The barn owl is the one which most commonly frequents
European ruins and which has been such a fruitful source
of romantic inspiration to the poets. She is most common in
the southern portion of our country, being rarely found north
of Massachusetts.

The screech owl—this is a misnomer, for her cry is more
of a melancholy call or tremulous sob than a screech—is found
all over the United States. In autumn it appears to be most
abundant owing to the necessity of its coming near our habi-
tations at that time in quest of the food which earlier in the
season is to be found in the fields. The voracious appetite of
this little owl renders her an invaluable farmer’s assistant.

A declining sun rouses her from her slumbers and sends
her forth to seek food for herself and young, for whom she
provides bountifully. An old apple orchard is the most
promising place to look for her nest—in a hole made by the
decay of a dead branch—though it is often found elsewhere.

At nightfall we may hear her soliloquy of comfort as
she snuggles close to her dormitory bough for a final nap
after a day of deeper slumber. Her comfortable “oo-00-00”
is strongly suggestive of the enjoyment one has in his pillow
on a crisp morning after he knows it is time for him to be
up and doing. ©

However much the owl may enjoy the slothfulness of
the home perch, it does not take her long to throw off her
drowsy feeling, for by the time the fireflies have lighted their
evening lamps she is alert and abroad. Should she go forth
earlier or on cloudy days, as she sometimes does, she would’
more than likely be pursued and attacked by other birds who
regard her as an enemy. In spirit, the jay, the chickadee and

13
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

the red thrush call out with Richard III, “Out on ye, owls!”
and quickly drive her into cover—if she is sufficiently awake
to make her escape. A cry of alarm from any one of these
birds assembles an attacking army in an incredibly short
time. If unable to escape, their victim lies flat on her back
and, while protected in the rear by the ground, turns to the
enemy an armed front of claws and beak. The jay, who
regards her at all times as an especial enemy, selects the eye
of the owl as a particularly vulnerable point and does his
best to reach it.

The long-eared owl, another common form, is strictly
nocturnal in her habits, though the short-eared, which is
equally common, frequently goes mousing on cloudy days.
The former, possessing little architectural ability, often takes
for her home the lofty deserted nest of a hawk, crow or
squirrel, while the latter, the least owl-like of all the owls,
makes her home on the ground on a high spot in a grassy
marsh.

The barred, or hoot owl, which in the United States is
by far the most common of the larger owls, is especially
marked by the absence of horns and by its dark eyes. Its
eall, “whoo-whoo-whoo-who-whoo,” with variations and ab-
breviations, Mr. Frank Chapman likens to deep-voiced,
mirthless laughter. He has heard two of these birds in con-
certed performances, one uttering about ten rapid hoots,
while the other, in a slightly higher tone, hooted half as fast,
both performers ending together with a “whoo-ah.” In Towa
their weird shrieks are often heard during the early sum-
mer, but more often in the fall.

The largest and finest of all the owls is the great horned
owl—the most majestic of her kind—who measures full

14
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Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill
GREAT HORNED OWL

Young of the ‘‘ Great Horned Owl who
has the wildest, most piercing shriek.”’
OWL LIFE

twenty-two inches and who has the wildest, most piercing
shriek.

The smallest, most lovable and least shy of this inter-
esting family is the Acadian or saw-whet, so called from his
cry, which is supposed to resemble the sound made in sharp-
ening a large saw. This little fellow is attractive in every
way: in dress—cinnamon brown streaked with white; in
manner—most friendly, and, late in the season, in voice, for
then his saw-whet tones have softened into a gentle moan.
This queer sound that he makes is said to be his amatory note,
and, while as an expression of affection it is not exactly in
line with our ideals, it ought to be as effective a love song
as the rolling tattoo of the woodpecker.

Owls, who are said to mate for a lifetime, and who are
believed never to prove unfaithful to their choice, come to
us with the earliest promises of springtime—when all nature
is silent except for the breaking up of the coverings on her
ice-locked streams and the creaking moan of bare boughs
tossed about by the winds. Immediately they seek a home
in some hollow tree, or in a deserted hawk’s, crow’s or squir-
rel’s nest. The great horned owl, the first of the family to
pay heed to vernal promises, seeks her nest as early as the
latter part of February, and is followed by the barred owl
early in March and the screech owl and the long-eared early
in April. The eggs of all are pure white with a dull, rough
surface, and the owlets which come from them, fluffy balls
like powder-puffs.

While the young are in the nest, the parent birds are
most devoted. When the red thrush is singing her even-song,
and when swallows are darting about in pursuit of the belated
insects of the day or those called out by evening damps, the
waning light brings back sight to the sleep-glazed eye of

17
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

the owl, who is forced to be most active then in seeking food.
Inactivity comes again with total darkness, when the owl
again takes to her perch till the moon rises or dawn brings
again the half light that sharpens owl vision. Bright moon-
light nights are seasons of especial prosperity to the owls;
for it is then that they see best—then that they bring most
food to the owlets—-then that the pellets of beetles’ wings,
bones, feathers and fur are heaped in the nest, making it
more soft and comfortable, for as often as every five minutes
the parent birds return to the nest bearing the fruit of their
search. Through their agency, every ten or fifteen minutes a
destructive mouse goes to his reward, and the hungry owlets
in the tree are filled with gustatory gladness. Much food
is required by the growing nestlings, and, as they become
older, bones and feathers are just as necessary a part of it
as the flesh, for it has been proven that owls cannot live on
boneless meat.

Even though food should prove scarce, maternal anxiety
and the infant plaints of her babes take the owl home every
so often through the night that the safety of her brood may
be assured. While parental devotion is at its height, the
cares of motherhood are materially lightened by the unfailing
fidelity of her mate, who does not spend all his time in
sapiently staring at the moon, as the poets would have us
believe.

The young family makes just as heavy a draft on his
time as on hers. This division of labor is well, for one of
them could hardly supply the wants of such a ravenous group
for such an extended period as the little ones remain in the
nest—nine or ten weeks; at least, it is that long before they
leave the branches immediately surrounding their home.

The rising sun causes the owl, with feathers bedraggled

18
 

Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill
YOUNG ACADIAN OWL

One of the little ones, dozing on a limb, will lool like
nothing more than a sleepy small boy in his ‘nighties.’ ’’
OWL LIFE

and wet with dew, to seek shelter for the day on a limb close
to the bole of some dense tree, where, after making an in-
different toilet, she sits with elongated body and close-drawn
feathers, looking quite like the weather-worn bark. Thus she
escapes the notice of the feathered hordes who might attack
her. After a close search here is where we are most likely to
find her, with tail close pressed to the limb in the shrinking
but vertical attitude common to all owls, faithfully standing
guard over the nest.

If we are fortunate enough to find in the evergreens
the different members of an Acadian family in a secluded
spot favorable to thought, the mother, with wide-open eyes,
will be the picture of wisdom and a fit companion for Minerva
or Pallas Athene, while one of the little ones, dozing on a
nearby limb, will look like nothing more than a sleepy small
boy in his “nighties”; and the sound he makes will tell you
plainly that he prefers the sandman’s presence to yours. If
you are gentle and sympathetic with him, however, he may
reward you by showing his confidence in you by going to
sleep in your hand—this “little downy owl.”

With feathers fluffed out the owl looks as large and
comfortable as other birds, though she is really nothing but
feathers and bones. This is why she seems so buoyant in
flight, with no suggestion of weight, and why with body con-
tracted she moves so silently along, her soft, light feathers
never cutting the air and making such sounds as are made
by the heavier birds with stiffer feathers. With no flesh on
her bones, perhaps “the owl] for all her feathers is a-cold.”

The eye of the owl is set solidly in its socket and is not
movable like the eyes of other birds; and for this reason,
when looking at anything it is necessary for her to move her
whole head from side to side—a habit no doubt for which

21
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

she is accredited in some localities with being a metamor-
phosed weaver.

Throughout the ages no bird—with the exception of the
raven—has claimed the interest of or had a greater influence
upon man than the owl, and even to those entirely devoid of
superstition there is no sound in all nature so capable of call-
ing up a horde of nameless fears as the weird cry of this
strange creature haunting the moonlight and the dusk, whose
presence lends a picturesque note to the landscape and calls
into being fancies of ruins and desolation.

When the nature lover goes out under the stars to enjoy
the purifying, uplifting moonlight, and to listen to the pleas-
ure-yielding voices of the night—crickets tuning their violins,
frogs singing in far-away marshes, the humming of moths,
the call of the katydid—each separate and distinct, with their
almost imperceptible undersong of the blended voices of
countless smaller insects and the soft sound of leaves and
grasses swayed by the breezes—the influences of the hour
awaken poetic fancies, which bear him away from earth and
its cares into the ethereal realm of dreams.

Suddenly the spell of exaltation—or possibly it may be
only a feeling of tranquil enjJoyment—is broken by a sound
coming out of the shadows and reminding him of the ter-
rors of the night, before unthought of; then the nocturnal
wanderer, even though he knows that the warning shriek is
but voicing the unconscious memory of a long-ago past, is
thankful that home is near and hurriedly seeks safety in its
shelter.

“Tt was the owl that shrieked; the fatal bellman
Which gives the sternest ‘good-night.’ ”

22
 

Photograph by James H. Miller

SCREECH OWL AWAKE AND ASLEEP

** The eye of the owl is set solidly in the socket, and is not movable
like the eyes of other birds; and for this reason when looking at
anything it is necessary for her to move her head from side to side.”’
I took the wren’s nest;
Heaven forgive me!
Its merry architects so small
Had scarcely finished their wee hall,
That, empty still, and neat and fair,
Hung idly in the summer air.
The mossy walls, the dainty door,
Where Love should enter and explore,
And Love sit. caroling outside,
And Love within chirp multiplied—

I took the wren’s nest;

Heaven forgive me!

How many hours of happy pains
Through early frosts and April rains,
How many songs at eve and morn
O’er springing grass and greening corn,
What labors hard, through sun and shade,
Before the pretty house was made!
One little minute, only one,
And she’ll fly back, and find it—gone!

I took the wren’s nest;

Bird, forgive me!

Dinan Maria Mutocx,

25
ORIGIN OF THE WREN

N the far-away time when marvelous things occurred, one
I day, as an impetuous youth of Heidelberg lay idly
dreaming and pondering under an oak, a beautiful
maiden crept forth from a great hole in the trunk of the
tree and stood smiling at him. The youth immediately arose
and made love to her, as was the custom in those days, and
his love was immediately returned, and they promised to be
true to each other forever and ever. But the maiden con-
fided to him that she belonged to the race of Dryads and
warned him that on that account he must never show anger
to her—even a slight manifestation of this malignant pas-
sion would entail on her a diminution in size; and anything
like violent rage would reduce her to a limit from which there
could be no recovery.

All went well with the lovers till one evening he, coming
much earlier than usual to the tryst—-though he thought it
was later—found no maiden at the trysting place, whereupon
he fell into a wrathful passion and uttered bitter words. |

When at the proper moment the maiden weepingly ap-
peared she at once began to shrink and continued shrinking
till she was no larger than a mouse. Wishing to escape from
one who had so wronged her, her wishes gave her wings,
when, as a wren, with an angry chirp, she flew away.

27
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

Another story is told in many lands of how a wren, pos-
sibly a descendant of this one—for it surely had human in-
telligence—became the king of birds.

It was resolved in the time “when men were as animals
and animals as men” that he should be king who could fly
the highest. The eagle, who everyone thought would win,
in full confidence of victory, immediately began his flight to-
ward the sun. When he had distanced all his competitors
and his strength was spent, in a loud voice he announced
his monarchy over all things with wings.

A crafty wren, who had hidden among the eagle’s
feathers, emerged, and, flying a little higher, called in a
shrill, jubilant voice: “Birds, look up and behold your king!”

The other birds allowed the claim of the wren, who was
duly installed in office, when the angry eagle, exasperated at
the decision, caught the wren in his talons, and, flying almost
out of sight, dropped him to the earth. The wren, more
frightened than hurt, when he had gathered himself together
and taken an inventory of his injuries, discovered that he had
suffered no loss except a piece of his tail, which was broken
off in the fall. Derisively flipping the expressive stub, he
flew to the highest bough of a great elm and sang an ex-
ultant song.

28
 

 

WREN SCOLDING
WREN LIFE

HE story does not say that the Heidelberg youth, too,
was transformed into a wren, but it must have been
that the Dryad wren’s angry chirp caused him, also,

to grow small, for when she comes out of the hole in the tree
to-day the lover who keeps tryst with her is as small as a
mouse and quite like herself in every way. Besides, did they
not promise to be true to each other forever and ever? And
the hole in the tree, too, is smaller! What changes has anger
wrought!

It was early in April when they arrived, too early for
any great abundance of insect life, their principal food, to
be abroad, but they were not seriously inconvenienced by its
scarcity, for, being plump with southern feasting, their
storage system made this, for the time being, a matter of
minor importance.

She, attractive little body, had many admirers of her
kind, and he was often compelled to defend his exclusive
right to her favor. This was usually accomplished through
wordy discussions—beloved of all wrens—but occasionally
the retort valiant was administered by the pugnacious little
lover.

As they flitted about among the trees looking for an
opening, they chanced upon this deserted dwelling of a
chickadee family, who, for some reason, had sought other

81
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

quarters. The new home did not exactly coincide with the
original plans and specifications of the old Heidelberg days,
but it was far better suited to their needs—and to their
changed conditions.

Immediately they set to work to furnish it in accordance
with wren tastes. From daylight till dark they worked. If
there be merit in activity, the banner for worth undoubtedly
belongs to the wren! All sorts of things they carried into
it—sticks, straws, rags, paper, anything they could find—
till the cavity was almost filled; then, last of all, feathers
enough to make a comfortable feather bed were carried in,
and the establishment was complete.

In this particular case—as in most others—the little
dame seemed to be the head of the family, for it was she who
carried most of the material, and she who arranged all of
it. Was it because of her earlier creation that she was per-
mitted to take the initiative?—or because she enjoyed the
work? It certainly was not on account of indolence on the
part of her spouse, for while she was making this home, he,
capricious little builder, made another nest in the near neigh-
borhood. Was this due to the unsatisfied building instinct
in him, or did he think it might: be best for him to have a
home of his own, in readiness for a possible second choice in
case anything should happen to the present sharer of his joys
and sorrows?

During the ten days that our little wren sat in her
lichened mansion, her musical mate often enlivened the
tedium of the moment by treating her to a delightful serenade
as he swung on a bough beneath her window—or by bringing
to her choice tidbits in the shape of plump spiders or luscious
grasshoppers. ‘These he carried in his beak as he climbed
the tree exactly as a mouse would climb. It was easy then

82
 

 

Photograph by Francis H. Herrick
WRENS AT HOME

‘Bringing to her choice tidbits . . . which he carried in his
beak as he climbed the tree exactly as a mouse would have done.”
WREN LIFE

to believe with the Icelander that he is the mouse’s brother.
During the whole time of his mate’s sitting on the nest, he
faithfully ministered to her necessities and jealousy guarded
their home against all intruders.

These tiny creatures are seldom mute for long at a time.
Hopping about among the branches, peering under leaves
and looking into crevices, they stop every now and then to
send up their shrill, vibrating songs. The wren is no mean
musician. In a musical contest the eagle would never have
been accorded first honors even for a moment.

At the noonday woodland concert given by the wren,
thrush, catbird, ovenbird and bobolink, when most other birds
are silent, the wren—possibly because he is nearer than any
of the others—seems to be the leader of the chorus, as his
gladsome trill rises higher and clearer than all the rest. And
often throughout the day he flies to a lofty bough and there,
atilt on a branch, pours forth his soul in music—his whole
body atremble with the fervor of his song. With open bill
pointed toward the sky he sends his trilling notes upward;
then, as if moved more and more by the gladness of the
springtime, with the wildest abandon he scatters reverbera-
ting notes about him, filling the grove with that melody which,
to a bird lover, is one of the chief charms of summer.

The concert season of this cheery little minstrel does
not close with the springtime; for full six months he sings.
Those who have never been moved by the song of a bird
have surely never had wrens nesting on their premises.

On the morning when the first baby chirps were heard
in the nest, the little wren father sang with hysterical glad-
ness from the topmost bough of a nearby elm. The song
was so like the triumphant music of Eastertide that the new
life in the nest must have inspired it; though it may have

35
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

been that the balmy summer morning, with its incense-laden
breezes, drew the song from his throat; or possibly he was
just so full of music he must needs express it. Who knows?

When it came to providing for a family, the little fel-
low began to show the effects of a purposeless youth spent
in lolling about on the Heidelberg grass. It is useless to
deny it. He'was a poor provider, allowing his mate to bring
every scrap of food that went into the begging mouths of
their hungry brood. With him, concentrated effort seemed
impossible. Though he was active enough, his activities were
nearly always misdirected. All his domestic energies seemed
to have been spent in the building of the superfluous nest.
The little ones seemed to interest him for a time—he occa-
sionally went to look at them—but never to the extent of
providing for them. He often sang lullabies to them, to be
sure, but sometimes, while he was singing these, even, the
flighty little fellow—with one eye always on the main chance
broke off in the very midst of his lay to fly away after a
passing insect.

Those who believe all wrens unsusceptible to the softer
emotions, should watch a mother wren busying herself with
the care of her nestlings. There, every move, every soft little
chirp, expresses maternity. And how she works for them!
On an average of once in every two and a half minutes,
through the livelong day, she brings food to them, when
every mouthful has done its tiny best to escape from her—
for none but active, living things are deemed good enough
for the wrenlets. The menu provided includes caterpillars,
grasshoppers, spiders, gnats, flies, beetles, bugs, myriapods
and locusts, all of which are served in the best of style; the
wings and legs are removed from beetles and grasshoppers,
while spiders are presented as legless balls. Being exclusive-

36
WREN LIFE

ly insectivorous, the wren as a gardener’s assistant occupies a
high place. Especially is she valuable in the orchard.

Between meals she devotes her time to looking over her
brood to see that no mites from the feather lining of her nest
are disturbing them—and twenty-five or thirty times each
day she cleans house thoroughly.

After smoothing down the incipient feathers of her
babes, as she departs on another marketing expedition she
always casts a solicitous look behind; and on her return she
always pauses on the threshold to survey her family as a
whole before attending to their wants. With all its cares,
the routine of nest life seems pleasing to this bustling little
creature. Possibly having always lived within the narrow
bounds of the trunk of a tree has prevented the confinement
from growing irksome to her.

While his mate is so busy with household cares the little
father occupies himself mainly, when not busy with his music,
in annoying all other creatures about the place. The Eng-
lish sparrow has come in for a good share of his teasing and
scolding. Nothing seems to please the little meddler more
than to peck at the eggs, or to pull straws from the nest of
his neighbor, with whom he is decidedly unpopular. A
valiant defender of his household, when he recognizes ulterior
designs on the home in the tree, on the part of frolicking
squirrels, he loudly deprecates their society, expressing his
anger in such a way as, in the old days, would have made
them “grow smaller than a mouse,” but which in these only
makes them scamper away.

Often he flies to the swallows’ adobe huts to give them
teasing pecks—and such a busybody as he is! There is not a
crack, crevice, or hole in the neighborhood, whether occupied
or not, that he has not looked into. He is not the only in-

87
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

quisitive member of the family, however, for when his mate
is not busy with her household cares, .she, too, is meddling
with neighborhood affairs.

But no matter how engrossed they are with affairs,
whether foreign or domestic, the slightest stir in the leaf
screen above them, different from the stir of the wind, always
reminds them that there are babes in the nest and that they
are their defenders. If a squirrel or blue-jay happens to
be the disturber, a quick touch on the brush or a peck in the
back from one of these little feathered creatures is enough to
cause a retreat. Occasionally a clawed paw grazes the saucy
tail of one of them, but not often.

However much the wren may enjoy nest life her reign
there is brief, for soon her infant brood grows large enough
and soon they are possessed of the proper equipment of
feathers to render a larger field more desirable. On leaving
the nest the uncertain and fitful flight of the little ones is
guided for a few days by the parents, ever on the alert to
prevent them in their fear from scrambling into rat-holes or
other dangerous places—to a young wren any sort of hole
is a place of safety. As he grows older he learns that those
on the ground are an exception, likely to be occupied by
enemies.

At nightfall, the wrenlets are guided to low trees or
bushes, which they climb in their mouse-like way—while they
are yet too weak to fly up as well as down. But as wrens
develop rapidly, in a day or two they will be able to fly almost
anywhere, and in a few more days they will have the ability
to not only go where they choose, but also to assume their
own support, thus leaving their parents to devote themselves
to their own pleasures.

Before the summer is over we will see these fledglings,

38
WREN LIFE

like their most remote ancestors, flying into passions at noth-
ing, their whole bodies atremble with rage at the slightest
provocation. They will grow up to be just as loyal to those
they love—while their love lasts—and just as troublesome to
their enemies. They will be just as saucy, intrepid, jealous,
strategic, opinionated, active and musical as they, but any
one who is the least bit observing will see that each of them,
like his elders, has his own individuality; each has his own
characteristic way of flipping his tail, of chirping, of express-
ing tenderness and of annoying his neighbors.

As the season advances, mutual attachment between the
older pair dies out. Had we been more familiar with the
ways of wrens in general we would have known from the
beginning that theirs was a love destined to wane with the
season.

Yet whatever their faults, it is with regret that we notice
coming into their voices the autumn cricket’s tone, for it tells
us plainly that the time of their departure is near—that the
wander-thirst is upon them. When they leave, whether to-
gether or separately, they will journey by easy stages toward
the summer land of Mexico, where they will not only escape
the severity of our winters, but will have their voices fresh-
ened for another concert season among us. Our little wren,
like other singing birds, will leave us in the daytime—he
never travels at night. On his departure for that softer
clime, as we catch a farewell glimpse of his flashing, flitting
presence, his last reverberating warble will awaken in our
hearts an echoing trill, and a hope that in the coming spring-
time, if we encourage him to settle in the old home, by way
of recompense he will give us many a song.

Though these may be sung to other mates in other nests,
and even though the renderings may be different, they will

39
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

be but variations upon the same old themes as the songs of
yesteryear—songss that may never lure us, like the Manxmen
of old, to watery graves in the depths of the great ocean—
’ but songs that will lure us into the sea of dreams as we rest
under shady trees as did the Heidelberg youth in the long
ago.

40
RP age gs Vv a J =
He clasps the crag with hooked hands ;
Close to. the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

41
LEGEND OF THE EAGLE

N old legend tells us that the eagle, the king of birds,
is the one creature on earth who is able to recover
departed youth; and the great age to which he is

known to live lends color to the story.

It is related that when this bird feels that the season
of youth is passing by and when his young are still in the
nest, he leaves the aging earth and soars toward the sun,
the consumer of all that is harmful. Mounting upward even
to the third region of the air—the region of meteors—he
circles and swings about under the great fiery ball in their
midst, turning every feather to its scorching rays, then, with
wings drawn back, like a meteor himself, he drops into some
cold spring or into the ocean wave, there to have the heat
driven inward by the soul-searching chill of its waters. Then
flying to his eyrie, he nestles among his warm fledglings
till, startmg into perspiration, he throws off age with his
feathers.

That his rejuvenescence may be complete, as his suste-
nance must be of youth, he makes prey of his young, feeding
on the nestlings that have warmed him. He is clothed anew
and youth is again his.

43
EAGLE LIFE

PERCH on a tall tree, standing higher than its fel-
lows on some rugged hill or mountain-side, with all
his surroundings—trees, rocks and waters—express-

ing majesty and strength—with all his chosen environment
in perfect harmony with the spirit of the bird, the eagle seems
eminently worthy of all the honor given to him by the an-
cients, and of being exalted above all feathered creatures.
His chosen perch, the tree on which he rests, is an expression
of his staunch, uncompromising nature.

From his high watch-tower there, what wonders does
he see! The making of each new day—and its passing; and
the great mountains with their upthrust peaks and their
quiet valleys between, changing with the successive seasons
and with every passing mood of the sky. No long hours
of laborious toiling up a pathless mountain-side for him
that he may view a scene of grandeur; such views as mortals
are permitted to see but once or twice in a lifetime—perhaps
never—are spread out before him always. He sees the dawn
rising from the purpled east and striking every cloud with
gold and crimson and rosy purple, while the waters below
multiply their lights and colors till the whole world is suf-
fused and aglow. At noonday he gazes with unflinching
eye at a scorching sun, under whose glance the grasses burn
and curl up on the plains below, and later in the day he sees

44
 

 

.

Photograph by Francis H. Herrick
THE EAGLE AND HIS MATE AT HOME

**Aperch on a tall tree standing higher than its fellows...
with all his surroundings expressing majesty and strength.””
EAGLE LIFE

the watch-fires lighted in the evening sky; and when these
burn low and darkness closes in, he sees the forests of pines
as a green bloom on the bronze mountains—like the purple
bloom on the grape—gradually sink into their dark back-
ground, leaving them black and somber—then the moun-
tains themselves sink into and become a part of the darkness.

Again he sees the life going out of the living clouds as
the sunlight leaves them—their rose and pale gold and ame-
thyst lights purpling and graying till they are deadened and
darksome as the mountains beneath them. And when the
clouds have grown heavy and the storm gathers, when the
fierce lightning darts about among the cleft peaks in the
distance, when, as it comes nearer, great trees bend to the
blast or are uprooted by its force, when all living creatures
in the comparatively safe valley below are filled with terror
—rabbits cowering in their burrows, field-mice seeking home
shelter, the owl perching close to the trunk of her home tree,
and the woodpecker scarcely daring to peep from her hole—
the eagle shows no fear. Facing the storm on his solitary
bough, by the flapping of his great wings he shows his enjoy-
ment in the warfare of the elements. The fierce heart of the
eagle is made glad as he defiantly faces the storm.

Compared with this, what, to him, were the conflicts
of men at the head of whose armies he was borne in the years
that are gone?

When he chooses to leave his lofty perch, one stroke of
his mighty wings carries him far into the air, and he mounts
to heights far beyond mortal vision, in ever-narrowing
spirals, till he seems to disappear in the sun itself,

When again he is seen, seemingly motionless wings are
bearing him along, far above the highest peaks—and beyond
the mountains, where a different world lies beneath him—

47
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

broad valleys veined by streams that seem but curved and
bent threads of silver viewed distantly—and plains whose
wind-swept grasses are like the smooth waves on the surface
of the quiet sea beyond the mountains.

Swinging or poised high in space, with a cloudless sky
above and a panoramic earth below, he is master of the situa-
tion, for the very air is obedient to his will. Setting his
tense wings to the air currents, around the great upturned
bowl above he sweeps and careens and circles as if borne
about by a whirlwind existing for his enjoyment; then shoots
off across the hills to a point over a lake, where again he
circles and swings, his keen eye all the while searching its
waters, till, suddenly, dropping like some black body shot
from the sky, he falls to the water, whose surface is scarcely
disturbed .as he rises with a great fish, slain with one grasp
of his clutching talons, and bears it away to his eyrie, there
to feast at leisure on his finny prey.

Solitude seems essential to eagle happiness, for these
birds always prefer to make their homes among the wildest
scenery, their chief haunts being about the most lonely parts
of our great lakes, or amid the Rockies, though among them
there is occasionally a pair who are willing to live in more
thickly inhabited sections—possibly because their individual
ancestors lived there when it, too, was a wilderness, for the
eagle’s attachment to place is strong. The only indispensa-
ble requisite is nearness to water in which fish abound.

Some eagles choose rocky ledges as building spots, while
others prefer to make their homes in lofty trees. If the latter
location is chosen, they are careful to select a place where
there will be nothing to interfere with their free movements.

In his home the eagle is always an aristocrat, never
moving about from place to place, but clinging to the an-

48
 

Photograph by Francis H. Herrick
EAGLE’S TALON
EAGLE LIFE

cestral pile as long as the location endures. The-nest is
constructed of broken branches and sticks two or three feet
long and made more compact by the addition of weed stems,
coarse grasses and sometimes roots and sod. Each succeed-
ing year more material is added, until, after being occupied
for a number of years, it is a very bulky affair, five or six
feet high and four or five feet across. Unlike most other
birds, eagles make their nest their home and not merely a
nursery.

This majestic bird shows his kingly character in per-
forming very little labor himself. While occasionally he
goes on a fishing tour, it is usually under stress of hunger.
Ordinarily he exacts tribute from the industrious osprey, his
powerful but humble slave, who usually relinquishes his
choicest catch on hearing the intimidating cry of his superior.
When this subject fails to provide a sufficiency, the ravenous
vulture is occasionally made to give of his food—sometimes
even to yield from his crop that which he has swallowed to
satisfy his own hunger—that this king of birds may be made
comfortable, whatever the cost to his subjects. He does not
spend his time in continual feasting, however, for a full re-
past will often last him several days.

Even in captivity the eagle does not lay aside his
kingly bearing: pacing his perch in a six-foot cage, this
royal, feathered pirate, with head thrown back as he looks
on us with fearless, unflinching eye, has the manner of some
mighty viking of old pacing the deck of his vessel. Though
a captive, he will never be intimidated, never be other than
a king.

51
Gallant and gay in their doublets gray,
All at a flash, like the darting of flame,

Chattering Arabic, African, Indian—
Certain of springtime the swallows came.

Doublets of gray silk and surcoats of purple,
And ruffs of russet round each little throat,
Wearing such garb they had crossed the waters,

Mariners sailing with never a boat.

Cleaving the clouds with their moon-edged pinions,
High over city and vineyard and mart;
April to pilot them; May speeding after ;
And each bird’s compass his small red heart.
Epwin Arnoxp.

53
THE ORIGIN OF SWALLOWS

N the long ago, before it had all been quite settled

I whether the human creatures on this earth of ours were

to remain in human form or to take the form of birds

and animals, or whether the birds and animals were to be

changed into human creatures, a group of children at play

were building mud houses on the edge of a cliff near their

home, when a magic spell was cast over them, changing them

into swallows—birds who would evermore spend their time

in playing at children’s games in the upper air and in build-
ing houses of clay.

To-day we see their homes like children’s play-houses
under shelving rocks, on the edges of forests, or under the
eaves of our barns, or in the form of holes in sandy cliffs;
and on summer evenings, as darkness descends, like earth
children pursuing fireflies, we may see these aerial children
darting about in the sky in pursuit of those will-o’-the-wisps
of the air.

—Eskimo Legend.

55
SWALLOW LIFE

graceful of all birds, the swallow, whose flight is

the poetry of motion and whose twitterings are a
delightful intoxicant, the mere memory of which calls forth
visions of roseate sunset skies and all the delights of summer
evenings. Vernal promises may lure other birds to our
groves, but not the swallow. The warmth that is enduring,
‘ and green leaves and spring blossoms which provide the
insect fare upon which she subsists, must be really here
before she will come to abide with us.

Of this charming family the earliest to appear are the
white-breasted or tree swallows, which, with the advance of
civilization, are rapidly losing the habit on which the latter
name is based. Originally they built their nests only in hol-
low trees, but, like their cousins, the purple martins, they are
gradually learning to prefer the homes provided for them
by man, and their rent is paid in the service of ridding the
air of insect pests.

Tree swallows with their pure-white breasts and mantles
of steel-blue washed with green, are familiar figures darting
and whirling above our marshes, dipping into and skimming
the surface of their waters, collecting the insects which swarm
there. As flocks of them whirl and eddy about in ever-

56

eee late in the springtime comes to us the most
 

   

a Photograph by Edward Warren

NESTS OF CLIFF SWALLOWS UNDER
EAVES OF CABIN
SWALLOW LIFE

narrowing circles above the ponds, they seem to be herding
the insect swarms for more convenient capture.

Later in the season the attractive young of this species
are seen perching in groups among the bushes or sunning
themselves on dead or leafless branches.

Between the middle and the last week of April the barn
swallow, the most familiar and the most gaily robed member
of the family, comes to make her home on the rafters or
underneath the eaves of our barns, where she rears her twit-
tering young. The forehead and gorget of chestnut—the
faded bloodstain evidencing an ancient crime—differentiate
her from other swallows, as does also the more pronounced
fork of the tail and the deep buff below the chestnut breast.

If the vicissitudes of the winter have not rendered this
impossible, on returning to her haunts of other summers she
hastens to repair the battered masonry of her home of yester-
year. This home, among many others of its kind, is built
of row upon row of pellets of mud and straw held together
by the glutinous saliva of the bird, and lined with fine grass
and poultry feathers, the latter usually overflowing the nest.

While the swallow is sitting, her mate treats her with
remarkable tenderness, feeding and caressing her, and even
relieving her in the task of incubation for short periods when
she flies abroad for needed exercise and in quest of insect
food. In eleven days the young appear and are carefully
tended by both parents.

In two weeks’ time the birdlings are able to leave the
nest, and in another week or two are self-supporting or par-
tially so. Even after they are able to take long flights the
parents are occasionally seen meeting them in mid-air, and,
after apparently touching the beaks of their young with
their own, dart off in another direction. We are told by

59
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

those who ought to know that in this demonstration, seem-
ingly a caress, the young are being given extra food by their
more proficient parents.

The cliff swallow, not quite so common, yet very gen-
erally distributed over North America, may easily be dis-
tinguished from the barn swallow, which it resembles in color,
by the shortness of its tail. The tail of this swallow is only
slightly forked. She may be further identified by a patch
of brown on the back at the base of the tail. The more or
less retort-shaped nest of this bird is built of mud, supposed-
ly agglutinated, without straw. Great numbers of these are
attached to cliffs in the more unsettled portions of the coun-
try, but where the region is more thickly inhabited they are
fastened under the eaves of buildings much as hornets’ nests
are.

The brown-backed bank swallow and the rough-winged
differ from the others so greatly in color that it is not hard
to distinguish them—besides, they are much smaller. At a
distance, a party of the former flying about, in and out of
the entrance of their homes, look much like swarming bees.

The glossy blue-black purple martin, one of the most
attractive of swallows, and familiar to every one who has
ever lived in the country, is one of our most useful birds.
According to Mr. Ridgeway, one pair of these will destroy
more harmful insects in a season than all the English spar-
rows in a township would kill in a lifetime. Unfortunately,
the alien sparrow is driving this beautiful and useful bird
away from our homes. Since the advent of this most dis-
agreeable and quarrelsome of birds, many martins have de-
serted the boxes where they have made their homes for
decades.

In spots where cattle gather, or on hot summersdays

60
 

Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill
YOUNG CLIFF OR EAVE SWALLOWS

“The attractive young of this species are seen _perching in groups
among the bushes, or sunning themselves on dead or leafless branches.”’
SWALLOW LIFE

where they stand knee-deep in deliciously cooling, shadowy
pools, their comfort is greatly increased by groups of these
-aerial voyagers—barn swallows or martins if near homes, or
white-breasted swallows if in marsh-cornered meadows—-
sailing about overhead, darting here and there and dipping
down to take on the wing the pestiferous insects that con-
stantly annoy the herd.

The one fault of these graceful birds is that they are
notoriously poor housekeepers. With the exception of the
disagreeable sparrow and some birds of prey, most birds
carry away from their homes every scrap of uncleanness—
every bit of refuse food and every loose feather. But it is
not so with the swallow. The delights of flitting about in
the air and clearing it of all life save their own are too al-
luring to admit of their spending any of their time in the
laborious task of housecleaning. Possibly good housekeep-
ing is more than ought to be expected of children trans-
formed—for such they are—with no cares to disturb them.
Their food, even, is provided for them. All they seem to
have to do is to leave their broad mouths wide open as they
fly about, and their nourishment enters as they pass through
the air. Tivery click of the bill as it closes tells that the
career of some tiny creature is ended. Of course a few
smaller mollusks are picked up and eaten as the birds amuse
themselves about wet places, but their gathering is but child’s
play, as is the building of the mud houses.

No more gregarious birds than these can be found any-
where. Who ever heard of a solitary swallow? All varieties
live in colonies, and even in their longest flights they keep
together. The young, on leaving the nest, never disband,
as do many other birds, but keep constantly together, young
barn swallows on some projecting piece of timber, martins

63
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

about the home box, and tree swallows on some convenient
bush.

Wherever we see them—floating in mid-air over grazing
or homing herds, or wheeling about through the overhanging
mists of mosquitoes above stagnant pools, or with momen-
tary touches of breast or wing-tips breaking the glassy sur-
face of ponds into myriads of infinitesimal waves—they chal-
lenge our admiration. The grace of the swallow shows itself
even in the mixing of her clay; as she turns and sways and
stirs, her slender wings are held daintily above all pollution.
Even though at times she must needs come down to earth,
she is never of the earth.

In the early morning we see hundreds of these beautiful
birds sitting about and pluming themselves on telephone or
telegraph wires, which would seem bare as leafless boughs
without them. Here they have spent the night with heads
tucked under deafening wings, that shut out the requiems
chanted by the resonant voices of mosquitoes and other in-
sects for the hosts of their slain kindred whose brief lives
have ended on the day just past. And in the evening gloam
they course about in the air as high as eye can see—apparent-
ly for the mere pleasure and exhilaration of being in the air
—and of it—then swinging low and dipping down to the
very surface of streams and ponds in pursuit of insects, aerial
and aquatic—then again taking longer flights, apparently
pursuing only each other.

In autumn, when the blended greens of grove and field
have changed to crimson and gold and brown, and the hum
of insect wings is growing more and more faint, we notice
the swallows coursing and speeding about over farmyards
and meadows in larger groups, their numbers augmented by
the broods of summer; and when we see them staying more

64
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SWALLOW LIFE

and more closely together we know that preparation is being
made for the fall migration and that the hour of their de-
parture is about to strike. Some day soon we may expect a
group of them—possibly the rough-winged or the martins—
coursing and whirling in ever-widening circles, then mount-
ing higher and starting for some perpetual summer land—
probably tropical America—where insects are always hum-
ming.

On their way they will stop for brief rests among the
bayberries, which afford them both food and shelter—then
on strong wings covering ninety or a hundred miles an hour
—continue their journey. Soon they will be followed by
other groups, till the haunts that knew them are deserted and
we are left with only a memory of their happy, child-like,
twittering voices and their graceful, rhythmic flight.

The swallow has no song—and needs none; her elusive,
suggestive twitter sets chords in ourselves to vibrating that
awaken harmonies not of sound alone, but so blended with
color and motion that they are far more beautiful than any
mere outside song could ever be. Yet they are not wholly
within ourselves, for, having in them all the delightful sounds
and odors of a summer evening—all the glowing, permea-
ting, vanishing colors and shifting shadows of sunset skies—
they carry us out of self.

As the twitterings’ of these loving and lovable birds
bring back to us a flood of recollections of a happy childhood,
when flitting, flickering fireflies were will-o’-the-wisps to be
followed about the dewy orchard with its fruity odors, we
bless the fairy who gave to these graceful, happy creatures
not only a perpetual childhood, but the power to recall in
us our own childhood—even though it be but for a moment.

67
The flying rumors gathered as they rolled,

Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told,

And all who told it added something new,

And all who heard it made enlargement, too;

In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew.
Pore.

69
THE ORIGIN OF MAGPIES

N the authority of Ovid, magpies were the discon-
tented, tale-bearing daughters of Pierus, who were
changed into birds for their garrulity. When the

curse fell upon them, endeavoring to speak and, with great
clamor, to menace with their insolent hands, they beheld quills
growing out of their nails, dusky feathers springing from
their arms, and each saw the face of the other shooting out
into a hard beak, as these new birds were added to the wood.
When in their alarm they frantically beat their breasts they
were elevated by the motion and hung poised in the air as
magpies, the scandal of the groves. And even though their
forms were changed, their talkativeness remained, and their
garrulity and enormous love of chattering.

71
LEGEND OF THE MAGPIE’S NEST-BUILDING

CCORDING to an old story, the magpie was the last
bird to learn nest-building. When it became neces-
sary for her to establish a home, though she was proud

and arrogant, she finally put away her pride to the extent of
asking the other birds to give her some instruction in the art.
In their generosity they agreed and assembled on the ap-
pointed day to assist her.

The materials having been collected, the blackbird,
taking up a twig, said: “Place that stick there,” and laid
it in place. “Ah!” said the conceited magpie, “I knew that
before.” Each of the other birds there assembled followed
with useful suggestions, demonstrating every step, but all
through the lesson the heedless magpie chattered: “Ah! I
knew that before. Ah! I knew that before.”

At length, when the nest was but half completed, and
the patience of her instructors entirely exhausted, they said
with one voice: “Well, Mistress Mag, since you know all
about it you may build your nest yourself.”

From that day on, no bird of the wood would allow the
foolish magpie to see her building her own nest, even, and
so it is that magpies, ever since, have built ramshackle nests.

72
Piateerann by ear Marien
THE MAGPIE, THE SCANDAL OF THE GROVE

“A pied bird perches on a branch that bends with his
weight as he balances himself with his beautiful tail.’’

 
MAGPIE LIFE

N almost any of the valleys among our western moun-
tains one is likely to find these beautiful and enter-
taining birds in their fullest perfection. As the chance

visitor sits rapt in admiration of the distant peaks and
passes with the marvelous lights and shadows upon them,
suddenly his dream is disturbed by a living streak of black
and white passing across the foreground of the picture, as
a pied bird perches on a nearby branch that bends with his
weight as he balances himself with the beautiful tail that
served him as a rudder in his sail across the sky. With every
motion of the branch it now tips gracefully up and down,
allowing countless iridescent hues to chase each other over
its glossy surface. .

His broad patches of perfect color are glorified by the
sunlight playing upon them, the immaculate white being
given a snowy depth, while over the darker areas of his daz-
zling plumage elusive metallic greens and purples and blues
stroked by delicate rose and amethyst are made to pass in
quick succession.

All unconscious of his human observer, the charming
bird, full of the spirit of the springtime, utters a tender,
beseeching strain not intended for mortal ears, and seldom
heard by them. This song, sung only when the bird believes
himself to be alone with his kind, comes as a glad surprise,

75
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

for it is utterly at variance with anything which has ever
been written about him.

Without waiting for a reply, the gaily-clad minstrel
flies off with a stop or two to another tree, where he is joined
by a mate as beautiful as himself, then quickly follows the
chatter for which their tribe is famous. Though they are
soon out of sight, the gossip continues, now coming from one
part of the grove, now from another. Evidently the pair
have been joined by others, for such a volume of chatter is
certainly beyond the power of any two birds, however much
they may be interested in neighborhood affairs.

It was doubtless this obtrusive, bleating chatter, as well
as their senseless shrieking cries in flight, that gave rise to
the ancient belief that magpies were companions of Bacchus,
with tongues loosed by wine, who continued their revel even
in the absence of the bibulous god. With penetrating eyes
and ears alert, together with the keen intelligence possessed
by these birds, it is possible that they may be discussing af-
fairs of moment rather than the trivialities supposed to in-
terest them. Perhaps the pair who refused to enter the ark
and who remained outside perched on the rooftree, supposed-
ly gossiping, were talking to some purpose. ‘There were
times when Noah was not as discerning as he might have
been, and even our interpretation of the language of the
magpie of to-day is wholly out of keeping with the mental
strength of the bird.

Seldom are magpies seen alone. Usually, except dur-
ing the nesting period, they go about in pairs or, in late
summer, with their families of the season. When foraging,
they bound over the ground with charming grace, stopping
now and then to tug at a worm, after the manner of our
friends the robins.

16
 

Photograph by Edward Warren
MAGPIE’S NEST

‘©The ramshackle nest, an immense structure of
sticks and mud, resembling a great tumble weed.”
ay of Ornithoiogy
159 Sapsucker Woods Roary

MAGPIE LIFE Cornell University

Athacts New York 1assq
While picking their way among the wet grasses and

low herbage or over muddy places, their beautiful tails, as
their most precious treasures, are held daintily aloft, and free
from all pollution, as the birds search for snails, caterpillars,
young mice and frogs. Occasionally they mount the backs
of grazing cattle to feed on the flies that molest them, but
usually they do not wander far from the thick shrubby
growths, where they seek cover on the approach of enemies,
real or supposed, and into which, on scenting danger, they
disappear as stealthily as cat-birds or cuckoos. It is here
that their homes may be found.

The ramshackle nest, wholly incompatible with either
the fastidiousness or the intelligence of the bird, is an im-
mense structure of mingled sticks and mud indiscriminately
arranged, somewhat resembling one of the great tumble
weeds of the western plains, placed several feet from the
ground among thick masses of oak brush or similar growths
in the wilder regions, or, where civilization has encroached
on natural territory, in some fruit tree.

That her seclusion may be more complete and to pro-
tect herself and young against the incursions of predatory
birds, the magpie covers her dwelling with a dome of twigs,
leaving two openings at opposite sides for entrance and exit.
As she sits with her head at one, her unspread tail sometimes
protrudes visibly from the other, betraying her whereabouts
at a time when she is especially desirous of escaping notice.

Like the robin, this bird often reconstructs the old nest
from year to year, and, like the wren, she often builds sham
nests, either for the purpose of diverting attention from the
one occupied, or to live in should accident befall.

Though the magpie is possessed of traits that are far
from admirable—as a petty thief she has fairly won the name

79
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

of “egg-lift,” and her fondness for a meat diet has made her
a murderess of even large animals—her unfailing grace and
beauty are bound to challenge our admiration, and to add
life and charm to the landscape. We admire her, too, as an
example of superior motherhood. Zealously she plies her
young with food while in the nest, and diligently she devotes
herself to their education during their first summer.
When reared from the nest, the magpie makes a most
interesting pet who delights in following and entertaining
her owner, but mature captives have little value. There is
scarcely a community within her range of residence that does
not boast one of these pitiful prisoners, but how different
she is from those in their natural environment. “All her
merry quips are o’er.” Gone is her gaiety. Gone, too, is
the beautiful iridescent wash from her plumage. The once
snowy patches are sullied and the once beautiful tail, her
erstwhile pride, is limp, dulled and bedraggled, a thing of
rags and tatters. Yet it expresses her condition as eloquent-
ly as it did in the jaunty care-free days in the wood. And
all this has been brought upon her by her accomplishments!
As man in the old days proclaimed her the scandal of
the grove, she in her present estate proclaims him—who has
so misunderstood her and so degraded her—the real deserver

of the title.

80
 

YOUNG MAGPIES JUST OUT OF THE NEST
When musing on companions gone,
We doubly feel ourselves alone.

Scorr—Marmion.
THE ORIGIN OF THE KINGFISHER

HE beautiful love story of Ceyx and Halcyone has
been handed down to us through the ages.

He, the brave and handsome young Thessalian
king, son of the Morning Star, and his gentle and beautiful
wife, Halcyone, daughter of the wind god, Eolus, gave to
each other such love as few ever know. Each to the other
was dearer than life—to her he was the wisest and bravest
of mortals, while, to him, she was as beautiful as the morn-
ing.

During the first days they spent together no discord
marred their happiness, no cloud darkened their sky—all was
joy and brightness.

After a time, dire misfortune came to the family of
Ceyx—amisfortunes which he believed to be indicative of the
displeasure of the gods. Not knowing what to do to appease
them, he decided to consult the oracle of Apollo. This neces-
sitated a long and dangerous voyage to Clares in Ionia.

On telling Halcyone of his intention, a deathly paleness
came over her. Jealousy, which ever gnaws at the vitals of
those who love deeply, now tortured her till she cried out in
agony: “What fault of mine has turned you from me?
Where now is the love you once gave? Have you learned
to feel comfortable with Halcyone away?”

Then with honeyed words she endeavored to dissuade
him. Finding these of no avail, she told him of the dangers

85
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

awaiting him upon the waters. The disasters which she pic-
tured were not born of idle fancy. Having lived in the cave
of Eolus, and having often witnessed the violence of the
winds, she knew whereof she spoke. She told him of the dire-
ful work of the winds, which rushed together with such fury
that fire flashed from the conflict; and of their battles with
the waves; then, seeing that her Ceyx was not to be turned
aside, she said: “If you must go, take me with you, for if
T am left behind I shall suffer not only the real dangers
which you pass through, but those also which my fears sug-
gest.”

Ceyx was greatly troubled, for he also wished that she
might go with him, but he loved her too dearly to expose her
to the dangers which he knew he must encounter. Assuring
her of his enduring love, he left her with this promise: “By
the rays of my father, the day-star, if fate permits, I will re-
turn before the moon shall have twice rounded her orb.”
With sobs and with weeping, the young wife clung to him
until the men at the oars were ready to pull out into the
waters, and he could linger no longer.

With tearful eyes she watched him wave.a last farewell
as his barque went out across the ocean. Not until its hull
was lost to sight, and the sails, even, had disappeared, did
she return to their lonely abode, where everything reminded
her of the departed loved one. The long days which followed
were made dark by forebodings and tears.

Ceyx, too, was lonely and longed to turn back where
love was calling, but duty bade him go—so away from home
and happiness and safety he sailed. Yet, though there was
a tumult in his heart, he felt no fear for his own safety, for
the sea was calm.

But, when midway between the two lands, as night is

86
 

Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill
THE LONE FISHER
THE ORIGIN OF THE KINGFISHER

fast coming down, a great storm arises. The orders of the
master to his men are unheard because of the mighty noise
of winds and waves. Each man tries to do what seems to
him is best, but their efforts are in vain, for the heavens and
the sea seem to have united to destroy them. The clouds
come down in great sheets to the waves, which rise to meet
them; winds beat about them on every side. The noise is
deafening, and the light from the conflict blinding, as it
comes to them through the inky blackness of the night.
Powerless of themselves, all call on the gods for aid, and
think of the loved ones at home and of the pledges left be-
hind. Ceyx calls on his father, the day-star, and on the
father of Halcyone, the wind god, but they are deaf to his
entreaties—and all through his prayer runs the name of
Halcyone, the one for whom his heart yearns, yet for whose
absence he is thankful. Finally, as the vessel is torn asunder
and the very pieces beaten into the turbulent waters, as he
clings to a spar he prays that the waves may bear his lifeless
form to her. As a great wave tears him from the spar and
he goes down into the dark water, last on his lips is the name
of Halcyone.

She, at home—full of fears—is counting the days till
his promised return. The garments which he loved to see
her wear are made ready to be worn—as are the garments
which he shall wear. Ceaselessly she prays to the gods—to
one for his safety and return, to another for his success—but
most often to Juno, to whom the wives of that day prayed
that their husbands might remain faithful. Long she be-
seeches that he may meet no one who could become dearer to
him than herself.

At length, Juno, knowing of the fate which had befallen
the absent one, and in sympathy with the pleadings of his

89
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

troubled wife, sends her messenger, Iris, to the great god,
Somnus, asking that a vision, in the form of Ceyx, be sent
to Halcyone to tell of the dread happening. Hearing her
message, Somnus sends his messenger to do her bidding. In
the form of her loved one, Morpheus leans over the bed of
the sleeping Halcyone and tells her of all the circumstances
of the wreck—how, to the last, the thoughts of her loved one
had been with her, and how all that was mortal of him would
come back to her on the waves.

Crying out: “Ceyx is dead! This it was that my pre-
saging mind foreboded,” her cries awake her. The night is
spent in grief and tortures of the mind. When the first light
of day appears she hastens to the shore that she may be there
ready to receive her returning Ceyx. Before her mind passes
every scene of their life together. It was here that this oc-
curred, and here that—and here that he gave her his last kiss.
With such mixed pleasure and torture she awaits his coming.
As with many prayers she begs that her life may be taken,
that her spirit may be with his, she looks out across the waters
and searches every wave for the loved form.

The gods take pity on her. Borne by the waves, the
dead form is coming, and, seeing it in the distance, a shudder
runs through her frame as she reaches out her arms, which
take the shape of wings, bearing her to him. She is no longer
a woman, but a bird—the halcyon. Ceyx, too, takes on this
form and rises from the waves to meet her, and they fly away
together across the water, there to make a home on its bosom.
No more will they be separated. During the building of
their home and the time for its enjoyment, beautiful days are
given them, days when the waves are still and only gentle
zephyrs stir the air, and the whole world is bathed in warm,

golden light—halcyon days.
90
THE LONE FISHER

N a hole in a bank beside a lonely road the little king-

fishers first saw the light—if blind creatures, born in

a pocket in the earth, could be said to see light. At

any rate, that was where they cast off their shelly coverings
—six helpless, homely kingfisher infants.

Their house was a simple one, merely a narrow passage-
way with a slight upward slant leading back into the bank
for a distance of four or five feet, terminating in a single
vaulted chamber, six or seven inches high and less than a foot
across. A modest dwelling, surely, yet snug and comfor-
table.

The elder pair had selected the spot, an ideal one from
a kingfisher’s point of view, shortly after their return from
the South in the spring. Its seclusion would render it se-
cure against the depredations of boys, while the steepness of
the bank would make it impervious to the incursions of
hawks, owls, snakes, weasels and other callers whose visits
would be likely to result in casualties.

Keenly alive to the advantages of safety, they would
have chosen this spot for, these reasons alone, though they
realized it had other attractions as well.

A few feet from the foot of the bank was a pond, or
bayou, partly grown up with rushes and purple flags, fur-
nishing an abiding place for the many forms of animal life
which these pioneers knew full well how to appreciate. And

91
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

only a short flight as they saw it, or little more than a stone’s
throw from a human point of view, was a sluggish stream
plentifully peopled with fish—small fry, to be sure, but large
enough to answer their needs perfectly. They, themselves,
were not over a foot in length, so what did they care for a
larger catch?

Over both pond and stream hung trees with long, out-
reaching branches—some of them alluringly bare—such
watch-towers as nature, only, could construct. In the early
morning the sun shone on the bank where their home was to
be, and in the afternoon a beautiful tree cast a deep shade
over it.

Then, too, the chosen place was in the neighborhood of
their childhood’s home; not in the same bank—a railroad had
demolished that—but so near that either of them by taking
a short flight could view the scenes of childhood. Altogether
it seemed an ideal location fora home. With many a rattling
chuckle the pair congratulated themselves on the good for-
tune which had led them to it.

When it came to building their dwelling—or digging
it, for their ways were not the ways of human creatures—
both took a hand—or claw—in the work. Sociologists would
have us believe that division of labor in the family is a prod-
uct of modern times. In the bird world it has been a custom
throughout the ages. There a wife is neither a drudge nor a
mere idler or entertainer, but a true companion and help-
meet, manifesting her love by always doing her share toward
making a home and providing for the family.

For two long weeks both birds were occupied in excava-
ting the gallery, taking turn about at their task, stopping only
for refreshments and needed sleep. Though the work was
hard they cared little for that, for were they not looking for-

92
 

 

 

Photograph by Francis H. Herrick
KINGFISHER EXCAVATING THE DWELLING
THE LONE FISHER

ward to better times? Though the future held many sorrows
in store for them they could not foresee them. The joys, only,
they anticipated, thus doubling their happiness.

When their establishment was completed it was snug,
warm and comfortable, a home for any weather. After six
white eggs were laid, there began a long and weary season
of staying at home for the little dame, compelled by necessity
to spend much of her time in keeping the eggs warm. In
this, even, she was assisted by her mate, who shared in the
duties of incubation.

The air was bad and the place dark, with no means of
ventilating or lighting it. She could reach out in any direc-
tion and touch the wall. Talk of narrow environment! The
mere thought of such living would be unendurable to a
human creature, but the kingfishers viewed the matter in
an entirely different light. The place was as comfortable as
they could make it, and the only sort of a home suitable for
the needs of the infant brood soon to dwell there. When the
little dame’s bones ached too much from occupying the
cramped position necessary, she went outside for a little
while to stretch her weary limbs, and, incidentally, caught a
fish or two, breathed in a little ozone, and viewed the beauti-
ful outside world, where later in the season she hoped to find
much enjoyment with her family.

For her spouse it was a season of equal loneliness.
Though he kept the eggs warm while she was out on brief
vacations, during the greater part of the day he sat on a
bough of a neighboring tree, usually silent and motionless,
but, now and then, when fish were scarce, he left his post long
enough to capture an insect or field-mouse careless enough
to come within range. Whenever seen he was certain to be
alone, and if on his perch, with eyes fixed on the water. Oc-

95
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

casionally his solitary vigil was broken by a plunge into its
depths.

After nearty every plunge he came up, apparently dry,
with a fish, which, after compressing the life out of with his
mighty bill, he either swallowed head first or carried to his
lonely mate in the tunnel in the bank. A shrill, rattling sound
announced the catch, while a similar but softer rattle told
his companion of his coming. Then a rattle told of his de-
parture on another excursion, which was sure to be a profit-
able one, for, as his name implies, he was a king among fish-
ers. His grave and dignified bearing gave evidence to thefact
that this was no misnomer. Some of his finny captives were
as large as himself, though rarely. These were mutilated
by his sharp-edged bill and pounded into softness against
some limb or stone, then taken into his great throat. It made
little difference to him that the fish could not all be swallowed.
at once. Without further mutilation he took in as much of
it as his internal construction would allow, then waited; he
was used to waiting. When his own digestion made it pos-
sible for him to complete the transaction, he gave another
gulp, and the captive was seen no more. Younger kingfish-
ers might need assistance in getting their acquisitions under
cover, but not he.

His family line was a long one, dating back to the time
when the gods dwelt on Olympus, and, if tradition could be
credited, the gods themselves were implicated in the founding
of the family. Since that time not one of its representatives
had done aught to bring disgrace upon the name. Though
its history had been marked by many a tragedy, no act of
one of its members had made any of the line ashamed.

Every kingfisher mother pointed with pride to her mate
and taught her family to follow his example in all things.

96
THE LONE FISHER

They were unlike other scions of royalty in that industry was
a marked trait among them—industry fortified by intelli-
gence, and supplemented by vigilance and loyalty.

None but a wife prejudiced by love could call the lone
fisherman handsome. Though his colors were attractive—
grayish-blue with touches of white, and broad belt of a
deeper shade—there was something wrong with his architec-
ture. His head seemed too large for his body; his bill, the
Greek nose of his ancestors, was far too large for his face;
and his eyes were undeniably beady, giving him a crafty ap-
pearance. He wore a crown, to be sure, as befitted one of his
station, but it was often rakishly awry. And, worst of all,
he walked on his legs, clear up to his drumsticks, instead of
on his feet.

But, like a dutiful wife, his mate never noticed the un-
attractive points about him, but, instead, was wont to dwell
on his sterling qualities. Indeed, as far as appearances were
concerned, she herself was not unlike him, except that her
belt was different in color. Like all wives and daughters of
her race she was girdled by a band of reddish chestnut.

As she sat in her darkened room she was often cheered
by visits from her consort, who never came without bringing
some dainty, in the shape of fish or frog. These were always
graciously accepted and swallowed whole. It was only after
his departure that the bones and other superfluous portions
of his offering were disgorged.

To a casual observer these might appear to litter up the
house somewhat; to the occupant they were necessary articles
of furniture, on which the little ones would exercise their
baby claws when they were old enough to go in for gym-
nastics.

In due course of time the infant bills poked their

97
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

way through the weakened shells, and the nest was made
lively by six squirming infants—featherless, shapeless, and
blind.

From the moment they came into the world they made
constant demands upon the time and attention of both
parents, who were made most uncomfortable by having to
listen to almost ceaseless cries indicative of hunger and lone-
liness. To satisfy both of these wants was impossible. Lone-
liness their elders knew to be endurable, so they wisely de-
cided to throw all their energies into the commissary de-
partment.

While the youngsters were in their early infancy the
smaller forms of animal life to be found in the pond furnished
a very satisfactory menu. These had to be pushed far down
into the elastic throats of the infants. With luscious water-
beetles, tadpoles, leeches and countless minnows, the awkward
little bodies were stuffed into shape. Provisions of a coarser
nature the older birds ground up among the bones in their
own crops before dispensing.

At this stage in their lives, at a glance one would hardly
be able to tell whether these stuffy, squirming creatures were
birds or reptiles. As they grew, their eyes opened and
numerous dark points began to push themselves out all over
the bodies. Their wardrobe for the season, the soft beautiful
feathers to be, was done up in these hard coverings, which
would open soon at the outer end and gradually be cast off
in the form of scaly dust.

When the little ones were not being fed, or sleeping,
they were scrambling about, over and among each other,
hardening their muscles and growing as fast as they could.
It was their only means of varying the monotony. With
absolutely nothing to see it was necessary for them to find

98
THE LONE FISHER

some other form of amusement, so they scrambled over and
pinched and teased and snapped at each other like young
kittens.

By and by: the most venturesome ones began to make
short excursions into the passageway which led to the out-
side world, but, on hearing a parent approaching, always
scuttled quickly back, that the family group might be com-
plete at the reception—a reception at which refreshments
were to be served.

A rattling sound announced the coming of the visitors,
and this sound they were now learning to imitate. Soon it
came to pass that the proud parents were almost invariably
greeted and dismissed by the muffled rattling of the infants.

In common with all birds living in holes, they learned
to hiss, too, and often responded by hissing angrily when
snapped at by one of their number, as they tumbled about
with many an awkward gesture.

One luckless day, never to be forgotten by the mother,
a strange sound from the outside world reached them—a
sound which made their baby feathers stand on end with
fright, a sensation hitherto unknown to them. They did not
know what it was, but instinct told them it was something
dreadful. Their mother would have understood, but she was
away, far up the river on a marketing expedition. The
father, too, had gone foraging, down the river. In fear and
trembling they huddled together and anxiously awaited the
return of their protectors.

After a time the mother came with the customary sup-
plies. The comfort of her presence, even though momentary,
was sufficient to banish all fear. By the time dinner was
dispatched they had forgotten all about the experience.

The father they never saw again. On leaving home he

99
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

had flown to his usual post of watchfulness, and, perching
on the accustomed limb, had begun his solitary vigil with no
thought of danger to himself. Motionless he sat, with a calm
born of faith in his own powers. Though the time of wait-
ing might have seemed long to others, he was not dis-
couraged. Believing fully that all things come to him who
waits, and, at the same time, attends to business, he kept his
eye on the water till finally his faith was rewarded by the
sight of a large fish coming down the stream—larger than
any he had seen for days—and close behind it a smaller one.
Prompt in decision, and impelled by hunger, he quickly made
up his mind that the larger fish should be his own dinner,
while the smaller one, more suited to their size, should be
taken to the babies at home, if he could manage to catch
both.

A shiver of expectancy ruffled his crest, a nervous jerk
of his tail betrayed his eagerness as he waited a moment for
the coveted prey to come under his watch tower. ‘Then, with
open bill and head down, he dropped like a shot into the
water. Though he had captured the prize his grasp was not
secure. The captive almost escaped, for, in his excitement,
his bill had barely closed on the tail. Emerging from the
water, he deftly tossed his catch into the air and caught it
again, as it fell head-first into his open bill, which, closing,
crushed out life. The great distensible throat caught the
mangled form in its grasp and drew it out of sight. No es-
cape for any victim after reaching that, with its lining of
downward-pointing papille.

After waiting a moment for the fish to become settled,
he started in pursuit of the smaller one he had seen. With a
rattle of satisfaction he flew down the stream, casting his keen
eye into every nook and corner. No lack of grace about the

100
THE LONE FISHER

kingfisher now as his strong wings carried him along close
to the water, sometimes almost touching it. With eager eye
he searched both pools and shallows, but his prey had escaped.

Then back he went to his old perch. It was the best
place after all, for, like many another fisherman, he found
watching and waiting infinitely more profitable than a more
active quest.

Shortly after, a boy in his wanderings chanced upon this
spot, seldom disturbed by human visitations. With his gun
he had come that way in search of some living target on which
to improve his marksmanship, and seeing the lone watcher,
aimed at him. <A shot and a flash, and the kingfisher had
gone to his reward. No real sportsman would have been
guilty of shooting a bird useless to him or any one else, but
the inexperienced boy thought not of this. Anything he
could bring down was an object of pride. To satisfy this the
solitary fisherman lost his life, a bird home was made deso-
late, and a young family learned to know the pangs of
hunger.

The kingfisher’s mate never knew what fate had befallen
him—some misfortune, surely. One so devoted as he had
always proved himself could never have deserted her in the
time of greatest need. Their domestic life had been an ideal
one. She remembered with pride his unremitting watchful-
ness during those dark days in the burrow. The great heap
of bones on the floor of it testified to both his industry and
his unselfishness. Long days she watched hopefully for his
return, but, gradually, hope died out and she knew that
hereafter she must live her life without the comfort of com-
panionship. ‘The tragedy which founded the family was
being repeated. The fate of her most remote ancestress was
hers.

101
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

Though the joy had gone out of her life and her heart
was heavy, the kingfisher mother had little time for mourn-
ing. Their family, six hungry, helpless, unreasoning little
ones, must be provided for. Heretofore the replenishing
of the larder had taxed the strength of both parents; now the
survivor must bear the burden alone.

Fortunately the children were almost old enough to go
out into the world, where they would learn to take care of
themselves.

Though there were occasional hungry days in the hole
in the bank, the brave mother did her best, and, by always
being careful about dividing the food evenly, the little ones
were kept reasonably plump, as they grew from king-
fisher babyhood to youth. They did not sleep as much as
of yore, but continued rolling about, teasing and snapping
playfully at each other, more every day, thus, unconsciously,
making themselves strong enough to succeed in the new out-
door life which was soon to be theirs. As they scrambled
about in their play, every day their little claws grew stronger
through clasping and unclasping the scattered bones.

Now they were becoming venturesome enough to go far
out into the passageway to meet their mother as she returned
from her marketing, and were able to give her a rattling
greeting almost as grown-up in its sound as her own.

On coming to meet her, it never occurred: to them to
turn around and follow their bills when she drove them back
into the oven-shaped dining-room before serving the custom-
ary refreshments. They seemed to think that in going back
to any place it was necessary to move backward, and this
they always did. And so it was that from constant practice
they learned to travel backward even faster than they did
forward. The motive was stronger. Their forward move-

102
 

  

ENneAeraTn by yarics H. Miller
YOUNG KINGFISHERS

‘* Their first view of the beautiful outside world.’’
THE LONE FISHER

ments were prompted by idle curiosity, while hunger and
warmth called them the other way.

After their first view of the great outside world, where
all good things to eat came from—a world so airy and green
and beautiful—their dreams of a life there were many. More
and more often they came to the opening of the passageway
to feast their eyes on the beauty before them, and to breathe
the cool, fresh air. Nothing but fear held them in the old
home now.

The tired mother, worn and thin from work and re-
sponsibility, felt sure that they were now old enough to light-
en her labors by taking care of themselves, so she decided to
conquer their foolish fears. She did not feed them so often
now, but allowed them to grow hungry enough to brave al-
most any danger to satisfy the craving within them. Hunger
is a wonderful inspiration sometimes.

With fear warning him back and hunger beckoning him
on, the bravest took the first flight. His very indecision
decided the matter for him as he stood on the threshold, a lit-
tle farther out than he had ever been before; trying to make
up his little mind which way to go, he lost his balance, and
it was done. Without conscious effort the baby wings went
up and down, little more than enough to break the fall, and
before he knew it he was on the opposite side of the road.

Bewildered he looked about. The beautiful green grass
was all around him, and the cool, soft, moist ground under
him—so different from the hard, dry earth to which he was
accustomed. And how different the odors were, too! Noth-
ing fishy about the smell of this place, but, instead, the sweet
odor of purple flags, and growing grasses, and fresh green
willows.

Of course, he did not realize all this at first, but it came

105
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

to him gradually as he sat on his shanks and threw out his
breast in pride at his accomplishment. Such long, deep
breaths he took as he had never taken before.

How brave and strong he felt!

Soon he was followed by his baby sister, who came and
saw him do it all. His bravery had given her confidence. His
going had looked so simple that she followed with hardly any
fear. Indeed, she alighted with a faint rattle of bravery.
With brief intervals between, one by one, they were joined
by the others.

Returning after an unusually long absence, there the
mother found them scattered about among the tall grasses.
How proud she was to see them out here in the light! Quite
like herself they looked in their coats of bright blue, and
collars and belts of chestnut. The resemblance was certainly
striking.

It was really the first time she had ever seen them in
the light. Of course she had caught occasional glimpses of
them backing into the tunnel to make room for her home-
coming, but as for seeing all of any one of them, she had
never had the pleasure. As she moved about among them,
rattling her approval, such pride as she felt in them only a
mother could understand. They were but four weeks old—
possibly a few days older—yet they looked almost like grown:
up birds—from the front, at least—but when they turned
around their brevity of tail betrayed their youth.

After a few days they were moving around quite com-
fortably among the flags and grasses, as comfortably as
though they had always lived there. They went forward
mostly now, for backing around among grasses and things
wasn’t altogether pleasant. Besides, now that they had the
advantages of light, they were beginning to like to see where

106
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THE LONE FISHER

they were going. In the hole it had been different; there was
nothing to interfere with their feathers there—the few they
had; there was only one place to go, and it was dark, anyway.

They learned to pick up food in most unexpected places
-—in the water, on the ground, among the willows. Baby
toads, out walking for the first time, were among the choicest
morsels which they found in these early days on the ground.
These, together with great, juicy water-beetles, tender frogs,
and an occasional fish which their mother brought them, kept
them plump and cheerful.

However, life was not all enjoyment. There were dan-
gers which made them look back with longing on the comfort
and seclusion of their pin-feather youth. Hawks circled over
them; owls swept by on soft wings at night; while water-
rats were always near; snakes and weasels moved about
among the grasses; and all were looking for just such dain-
ties as baby birds.

Their wise mother warned them in kingfisher language
to beware, but, inexperienced as they were, they could not
always be on the lookout for enemies when food was to be
hunted. One thing at a time was as much as they could at-
tend to.

Often they mounted dead branches to look abroad on
the world and see where the best foraging grounds were.
A most engaging family with many winning ways! The
restlessness of childhood was giving place to the quiet dig-
nity of grown-up kingfisherhood. Though broad smiles
sometimes gave evidence of their enjoyment, they never
laughed aloud, as the flicker’s noisy children often did; and
when things went wrong they manifested their displeasure,
by only a ruffle of the crest or an impatient flip of the tail—

109
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

never by screaming and jumping up and down after the
manner of the woodpecker’s noisy progeny.

As time went by the family group grew noticeably
smaller. One by one they disappeared, who may guess
where?—none but their enemies could give the answer—till
only two of them remained—the strongest and the wariest
of them all. Their mother rarely saw them. Possibly she
did not know that any were gone, as they had not been to-
gether for some time—at least she showed no sign.

The remaining ones scuttled and flew about among the
reeds and willows. Often they wet their feet in the cool
water or tumbled into its shady depths as they tried to get
some of the living things which they saw there. They were
awkward at first, but by and by they became more and more
accurate in their calculations. Instinct was their teacher
mainly, though they learned some few things by observation.

After watching their mother drop into the water and
come up with a fish, they tried, and after a few trials were
able to succeed in like endeavor. At first, refraction both-
ered them—-the fish was never just where it seemed to be—
but they soon learned to make allowances. Eiven then there
were times when they were sure of making a catch, and, just
as they were about to do so, the fish turned over and flashed
his silvery side on them as a boy flashes a mirror. Then
they always missed. There were many things to learn, but
with experience for their teacher, and ready memories, they
soon learned them.

Summer waned and the nights grew cold. All the other
birds about the pond had departed. Through a fatality
which a hawk had occasioned there was only one young king-
fisher now. The nights grew colder. Both mother and
child had to fluff out their feathers considerably and perch

110
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HLINOA S.YAHHSIAONIN

TWA "H souer Aq Ydeiz0j0yg

 
THE LONE FISHER

closer to the tree trunks in order to keep warm when the
chill winds blew. One morning when they went to look for
a breakfast they found that Mother Nature, at the bidding
of the frost king, had locked their storehouse for the winter.
Nothing was left for them to do but to fly away in search of
food elsewhere.

Remembering her experience of yesteryear, the sensible
mother decided to follow the stream which had provided for
them so bountifully in the days of their prosperity. After
one last long look at the scene of their joys and sorrows, a
scene which would linger long in their memories, down the
river they went, the mother leading and the young one, now
as large and almost as strong as herself, following. Stop-
ping only occasionally for needed rest and the scant refresh-
ment to be found at that season on the ground—on down
they flew, past the place where the stream joined a larger
one, and that a still larger one, and across broad waters, till
they reached a spot which reminded them somewhat of the
old home in its palmiest days. Though like the old home
in a way, it was different; there was a bank—more cozy than
the home bank—and water—but the plants were not at all
like those they had known.

They knew it was best for them to stay here for a time,
so they made the best of things, but they could not feel any
attachment for the place. Their hearts were in the North,
where life is not a mere matter of eating and drinking—the
place where homes are made. ‘All winter they longed for
it, till, at last, when spring was coming on, they could endure
the homesickness no longer.

Over the water they went, and on up the river and on.
Tt was a long and weary journey, but not half so long as it
had seemed in the autumn, for home was at the end of it.

113
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

On the way they fell in with others of their kind, journeying
in the same direction and drawn by the same yearnings.
‘These new acquaintances, though, were but for a day or two,
for each returned to the home of his childhood, there to re-
peat the experiences of the kingfishers of other years.

In our drives during the coming season, if we should
catch a glimpse of one of these earnest, silent watchers
perched on a branch overhanging the water, how many of
us will betray our belief in the doctrine of metempsychosis
by seeing in the lone creature not a mere bird, but, instead,
‘the faithful spirit of the once beautiful Halcyone, reincar-
nated—earnestly gazing out across the water in the vain
hope that it may some day bring back to her her lost love,
and that companionship which the lone spirit ever craves?

114
Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils.

Mittron—Paradise Lost.

115
THE ORIGIN OF THE HAWK

HE powerful Thracian, King Tereus, that his influ-
ence might be extended, wedded the daughter of
Pandion, King of Athens. The gods, displeased

with this union, refused to attend the nuptials; neither Juno,
the guardian of marriage rites, nor Hymenezus, nor the
Graces were present, but the Furies, brandishing torches
snatched from a funeral pile, attended and accompanied the
pair to the abode of Tereus. As the party journeyed thither,
croaking ravens flew to the left of them, and on their arrival
the ill-boding owl hovered over the bridal chamber. With
these omens were Tereus and the daughter of Pandion
wedded.

After Titan had drawn the seasons of the repeated year
through five successive autumns, the queen, with the home-
longing still in her heart, and with love for her own made
stronger by long absence, entreated her spouse to either allow
her to return to her father’s home for a season or to go thither
himself and bring back her only sister for a visit. In answer
to her beseechings, ships were launched and Tereus set out
on his journey to urge the request of his queen.

At first Pandion hesitated about parting with his re-
maining daughter, the comfort of his age, for even so short
a time as asked; but finally, yielding to the eloquence of
Tereus, he tearfully commended her to his care on the prom-
ise of her speedy return.

117
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

When the waves urged by the oars had borne them away
from the shore and a father’s care, the faithless Tereus, for-
getful of his queen at home, made love to the beautiful sister.
Having been repulsed by the maiden, he, on landing, shut
her up in a tower and cut out her tongue to prevent her
making known his perfidy. On meeting his queen he, with
feigned sorrow, reported her sister as among the dead and
mourned with her over the loss.

But the imprisoned one, though through the loss of her
tongue deprived of speech, found other means of communi-
cating with the deceived queen. She skilfully wove her story
in purple and white into a web of barbarian design, and by
signs persuaded an attendant to deliver it to her sister, who
immediately understood.

The queen, having delivered her injured sister from
captivity, had her brought to the court of Tereus, where to-
gether the two, made cruel by their wrongs, planned their
revenge.

Itys, the young son of Tereus, whose birth had been
attended by many boding signs, was slain by the two and
served on the table of his father; the attendants were re-
moved, according to the rites of that country, and the king
feasted alone, thus becoming the sepulchre of his son.

When the horrible repast was completed, Tereus, on
calling for Itys, was given by the queen the whole story in
language such as he deserved.

Frantic with grief and anger, with drawn sword he
pursued the daughters of Pandion, who, in their flight, by
their wishes were given wings, as was also the pursuer.

Philomela fled to the woods to hide among the leaves
of the trees, where, in the voice of the nightingale, she may
ever be heard in mournful melody lamenting the death of

118
 

Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill

THE ANGRY TEREUS AS HE LOOKS TODAY
(RED-TAILED HAWK)
THE ORIGIN OF THE HAWK

Itys and her family’s dishonor. Progne sought refuge under
the eaves of houses, whence she ever darts forth at twilight to
seek among others of her kind the reincarnated spirit of the
slain Itys; and though she vainly tries to tell her story in
song, her mutilated tongue yields only brief twitterings,
while on her breast she still bears the red stain of her crime.
Tereus, as a hawk, with armed face and close-clutching
grasp, is ever either pursuing or hovering in the air, awaiting
an opportunity for revenge upon the smaller birds, who to
him are the fleeing daughters of Pandion.,

121
HAWK LIFE

N acquaintance with that rapacious bird of regal ele-
gance, the red-shouldered hawk, one of the most
common as well as most representative of his kind,

or with his brother, the red-tailed, equally elegant and even
more widely distributed, the story of the transformation of
Tereus is easily credited. On some daring squirrel whisking
through the trees, or some heedless song-bird stirring the
leaves as he alights for a moment upon a branch above the
bough where the hawk sits cruelly alert, what anger and
hatred he shows!

His enmity, which in the long-ago was directed only
toward the fleeting, flitting, light-winged swallow, who, in
her fear, dared not pause in her flight even when tortured
by hunger, and the timorous nightingale hiding in the shel-
tering wood, strengthened by long continuance, now em-
braces all living creatures too small or weak to resist him.
The fierce, demoniacal cries which he occasionally allows to
escape him as he swings across the fruitful meadow marshes
in quest of prey might well come from one bereft and crazed,
by grief, on vengeance bent.

There are a number of hawks common to America, some
of local and others of general distribution, the largest, the
osprey, or fish hawk, having the proud distinction of being
purveyor to the eagle. The next in size, and the most beau-

122
 

Photograph by Edward Warren

NEST OF THE RED-TAILED HAWK
HAWK LIFE

tiful, are the red-tailed and the red-shouldered—commonly
known as hen hawks, though it has been proven that the
number of young chickens they destroy is unworthy of notice
when compared with the vast number of mice and other small
animals which they retire from circulation. To every chicken
captured as many as a hundred of the latter are taken. The
real menaces to the poultry yard are the sharp-shinned
Coopers and the marsh hawk, all of these being able to dart
down, secure their booty, and be off before they are noticed.

The rough-legged, or black hawk, is the most nocturnal
of the family, choosing the late evening, when small animals
are abroad, as his season of greatest activity. The sparrow
hawk, the smallest and, next to the rough-legged, the most
graceful member of the family, is the most proficient mouser
and an active enemy of the brown grasshopper known as
the “tobacco spitter.” One bird alone will destroy two hun-
dred or more of these in a single day.

Some varieties are watch-tower hunters who perch on
stumps, leafless trees, or haystacks, or hang suspended in
the air waiting for their victims to pass under them. Others
are brush and grass beaters, while some employ both meth-
ods, but all are more or less cannibalistic, and all are valuable
as destroyers of harmful animal and insect life.

With keen eyes exploring the grasses and low, herbace-
ous growths for the tiny, helpless creatures either crouching
there in fear or peacefully nibbling the succulent roots, back
and forth beats the hawk with alternate wing-tips brushing
the tops of the vegetation to flush his prey, sending the little
refugees scurrying in every direction, or causing them to
crouch close to the ground: frightened meadow-mice hide in
their covered runways or seek shelter in their domed dwell-
ings; wriggling snakes sinuously betake themselves to their

125
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

holes; and warty toads close their bright eyes and trust their
earthy color to protect them.

Often the vigilant hunter snatches up his victim with
no pause in his flight, then sweeps on to some perch where
he can enjoy his sanguinary feast at leisure.

Even his ominous shadow passing over them as this rav-
enous bird of Jupiter swims above in the heavens, is enough
to strike terror to the creatures who know him as an enemy
—for any moment he is likely to drop down upon them as
though shot from the sky. On descending thus to earth he
clasps his hapless victim in his crooked and almost invariably
fatal talons. Even though his clutch should accidentally
prove insecure, his wings and tail enclose his quarry in a
prison from which there is no avenue of escape save that
beneath his armed beak.

Yet this bird, hated by the unthinking partly because
of his rapacity, but more because of reputed visits to the
poultry yard, is not without his merits. The same wings
that in the meadows surround and imprison his prey, are used
in his home life to form a vaulted cover to protect from the
heat of the sun and also from storms and rain, his helpless
young, for whom he cares most tenderly. However cruel
he may be to his enemies, to his own he is gentle as any bird
in the wood. Proudly he assists his constant mate in plum-
ing her beautiful feathers and lovingly he strokes both her
and the little ones with the beak that is looked upon as cruel
by those who have with him only a belligerent acquaintance.

His unmusical, muttering monologue when alone and his
fierce cry when pouncing upon his quarry both suggest the
transformed Tereus; but his soft, muffled utterances when
attending to the wants of his offspring hark back to the time

126
poses

 

Photograph by Francis H. Herrick

THE HAWK SPREADING OVER PREY

‘* The wings and tail enlose his quarry in a prison from which
there is no avenue of escape except beneath his armed beak.”
 
HAWK LIFE

of the loving father before the disruption of the Thracian
home.

Seldom attacking any creature capable of resistance,
the hawk, though of brave appearance, is really a coward.
The warrior crow, though much smaller than he, through
sheer bravery is able to put him to rout, and occasionally a
group of smaller birds, emboldened by numbers, mob him;
yet the peaceable hen, many times the size of either, is boldly
approached and carried off by this wary bird.

On his list of those who may be attacked safely are the
various kinds of squirrels, rabbits, crawfish, reptiles, lizards,
frogs, toads, musk-rats, common rats, mice, skunks, opos-
sums, grasshoppers and crickets. The indigestible portions
of these are ejected from the throat in the form of compact
pellets similar to “owl balls.”

Driven to the harsh necessity of securing the meat diet
on which alone he can subsist, he is doomed to a life of per-
petual quest and conquest of those creatures whose chief
business in life is to elude him. Notice how his calling has
sharpened his vision and shaped his beak and claws, the tools
of his guild. Even the baby hawks still in the nest have these
characteristic features most strongly marked.

With a wing expanse of four or five feet and the power
of inflating his body with air at pleasure, the hawk is sublime-
ly picturesque in his cloud-piercing evolutions of flight, as
in ever-narrowing spirals he mounts to the cooler regions
of the air when the heat below proves disagreeable. With
scarcely a motion of his great wings he circles and careens
about at a height of hundreds of feet, at times even seeming
to remain for a season suspended in the sky in a perfectly
stationary attitude.

While these birds are attached to their home locality,

129
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

they are known to take long flights. Nuttall relates an in-
stance of one of this family, a Canary falcon, that was sent
to the Duke of Lerma, and that returned in sixteen hours
from Andalusia to the Island of Teneriffe, a distance of
seven hundred and fifty miles. It is said that were it not
for the power of inflation, not of the lungs alone, but of their
whole bodies, the swiftness with which these, as well as some
other birds, move through the air, would cause suffocation.

The esthetic value of the hawk lies wholly in his
sublimity of flight and in his majesty of form and attractive-
ness of color, for no beautiful Dryad ever taught him to sing.
Even his love notes are uttered in strident, raucous tones,
harsh as the jay’s muster call, but happily they are under-
stood by his sympathetic mate, who knows the heart of her
lord, who has improved on the ways of the founder of the
family. With them as with other rapacious birds, the con-
jugal bond is perpetual.

As we come to know these picturesque birds better we
learn that they, in common with all other living creatures,
have both their faults and their merits. Though through
their fondness for flesh many a downy chick fails to reach
maturity, many a tuneful warbler is called to his reward, and
the billowy trail of song following many a goldfinch becomes
only a memory echo, were it not for their assistance our
farms would soon be overrun by pests impossible to hold in
check by artificial means. When even the worst of hawks
are weighed in the balance the greatest weight will be found,
invariably, upon the side of beneficent service.

130
      

*e
Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill

YOUNG RED-SHOULDERED HAWKS

** His calling has sharpened his vision, and shaped his beak
and claws, the tools of his guild. Even the baby hawks
have these characteristic features most strongly marked.”’
In such a strait the wisest may well be perplexed.

Burke,

133
 
HOW THE BUZZARD OR VULTURE WAS
CLOTHED

(IROQUOIS LEGEND)

N the beginning, birds were created without covering.
Ashamed of their long legs and ill-shaped bodies, they
hid themselves among trees and rocks. They were

also without song, as their throats had not yet been fitted
for producing music. Long afterward, when this power
had come to them, they learned their songs from whisper-
ing leaves, falling rain, running brooks and whistling winds.

But being endowed with speech, they continually com-
plained of their fate, and with one accord shouted and cried
aloud to the Great Spirit, asking for coverings. Soon the
message came to them that their garments were ready, at
a certain place a long way off, but that each bird must attend
to the fitting of his own.

A messenger must be sent, as a vote was immediately
taken. Because of his great strength and superior powers
of endurance, the choice of the assemblage was the turkey
buzzard. Proud of the trust reposed in him he started on his
mission.

But as the journey was long and no provision had been
made for food, he was tortured by hunger till, able to endure
its pangs no longer, he was driven to eat carrion to sustain
life.

On arriving at the appointed place he found the gar-
ments ready, and, as a reward, he was allowed first choice.

135
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

Without hesitation, he selected the most beautiful among
them, but discovered upon trying it on that, in its long feath-
ers, flying would be difficult, so it was laid aside. From one
to another he went, but there was some fault to be found with
each. One was not warm enough, another would attract too
much attention, another would soil too easily. So he went
through the entire collection till he came to the last—the
coarsest, ugliest, plainest among them—and too small to be
drawn up over the face, as all the others could be worn. But
as he had been forbidden to try on any garment more than
once, he must either take the one he has worn ever since that
day, or go uncovered.

When birds congregate to-day, they often twit the buz-
zard with reference to his unattractive dress, and taunt him
with his uncleanly habits; but he invariably reminds them
that he had the first choice and selected the one that pleased
him best among all bird coverings, and that his habits were
acquired through doing a service for others.

136
 

Photograph by Ernest Harold Baynes
TURKEY VULTURE
VULTURE LIFE

and with limbs crouching in the constant but

vain endeavor to make their abbreviated, shingled
coats cover the roughened and reddened flesh of their naked
heads and at the same time hide from view their unshape-
ly bodies, generations of vultures have suffered from the in-
convenience and embarrassment entailed on them by the in-
decision of their primal father. Brevity of raiment is notice-
able in even the young vulture, though not so marked as in
the case of their elders. In youth, grayish, furry feathers
form a ruff and cap for the shrinking bird; but, for some
reason, these disappear on its arrival at maturity, when the
warty head shows ugly and bare.

The gloomy cloak of the adult is not only too short at
the top, but at the bottom also, where it allows the-ungainly,
wrinkled feet to protrude below it in such a way that their
owner, as though ashamed and unwilling to expose them
more than is needful by walking after the manner of other
feathered creatures, must needs move from place to place,
when on the ground, in awkward jumps—a form of locomo-
tion more pronounced in the black than in the turkey vulture.
With such a wardrobe and with such physical defects, is it
at all surprising that this bird shuns the main thoroughfares
and confines his urban wanderings to dumps and alleys? Is

139

W ITH necks drawn down and shoulders thrown high,
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

it any wonder that he does not appear on the concert plat-
form?

The vulture’s lack of song cannot be attributed to size
entirely, for other birds equally large are not without musical
ability. With the coming dawn for inspiration, chanticleer
wakes the world with his matin; strolling about in the sun-
shine, his portly spouse gives tuneful utterance to her enjoy-
ment; on the approach of rain guineas and peafowls pour
forth pans of thanksgiving, while the funereal vulture is
almost as silent as the dead on which he preys. Nothing
seems to touch the song spring in his nature. ’

In vocal expression, there is evidence of decadence in
the vulture family, for, although Indian tradition states plain-
ly that its early members were able to express themselves
freely in speech, they are now the most taciturn of birds, an
occasional “‘wah,” a low, hissing sound, and a grunt—seem-
ingly inspired by overeating—are to-day all they have to
give the world in the way of language.

The accidental meal with which the embassador vulture
refreshed himself on that ancient but memorable journey,
seems to have determined the gustatory tastes of his clan
for all succeeding ages. Since that time only decaying
food has the power to charm their palates, though it is said
that under stress of hunger these birds attack and kill de-
fenseless small birds and animals by piercing their eyes. Pu-
trid animal matter, the choicest item on the vulture menu, is
earnestly sought and eagerly devoured by them. This is gen-
erally supposed to be due to lack of strength in claws
incapable of tearing flesh that has not been weakened by
decay.

In finding their food, vultures are not dependent upon
the sense of smell, as is commonly believed. Like all other

140
 

p05 ran

Photograph. ‘9 Ternedt Harold Basile:
YOUNG TURKEY VULTURE

**In youth grayish, furry feathers form
aruff and cap for the shrinking bird.”’
VULTURE LIFE

birds, devoid of outer nostrils, they are guided entirely by

sight. The experiment has been tried of placing a dead ani-
mal under a table, where the breezes could circulate freely
about it and bear the odor of putridity to those likely to
appreciate it most, with the result that none came to the feast,
though it was perfectly accessible, while the mere pictured
carcass of another drew a throng of would-be banqueters.

In southern cities these dark scavengers, who form a
self-constituted sanitary commission, are regularly depend-
ed upon to consume refuse about butcher shops and to rid
garbage heaps of such matter as is suited to vulture tastes.
After their visitations, nothing of animal origin remains
that is sufficiently decayed to render digestion unnecessary.

In the rural districts of that region, as well as through-
out the Mississippi Valley, they render equally valuable
service in disposing of perished animals on the farms and
plains. On the taking off of one of these, a group of the
uncanny birds is certain to attend the wake. The lifeless
body is covered with a living pall as the ghoulish guests
partake of the funeral feast. Tearmg away the outer flesh,
they feed on the vitals of the dead as did the mythic vulture
on the vitals of the living Prometheus. With crowding and
pushing in the efforts of the feathered appetites to procure
more favorable locations, the gluttonous revel continues till
satiety brings it to a close, when the feasters, if not too full
for locomotion, betake themselves to neighboring trees, where
they remain till hours of slothfulness return to them strength
for another attack.

The home of the black vulture is in the South, while the
turkey vulture is distributed over the whole of the inland
portion of America, including the mountainous section. The
California condor, the largest of the vultures, is the most

143
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

shy, and the black the least so, of the family, the latter paying
little more attention to man than common domestic fowls do.

The black vultures of the South betray their dislike of
cold in their habits of gathering on cool days around chim-
neys for warmth, and in lying about on the sunny sides of
roofs and spreading their wings to receive every ray of sun-
shine available; and when thunderstorms arise they betake
themselves to regions beyond the clouds, where they com-
fortably ride the air above the storm.

Mr. Beebe tells of seeing in Mexico flocks of thousands
of these birds rising in a revolving, cone-shaped mass till,
on reaching a great height, where they seemed no larger than
flies, they disbanded and disappeared among the clouds.

The turkey vulture, the most graceful in flight, possesses
a remarkable stretch of wing as well as wonderful buoyancy.
One writer tells of watching the aerial maneuvres of one of
this species, and on timing it he discovered that in twenty
minutes but a single stroke of the wings was given.

Though when on the ground the habits of these efficient
members of the public service preclude admiration, though
there they have little picturesque value and are tolerated
only on account of their economic worth—when their broad
wings bear them aloft into the heavens, their flight expresses
the utmost grace. On seeing them swinging upward in
diminishing spirals, and majestically sweeping the sky on
almost motionless wings, all their former awkwardness, all
their imperfections, are forgotten.

144
The robin and the redbreast,
The robin and the wren,
If ye take out of the nest
Ye'll never thrive again.
The robin and the redbreast,
The martin and the swallow,
If ye touch one of their eggs
Bad luck will sure to follow.
—Essex Rhyme.

145
GENESIS OF THE ROBIN

MONG the Chippewas, as among some other tribes
of Indians, when a son became old enough to leave
boyhood behind and to take his place among the

braves of his people, it was necessary for him to pass through
a season of fasting—twelve long days and nights—during
which the great Manitou would come to him and free him
from his childhood’s nature and in its stead give to him the
strength and endurance of a braver manhood. One unable
to endure this test to the end would be forever despised of
his tribe, and would not be allowed to join with the braves in
the hunt, or to go with them into battle.

Because of his gentle nature, when his time of trial ar-
rived, the son of a great chief did not wish to follow his father
into the deep forest to the trial lodge, which was to be the
scene of his fasting. Though he was brave, he did not wish
to be as the warriors who went forth to kill. He longed only
to make others happy.

But the chief commanded and the son dared not refuse.
During the long walk he was sad at heart, though the father
sought to cheer him by telling him how the tribe would honor
him when he appeared at the great feast to be served when
he had proved himself strong to endure. Thus the father
talked, every now and then stopping to mark the trees in
the picture language of the Indian, that the way to their
wigwam might not be lost.

147
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

On arriving, he spread for the youth the mat of reeds
the Indian mother had proudly woven for him, her first-
born, and who now laid himself face downward upon it, be-
side the great bow and arrows and tomahawk of his father.

With a heavy heart he heard the sound of the father’s
footsteps growing fainter and fainter as he departed; then
he was alone with the silence.

All through the long day and the long night he lay there
alone. Morning, bringing light and gladness to others,
brought no joy to the sad youth in the forest.

When the father came to ask if any dreams had come
to him, the boy replied: “O my father, such dreams as you
wish will never come to me. Let me give up this cruel fast-
ing and return with you to our wigwam.” But the father,
whose Indian pride prevented his yielding to the beseechings
of his child, would talk only of the glad time when the fast
would be ended, and told of the days of his own fasting with
their glorious ending.

Each day with cheering words the chief returned, only to
find the youth growing weaker. On the tenth morning he
did not rise to greet the father as he had done before. His
weakened limbs would no longer support him.

“Spare me, O my father, and take me home,” he whis-
pered; “no dreams will come. I am so weak that surely
death will take me before the great Manitou comes. Give
me food that I may break this dreadful fast.”

But the unyielding chief replied: “If you wait with
brave and patient heart, my son, soon you shall be a great
hunter, never knowing lack of food; you shall be a great
warrior, wise as the fox and strong as the bear; and many
scalps you shall wear at your belt. Better that you should

148
j

 

- Photograph by Francis H. Herrick
ROBIN FEEDING YOUNG

“* Their days were spent in diligently providing for
the family whose days were a continual repast.”
GENESIS OF THE ROBIN

die of hunger than that boy and squaw should cry: ‘Shame
upon your father’s son!’ Be brave!”

On the eleventh day the youth had grown so faint with
fasting that his voice could no longer be heard. Still the
father said: “Be brave!’ And again the dying footsteps
and the silence and the hunger!

While yet the dew glistened on the hemlock boughs,
on the following morning the chief hastened to the trial
lodge, bearing thick-boiled sap and meat of moose to revive
the famished youth. But to his “Rise and eat, my son. Come,
the great feast is spread,” no answer came. Only an echo
was heard.

As he stopped to listen, a bird, such as he had never seen,
on a bough nearby, called to him. Thinking some evil spirit
had lured the boy away and had returned in bird form to
mock at him, the father raised his bow to shoot.

“Do not shoot,” sang the bird, as if with human tongue.
“No evil spirit has harmed me; a good spirit came to me and
bade me live. The pathway of the spirits I shall never walk,
but will ever live on the earth as you see me now. Though
I shall never be a strong warrior, I am still your son and
shall always be brave. My food I shall find among the
hills and valleys, and in taking it, I shall help your people.
Mourn not for me, my father, for my happiness will come
through helping others, not through destroying them. And
the song I sing from the trees will be what my heart is ever
calling: “Be more gentle; be more loving.’ ”’

In the moon of melting snows, when the buds swell red
on the maples, the opeechee calls in joyful tones to us to-day
as he did to the Indian of old.

In the early morning, before the first faint streaks of
dawn appear, out of the graying darkness his glad voice calls

151
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

to all his people to arise and see the coming of each beautiful
new day, and when as the hours go by, they grow tired and
faint with hunger, he still calls to them from among the
branches, and bids them, “Be brave”—a message always fol-
lowed by a sweeter one, “Be more gentle; be more loving.”

152
ROBIN LIFE

CARCELY has earth’s great white death-sheet been
S transformed into living waters that hasten to free the
ice-bound streams, when the robin is heard in brief
tones calling to-day as he did to his kindred of old—calling
to all living things to be brave and come forth from their
hiding places; assuring all feathered creatures that a feast
is soon to follow. And when we hear the call we know that
a rapidly approaching springtime is pushing winter into the
northland.

The little messenger with ruddy breast does not deliver
his tidings from some lofty far-away station, but coming
near to earth, and perching on a lowly bough, in a voice of
soulful sympathy he repeats the words of the ancient chief-
tain: ‘Be brave!’ And, while they come to us like an echo
out of the past, they are uttered partly, no doubt, for self-
encouragement.

On his arrival, though his voice expresses bravery and
cheer, there is not the glad joy in it that we hear later when
his mate arrives. Before that the days have not yet cast off
the winter’s chill, and there is really very little to sing about.
Yet the first note of the robin is deemed by all themostcertain
of vernal promises—that and the bluebird’s early warble.
This song of his, dispelling the winter’s silence and drawing
his hearers into the great current of anticipation, makes the
winter naught but a lingering memory.

153
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

Later in the season, when all the earth is teeming with
life and the vernal chorus is at the full, in the early morning
hours the robin’s awakening voice heralds the coming of
each new day as he calls out that earth’s great dark slumber-
robe is being taken away, and the time is come to rouse from
the inactivity of the night. The faintest purpling of the east
is the signal for the hair-bird’s thin, incisive prelude to the
avian hymn of the morn. Then the robin takes up the mes-
sage in a voice that carries, and soon all the morning air is
athrob with the voices of innumerable singers in an anthem
that, breaking our slumbers, hallows the dawn. If there
be such, distance obliterates all discord and all imperfection.
With such inspiration, is it any wonder that man in the long
ago learned to express himself in musical tones?

In this matin hymn of the woodland choir the robin’s
voice leads all the rest. Even when the great flood of song
has reached full swell his tones can still be clearly dis-
tinguished, and when, with the growing light, he withdraws
from the chorus, the song dies out with the darkness, like a
lullaby that is ended.

Then for a season all the feathered creatures of the
wood give themselves up to the pleasures of the feast spread
before them. It is now that the countless forms of creeping
insect life are abroad, drawn from their diurnal retreats
under leaves and grasses by the alluring damps of the night.
The hymn just heard from these feathered songsters, while
it seemed to us but the outpouring of devotional spirit, was
to those of their kind also an invitation to the feast, or, if
you will, a tuneful grace before meals.

To some, more beautiful than this is the robin’s even-
song, sung after the catbird and the red thrush, from their
haunts in grape-vine tangles, have called their farewell to

154
ROBIN LIFE

departing day. In late spring at eventide, when the very
atmosphere is permeated and aglow with vernal color, fill-
ing the grove with a green glory, when the lingering echo
of the liquid tones of the wood thrush is still in our hearts,
and the faint twitter of retiring birds fills the place with
audible as well as scenic beauty, the robin, chanting his
persuasive lay, “Be more gentle; be more loving,” seems
not to be preaching to us so much as to be voicing the spirit
of the grove. As the tuneful hour of dawn is hallowed by
his matin hymn, the hour of twilight is made sacred by his
vesper.

When robin arrived from the southland, he hopped
about for a time, seemingly with no special object in view,
now that he had sung out his tidings of a nearby future,
balmy and warm; but when his little mate arrived, there was
work to be done as well as songs to be sung. For a few
days they hopped about together over the rapidly greening
ground, stopping every now and then to listen for the almost
imperceptible sound of wriggling living creatures just under
its surface, then, quickly burying their bills in the sod, they
braced themselves for a tug, and brought forth a reluctant
worm.

Soon they began to look about for a location for a sum-
mer adobe. Various trees in both orchard and grove were
visited, but it was finally decided to reconstruct the tumble-
down home of the previous year, on the outreaching bough
of ayoung oak. Indeed, it had been their home for two years
now! Then both set to work to make it habitable.

First it was cleared of the dead leaves that had blown
into it, and of other loose rubbish, then a few good new sticks
and weed-stems were added, and a quantity of soft mud
brought and molded into a neat cup by the shaping breast

155
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

of the little dame, though her mate assisted in providing
material and helping to place the soft grass lining. How
little she seemed to care about her appearance! How worn
and tired and bedraggled she looked while the work was
going on! But this seeming carelessness was not to be a
permanent defect in her character, for as soon as her house
was plastered, she took a refreshing bath in a wayside pool,
carefully arranged her feathers, and was again the neat,
trim little creature to whom robin had paid court in the days
just gone.

This pool-bathing, by the way, is a time-honored cus-
tom among robins. Often a number of them are seen in-
dulging together in this form of recreation, then scattering
to hop about the lawn or grass spots in the open woodland,
in quest of grubs and worms—and never seen to better ad-
vantage are these touches of living color, that add charm to
any landscape. In the midst of winter, on hearing the robin
mentioned, this, in all probability, would be the mental pic-
ture recalled by nine out of every ten persons.

On bright sunny days, with a heart brimming over with
springtime, robin often perched on a swinging bough and
allowed the joy of the season to gush from his throbbing
throat. Even in the rain he sang! His world was so full of
happiness that he must needs express it whether the sun
shone or not. While his song is not so musical as that of
many another bird, it charms us because it speaks of cheer—
even in the midst of cheerlessness. This rain-song usually
continued till the shower was over, when all the birds of the
woods repeated the glad news, then hurried off to another
feast; for the rainy hours were even more fruitful of worms
than those of mere nocturnal dampness.

After the laying of the blue eggs came the weary days

156
 

Photograph by Francis H. Herrick

ROBIN INSPECTING YOUNG
ROBIN LIFE

of incubation, bringing with them a recompense in the glad
joy of anticipation of the new young lives soon to fill the nest.
Robin shared in the labor of keeping the eggs warm, as he
did later in that of providing food for the young family.

When the nest was full of young there was little time
for him to devote to his music. His daylight hours, as well
as his mate’s, were spent in diligently providing for their
family, whose days were a continuous repast. As they
hopped about the lawn, looking and listening for worms,
every withered blade of grass, every sound attenuated be-
yond mortal hearing, was significant of that life in the
underworld which alone could satisfy the gustatory longings
of the babes in the nest. On returning from a foraging ex-
pedition, our little robins always found their ravenous young
with open bills ready to receive the fruit of their search. Two
or three times his own weight in worms did each of these con-
sume every day. No wonder the pin-feathers pushed out so
rapidly all over the small bodies—and that these so soon
burst into real feathers.

When not plying their brood with food, the older pair
were attending to their other wants. Infant bills must be
cleaned and all superfluous matter removed from the nest.
Bits of egg-shell were carried away, and occasional blades of
grass, that were accidentally gleaned with the harvest of
worms, were removed, keeping the nest in a state of perfect
neatness and cleanliness. During the hours when the sun
shone directly on the nest, the little ones were shielded from
its burning rays by maternal wings, while the father alone
provided food. Both parents were absolutely self-forgetful
in their devotion.

But new cares were awaiting them: the nestlings were
already overflowing the mud cup on the outreaching bough.

159
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

Now that they were strong enough and sufficiently equipped
with feathers to enter life in the great outside world, they
were beginning to show the fear that would be their greatest
protection when they reached the ground and had to take
care of themselves. The trustful innocence of their baby-
hood was gone, and the bravery of older robinhood had not
yet come to take its place. But however much they might
fear the dangers outside, the nest was no longer large enough
to hold them.

Fortunately, it was the two larger ones who were first
crowded over the edge to the ground below. It was not such
a fearsome thing, after all—this being on the ground, for
their ever-watchful father was there to take them in charge
and to lead them to a place of greater safety, while the mother
devoted her energies to the babes still in the nest. Soon the
hour struck for them to depart from the adobe home, and
they, too, sought the ground.

The days that followed were the most anxious and try-
ing for the older members of the family. Not only did every
mouthful of food have to be hunted and pursued in its ef-
forts to escape, but the fledglings did also. This terrible
fear that had lately come upon them prompted them to hide
away in tall grasses or under leaves and bushes. The faint-
est sound caused them to seek shelter, where their elders
found them crouching in fright.

After a few days the father took entire charge of them,
while the mother prepared another nest of yesteryear, in an
apple tree over the way, for a second brood. The little ones
roosted on convenient boughs in the near neighborhood for
a time, but after a while, when their wings were plumed for
longer flights, they spent the night with their father and
many others of his kind at a roost down near the river, while

160
 

Photograph by Edward Warren

YOUNG ROBBINS ROOSTING

‘‘The little ones roosted on convenient
boughs in the near neighborbood for a time.”’
ROBIN LIFE

their days were devoted to wandering about over the old pas-
tures and profiting by parental instruction in the different
methods of discovering where cutworms crawl. He showed
them also where grew the wild fruits and berries which are
more to the taste of robins still in speckled livery. Besides,
they were beginning to give more or less successful imitations
of the father’s song as he sang of hope to his brooding mate,
but not until the years have brought them experience will
they sing with his fervor.

When the new brood come from the nest, the parent
birds care for them jointly. The summer’s song and care
have left their voices weaker, but it has not affected their
happiness. After a day devoted to nursery duties, as he sits
on a higher limb than in the springtime, hear him calling to
his faithful mate his message of love—and as he pauses, seem-
ingly for her approval, at the end of his lay, her tender
“sweet, sweet,” called from a bough not far below, agrees
fully with our own sentiments.

It is difficult to imagine how any one could fail to cher-
ish these interesting tenants of our groves. They should be
protected on utilitarian as well as esthetic grounds. Some
one has most fitly called them the “guardian angels of our
soil.” The cutworms and other harmful forms of life which
they destroy, if left alone would do more damage than
one could easily estimate; the little fruit they consume—never
their staple food, but merely an occasional luxury—is noth-
ing more than their rightful wage. Besides, cultivated fruits
are left undisturbed when there are wild fruits conveniently
near.

As the summer wanes, the older birds cease to look for
food on the ground and betake themselves to haunts where
autumn berries, wild ivy, grape and deer berries are found.

163
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

As we notice them growing more and more shy and begin-
ning to haunt the treetops, we may know that their days
among us are numbered. The subtle suggestion of autumn’s
crimson and gold, the curling leaves and falling nuts, awaken
the migratory instinct. Soon, when the groves are seared
by frosts, with the gay vesture of the youthful year dulled
by a season of labor, they will be scarcely distinguishable
from the wind-swept leaves as they are caught in the great
southern drift; yet, on the eve of their departure, in voices
threadbare but earnest, they will preach in the golden gray
of the autumn twilight the same doctrine of gentleness and
love that they preached in the green glory of the springtime
—and among all their hearers, who fully understand the code,
none are found who fail to follow the cryptic call.

164
The many-wintered crow that leads
The clanging rookery home.
TENNYSON.

165
THE RAVEN OR CROW IN LITERATURE

HE raven and his congener, the crow, are so confused

a in literature, as well as in the minds of the great

mass of people who are unfamiliar with ornitholog-

ical classification, that it is almost a necessity to here treat

them as identical. The raven is a larger bird and not quite

so numerous or widely distributed as the crow, but in gen-
eral appearance and habits they are practically the same.

If tradition is to be credited, we are more indebted tothis
bird of ancient family than to any other feathered creature,
for he has played an important part in history—sacred and
profane—in literature, and in art; and throughout all ages
and nations he has rendered invaluable service.

On the authority of the Koran we know that it was he
who first taught man to bury his dead. When Cain knew
not what disposition to make of the body of his slain brother,
“God sent a raven, who killed another raven in his presence,
and then dug a pit with his beak and claws, and buried him
therein.” And it was the raven whom Noah sent forth to
learn whether the waters had abated—one of the rare in-
stances wherein he ever proved faithless to his trust—and it
was he who gave sustenance to the hungry prophet, Elijah.

In Norse mythology, Odin, the greatest of all the gods
—-the raven’s god—had for his chief advisers two ravens,
Hugin and Munin (Mind and Memory), who were sent out

167
‘BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

by him each morning on news-gathering journeys, and who
returned to him at nightfall to perch on his shoulders and
whisper into his ears the intelligence of the day. When news
of unusual importance was desired, Odin himself, in raven
guise, went forth to seek it. And when the Norse armies
went into battle they followed the raven standard—a banner
under which William the Conqueror fought. “If the Danish
arms were destined to defeat, the raven hung his head and
dropped his wings; if victory was to attend them, he stood
erect and soaring.”

Norse navigators, when setting sail, took with them a
pair of ravens to be liberated and followed as guides. If
these birds returned, it was known that land did not lie in the
direction taken; but if they did not, they were followed. The
discoveries of both Iceland and Greenland are attributed to
their leadership.

To the Romans and Greeks, the raven was an embodied
god and the chief bird of omen, whose effigy was borne on
their banners, and whose auguries were followed with the
greatest confidence; while to the German mind he was His
Satanic Majesty made manifest in feathers.

Not only gods, but mortals also, are known to have as-
sumed raven shape—if Don Quixote be an authority—for
this doughty knight informs us that the great King Arthur
passed into raven form, not through choice, but through
witcheraft, and that as a raven he still lives and flies about
over his erstwhi e kingdom, waiting to be liberated; and ha’
for this reason no Englishman would ever be guilty of taking
the life of one of these birds, for fear of becoming a regicide.

In some parts of Germany these birds are believed to
hold the souls of the damned, while in other European sec-
tions wicked priests only are believed to be so reincarnated.

168
Photograph by A. Hyatt Verrill
THE MANY-WINTERED CROW

‘Qld Munin has selected a place where he may
ponder undisturbed over the occurances of the day.”

 
THE RAVEN OR CROW IN LITERATURE

In Sweden the ravens croaking at night in the swamps are
said to be the ghosts of murdered persons who have been
denied Christian burial, and whom, on this account, Charon
has refused ferriage across the river Styx.

As a companion of saints this bird has had a wide ex-
perience; every day for sixty years he brought bread to St.
Paul, the Hermit, in the desert, and on the day preceding the
saint’s death he brought a double share, that there might be
sufficient to supply the needs of St. Anthony, who wasvisiting
him. St. Benedict’s raven saved his life by bearing away
the poisoned loaf sent to this saint by a jealous priest. After

his torture and death at Saragossa, when the body of St. —

Vincent was thrown to the wild beasts, it was rescued by
ravens and borne to his brothers at Valencia, where it re-
posed in a tomb till the Christians of that place were expelled
by the Moors. The remains of the saint were then carried
away by the exiled Christians, who were driven ashore at a
point since known as Cape St. Vincent, where they were
again placed in a tomb, to be guarded evermore by the faith-
ful ravens. And to St. Meinrad, St. Oswald, St. Francis,
St. Cuthbert, St. Ida and to various other saints and martyrs,
did these noble birds render substantial service.

By some nations, the raven was regarded as the bearer
of propitious news from the gods, and sacrosanct; to others
he was the precursor of evil and an object of dread. With
divining power, which enabled him for ages to tell the farmer
of the coming of needed rain, the maiden of the coming of
her lover, and the invalid of the coming of death, he was
received with joy or sadness, according to the message he
bore.

The belief in his power of divination was so general
that knowledge of the whereabouts of the lost has come to

171
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

be known as “raven’s knowledge.” To the Romans he was
able to reveal the means of restoring lost eyesight, even.
In Germany he was able to tell not only where lost articles
were, but could also make known to survivors where the
souls of their lost friends were to be found.

Faith in his prophetic power was common all over
Europe, where he foretold illness and death, and not only
could he foretell evil, but he could put forces in action to
bring it about, even “shaking contagion from his ominous
wing.”

In England he was looked upon with greater favor;
the mere presence of the home of a raven in a treetop was
there enough to insure the continuance in power of the
family owning the estate. ;

The power of the raven continued even after death; his
dried head and beak possessed talismanic power, while some
parts of his body were important ingredients in every
witch’s brew. To the North American Indian his split skin
drawn over the head of a medicine man gave him the power
of prophecy.

In Bohemia he was assigned the task usually performed
by the stork in other lands, while in some parts of Germany
witches were credited with riding upon his back instead of
on the conventional broomstick, as in other regions.

To the raven is attributed power not only over human
affairs, but the power also of influencing the elements; in
old Greece he brought the rains of summer; in modern China
crumbs are thrown to his counterpart, the crow, when he
lights on the mast of a ship, that he may be induced to in-
fluence the powers of the air to bring favorable winds.

In later times the raven has added interest to many a
story. Many of the world’s best writers have accorded him

172
THE RAVEN OR CROW IN LITERATURE

important réles in their writings—Shakespeare, Milton,

“Spencer, Marlowe, Southey, Scott, Tennyson, Dickens, Poe,
Longfellow, and an infinity of others. The wealth of raven
literature bears indubitable testimony to the interest people
of all times and all localities have felt in this remarkable
bird—an interest certain to increase with acquaintance.

173
CROW LIFE

O one with mind open to rural charm, this picturesque
bird, solemnly stalking about the fields, or majes-
tically flapping his way to the treetops, is as much

a part of the landscape as the fields themselves, or the trees
upon their borders; and possesses an interest different from
that of any other creature of the feathered race. Though he
no longer pursues the craft of the augur, his superior intelli-
gence, great dignity and general air of mystery inspire
confidence in his abilities in that line.

What powers were his in the old days! Foolish maidens
and ignorant sailors might put their faith in the divining
powers of the flighty wren; others might consult the swallow
and the kingfisher; but it was to the “many-wintered crow”
that kings and the great ones of earth applied for advice,
and it was he who never failed them. ‘According to Pliny,
he was the only bird capable of realizing the meaning of his
portents.

In the early morning light the worthy successors of the
ancient Hugin and Munin go forth to-day in quest of news
of interest to their clan, just as those historic messengers
did in the days when the mighty Norse gods awaited their
return, that they might act on the intelligence gathered by
them during the daylight hours; and when slanting beams
call forth the vesper songs of more tuneful birds, they return,

174
CROW LIFE

followed by long lines of other crows, to their usual haunts
on the borders of the marshes. Singly or in long lines, never
in loose flocks like blackbirds, they arrive from all directions,
till what must be the whole tribe is gathered together—a
united family—for the night’s repose.

As there in the treetops in the early evening, in con-
vention assembled, they discuss important affairs, who can
doubt that certain ones of their number are recognized as
leaders, and that they have some form of government among
themselves? One after another delivers himself of a
harangue, then the whole assemblage joins in noisy applause
—or is it disapproval? At other times sociability seems to be
the sole object of the gathering.

As one old crow, more meditative than the rest, at the
close of the conclave always betakes himself to the same
perch, the lonely, upthrust shaft of a lightning-shattered tree
on the hillside, we decide that here is old Munin, who has
selected this perch as one favorable to meditation—a place
where he may ponder undisturbed over the occurrences of
the day.

Others among the group have habits just as fixed and
noticeable. Eiven though approaching his perch from the
opposite direction, one will be seen to circle and draw near
it from the accustomed side; some of the more decided ones
will invariably remain just where they alight; others will
turn around and arrange themselves on their perches indefi-
nitely. In the fields it will be noticed that some are socially
inclined and forage in groups, while others, either from per-
sonal choice or that of their neighbors, are more solitary.
Like members of the human family, each has his own indi-
vidual characteristics.

While the chief charm of the crow is his intelligence,

175
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

his dignity also claims our attention. Who ever saw one
of his tribe do anything foolish or unbecoming to the funeral
director he has ever been since the birth of time, and that he
must ever be while time endures? The ancients believed him
to be able to scent a funeral several days before death oc-
curred, so sensitive was he to mortuary influences, and there
is little doubt he still possesses the power to discern approach-
ing death in many creatures smaller than himself—and to
whom he expects to extend the right of sepulchre. Inside
and out he is clothed in deepest black; even his tongue and
the inside of his mouth are in mourning. Seeming to think
it incumbent on him to live up to his funereal garb and occu-
pation, faithful to his trust, with clerical solemnity he goes
about his everyday duties.

Gazing on them from his watch-tower in the treetops,
what does this grave creature think of the gayer birds that
dwell in the meadows and groves round about? What thinks
he of the clownish bobolink, in motley nuptial livery, pouring
out his silly soul in gurgling, rollicking song in his efforts to
please a possible mate, then quarreling with both her and
his rivals, who, also, have donned cap and bells to win her
favor? What of the unpretentious home—a mere hollow in
the ground—where the care-free pair go to housekeeping?
What of the redwings building their nests among the reeds in
the midst of the marsh—so low as almost to touch the water?
Of the fitful wren, incessantly singing of love to his mate,
yet who fails to assist her in nest-building, and who proves
but an indifferent provider for his young family? Of the
lonely Phoebe, calling in plaintive, mysterious tones to a
mate unresponsive to his sorrowful beseechings? Of the
robin, who makes of the grove a sanctuary? He doubtless
has his opinions concerning every one of them, for he views

176
CROW LIFE

them all with interest. Hearing all the other birds singing
their love and seeing them winning favor with their brilliant
colors, does he envy them?

On the theory of compensation, his sterling qualities
render accomplishments and decorative raiment unnecessary.
With no song in which to tell his story, and no garments gay
to captivate the eye, the crow must needs live his love—and
he does—to the end. Seriously he wins the mate to°whom he
remains true forever. To him the marital bond is not the
mere tie of a season, but one that holds through life. He as-
sists the dusky bride of his choice in establishing a com-
modious home in the most commanding situations available
—the top of the tallest tree in the edge of the wood, and
which may have been planted by one of his ancestors. He
assists her in giving warmth to their eggs in the nest. He
carries food to her while she broods over them. He braves
every danger in protecting both her and them against preda-
tory hawks and owls and frolicking squirrels, to whom he is
known as the “warrior crow.” With tenderest solicitude, he
relieves his mate as far as he can in ministering to their nest-
lings.

And what of the young crows in the nest? When their
elders are away on commissary tours, the little ones, bewail-
ing the absence of parents almost constantly, are always
found on the return in attitudes of expectancy. To them the
approach of older crows, even though it be from the left, is
never ominous of anything but good. And when after many
excursions baby appetites have been satisfied, in their lofty
cradles in the treetops, the infant crows are rocked by the
breezes, and though the tuneless throats of the parents yield
no songs they are not without music, for soft, zolian lullabies
soothe them to sleep.

177
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

The nursery plant is a comfortable one, with gymnasium
equipment of sticks and weed-stems, on which the young
claws are exercised till strong enough to hold to the branches
surrounding the nest when the first unsteady steps are taken
outside. Living so high above the ground, they do not leave
the nest permanently so early as most other birds. No acci-
dental tumbling into the great outside world for them—but
occasionally casualties occur to decrease the family. Should
one fall from the nest he would in all probability be regarded
as lost. As a rule, the dusky little creatures make many
trips out among the higher branches and return again to the
nest for rest and refreshment before coming down to earth.
On reaching the ground they are initiated by the parents into
the ways of older crows. Indeed, the older birds devote the
entire summer to the education of their offspring, who
willingly remain under their provident care.

While the young are in the nest they are fed in a meas-
ure from the throats of the older birds, spiders, beetles, in-
sects of various kinds, eggs, and the young of various birds
and animals. Corn is given to them sparingly at first, but its
consumption increases with the age of the bird. Sprouting
grain is considered an especial dainty for immature crows.

During the plowing season the crow devotes his time
to following the furrow and clearing the fields of the pesti-
lential hosts that otherwise would ravish the harvest. To
one viewing him sympathetically he seems as necessary to
agricultural prosperity as the farmer himself. To be sure,
he claims a part of the fruit of the field as his wage, but so
does the farmer, who in his efforts to defeat the claims of
the bird often dangles the body of a deceased relative from a
hedge nearby in plain view of the dark-feathered gleaner.
But after viewing the remains, our friend the crow, who in

178
 

YOUNG CROWS

** On their return they always find their
young in attitudes of expectancy.’’
CROW LIFE

the pursuit of his calling has grown so accustomed to death
in all its forms as to take no note of it, or with a courage
born of hunger, carries out his original intention.

When a murderous gunner watches for these birds in
the field of newly planted grain, they usually fail to appear
till after his departure, when again they seek the old foraging
grounds, but, with a cunning developed by persecution, dis-
appear again on his return. Were his enemies to succeed
in banishing him from their fields a retributive justice would
undoubtedly permit the harvest to suffer. It is not through
self-interest, however, that the agriculturist will learn to pro-
tect him, but through the stronger force of sentiment.

On hearing farmers talk, one would’ think that the diet
of the crow is entirely granivorous, while no bird has a more
adaptable appetite; everything eatable is perfectly accept-
able—harmful grubs, beetles, worms, young rats, mice,
snakes and moles, as well as mollusks, acorns, nuts, wild
fruits and berries are among his staple articles of diet. And,
though it is no longer believed that “he shakes contagion
from his ominous wing,” he occasions a lamentable amount
of infant mortality among rabbits and squirrels, and even
among weak-limbed lambs, depriving them of health,
strength and happiness—but not through magic. These last
he attacks in the eye as the most vulnerable point. In the
old days he is reputed to have met with great success as an
oculist; in these his patients never recover.

In winter, when cereal stores and acorns which supply
the season’s want lie buried in snow, and when such animals
as in youth were ready prey have grown to a more formidable
majority, crows frequently suffer and perish from hunger,
and when snows lie long on the ground many of them are
found dead beneath their roosting places.

181
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

The voice of the crow when heard distinctly has in it
something of the winter’s harshness and seems to harmonize
best with winter sounds—creaking boughs and shrieking
winds—but when modulated by distance it isnot unmusical.
In the twilight, when calling to his belated brethren across
the marshes, his uncanny call might well be taken for the
cry of a lost soul craving Christian burial. Yet this might
depend on one’s mood. To each he seems to speak a differ-
ent language. To St. Athanasius he said: “Cras, cras!’
(To-morrow, to-morrow) ; to the sympathetic Tennyson he
always called, in tenderest accents, the name “Maud.”

Though this bird is said to have no tongue for express-
ing the happier emotions, the voice of the mother crow when
soothing her nestlings, with gurgling notes of endearment, is
tender as the robin’s; and the head of the family, though
croaking savagely when his mate is molested, and though
able to send an exultant “caw” after a retreating enemy,
never lowers himself by scolding*as the jay does.

In captivity, this bird is often taught to articulate dis-
tinctly, when he is as garrulous as in the wood. Occasion-
ally he even utters sounds akin to laughter—or what might
be considered laughter in one less grave. A crow that had
been taken from the nest and reared in a Virginia home
learned to recognize and call by name the different members
of the family, whom he followed about the house and grounds,
talking incessantly, and making no attempt to return to his
own kind and to a wild life.

While an inveterate collector of all small articles for
which he could have no possible use, shiny things like coins,
silver thimbles, beads and similar articles had an especial
attraction for him. Some of these he hid in out-of-the-way
places as other crows hide superfluous food for future use,

182
CROW LIFE

and some he planted, stamping them into the ground as his
uncivilized brethren of other years planted acorns to be eaten
on leaner days, and many of which were forgotten, to grow
into great oaks to be used as nesting sites by posterity.
Having won immunity from labor as a bread-winner, and
no longer having to cull his fare from the fields, he usually
dined with the barnyard fowls, with whom he had many dis-
agreements. But, as if to atone for his crimes, when the
garden was being spaded he followed his master and dili-
gently cleared the ground of larve.

Whatever his faults may be—and they are many—to
any one taking the trouble to study the crow, either in cap-
tivity or in his native environment, he will prove the most
interesting example of his race, an agreeable companion,
an ideal home-maker, a thrifty being, a liberal provider, an
able defender of his family, a destroyer of harmful insect and
animal life, a burier of the dead, a creature of dignity, a keen
observer, and the intellectual marvel of the bird world.

183
I do not love thee less for what is done,

And cannot be undone. Thy very weakness

Hath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforth

My love will have a sense of pity in it.
LonerELtow—Masque of Pandora.

185
ORIGIN OF THE WOODPECKER

N the days when our Lord walked upon the earth with

I the good Saint Peter, they came to a hut where an old

wife sat baking. Tired from the long walk and from

fasting, they begged of old Gertrude a bannock to stay their
hunger.

The tiny piece of dough which she decided should be
their cake, though rolled to thinness, grew so large on the
griddle that she refused to part with it. Still a tinier bit she
took, but it, too, grew as the first had done—too large to be
given as alms. The third and last time a piece so small it
could scarcely be seen was taken, but the bannock was again
too large—and again she refused to part with it.

As the wayfarers departed in hunger and thirst from
her door, she, through her selfishness, began to grow small
in punishment for her deed, so small that a human habita-
tion was no longer suitable for her. Up through the chim-
ney she flew, as a woodpecker, blackening her back on the
sooty walls. The white apron she wore and the scarlet mutch
on her head remained just as they were.

As a further punishment, she was compelled to seek her
food in most difficult places. If she could not find it in the
trees between bark and bole, she must dig for it in the hard,
dry wood. And she'was allowed no drink save the raindrops.

187
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

In scarlet hood and soot-stained gown she is seen to-day
laboriously digging her tiny home in the solid wood, or flying
about among the trees hiding the food she will not eat, or
hacking and tapping at the bark for food, and whistling for
the rain to come, for she is ever ahunger and ever athirst, and
craving for a drop to cool her tongue.

—Known in Norse mythology as the “Gertrude Story.”

188
 

 

 

Photograph by Francis H. Herrick
FLICKER BEARING FOOD TO HIS YOUNG
WOODPECKER LIFE

N the thirteenth of July a red-mutched descendant of
the unfortunate Gertrude knocked on the stricken
bough of a lofty elm to crave of the Dryad within

hospitality for a season. Yes, her wish would be granted,

but only on condition that she would dig out a shelter for
herself there in the hard, dry wood, in fulfilment of the
ancient curse.

What had gone wrong in the woodpecker family that
she was in need of shelter this late in the year? Earlier in the
summer she and her mate had burrowed out a comfortable
home in a great oak tree not two hundred yards away. Then
they were on the best of terms and had relieved each other
at the task of digging out their dwelling place. Twenty or
twenty-five minutes at a time was thought long enough for
either of them to devote to so laborious a task in the spring-
time; then the other spent an equal time at the work, while
the one off duty hurried away to partake of refreshments or
to seek rest in change of occupation.

Then there seemed to be some joy in their lives, for when
they had occasionally found time for recreation, they had
chased each other around the tree trunks and given utterance
to their enjoyment of the game in many a peal of cackling
laughter. Near the base of a tree the game began, and,
spirally, round and round its trunk, they pursued each other,
the one in the lead every now and then casting a challenging

191
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

look behind, then hurrying upward faster than before. Their
playtimes were brief, however, for the unfinished burrow was
calling.

When this was completed and later a half dozen or more
eggs were laid, though madam spent most of her time in dis-
pensing warmth to them, her mate also did his share. To-
gether they had devoted their energies to providing for the
little ones that pecked their way out of the round, white eggs.
Many long journeys were they compelled to take and many
were the hours spent in search of suitable food for their hun-
gry offspring; but on their return, their throats were always
full to the brim with the nourishment which they pumped
into infant throats as, hanging head downward over them,
they clung with their claws to the entrance of their home.
And when after a time the chicks were old enough to scramble
about on the trunk of the tree outside their home, a wheezy
call from one of them was enough to bring one or both of the
parents, with throat distended with the best the wood afford-
ed, to minister to their wants. ‘Together they had driven
away the over-solicitous squirrels and meddlesome sparrows
who came to visit them. Together they had guided their
asthmatic young family about the wood, teaching them by
example, if not by precept, where food was to be found, and
how to meet the dangers they were likely to encounter at any
moment.

The accidents of nature had depleted the brood, till now
but two of them were left. A ball of baby feathers in the
home of an ow] living in the wood told the story of the pass-
ing of one of them; the gladness which attended the home-
coming of a foraging mother squirrel marked the taking off
of another; so they had gone, till only these two remained,
wheezy and exacting.

192
WOODPECKER LIFE

Of late the care of them had fallen mainly on the father,
who picked up a living for them as best he could. At times
he seemed to try to get away from them—a futile effort, for
when they did not follow his undulating flight in their awk-
ward up-and-down fashion, they went in search of him if he
was gone a few minutes over time.

Here on the thirteenth of July was the mother seeking
shelter away from her former home. Had there been a fami-
ly disagreement? Was the home-nest no longer large enough
for the parent birds and their now almost grown-up family?
Was she planning for a new brood? Surely not! It would
be impossible to rear in a single season two broods requiring
so much care.

Whatever her purpose, here she was, drawing her plans
on the under side of the dry old bough. Soon she began to
peck out an entrance, and it was not long before the chips
were flying in every direction. More than an hour she
worked, then flew to the dead top of a tree across the way,
where she sat for a brief time, resting and sunning herself.
Twice she left her perch to dart out after passing insects, then
returned to her labor. Occasionally she swung around to the
top side of the dead branch, and tore off bits of bark, either
for the purpose of seeing if the hole was going clear through
or for securing the insect fare lurking under it. This part of
the work continued at intervals, till the bark was removed
from all the excavated portion of the bough. All day, until
about five o’clock, she spent at her task with but little rest,
then there was a long visit to the rest perch in the neighbor-
ing treetop.

The early morning hours were probably devoted to com-
missary tours, for it was almost eight o’clock when she ap-
peared on the scene of her labors and again began to wield

193
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

the pick. About ten o’clock her spouse appeared and ar-
ranged himself comfortably on the same limb about a foot
away from the hole she was digging, but not by so much as
a single stroke did he assist her. Soon a wheezy, whistling
cry called him to duties as insistent as home building, and
he departed.

After watching the progress of woodpecker affairs for
some time, a dweller in the house under the tree decided to
lend a hand. A worm-eaten hitching-post stood near, on
which was placed pieces of bread for the hungry little wielder
of the pick. This not only satisfied her wants, but served also
to bring her mate and offspring near occasionally. At first
the young members of the family refused to pick up this
food set before them, but, instead, clung to a neighboring tree
and called vociferously for help. Then the father took the
bits of bread and pushed them far down into the screaming
throats. The young Romulus must have possessed wonder-
ful powers of endurance if the woodpeckers of old ministered
to him as vigorously in response to his infantile wails as the
woodpeckers of to-day respond to the screaming demands
of their own offspring. How gentle the wolf must have
seemed in comparison!

Several times the young woodpeckers followed the
father to the limb in which the mother was chiseling a home.
Together they watched her work, but during the first three
days seemed to take no interest whatever in the hole she was
making. ‘Then the father went in and examined the open-
ing, but flew away without giving any real aid. And all
through the work his assistance seemed to be limited to in-
spection.

In her digging, the mother woodpecker clung with her
claws to the opening of the burrow, and, head downward,

194
FLICKER FEEDING HIS YOUNG

(HIS HABITS ARE SIMILAR TO THE RED-HEADS)

‘The father pushed bits of bread
far down into the screaming throats.”

 

. Herrick
WOODPECKER LIFE

pecked rapidly. Sometimes she would throw out chips—
which were little more than coarse sawdust—after three or
four blows; again, she worked for a minute or two, then
threw out several billfuls at a time. In throwing out these
chips she slipped backward and forward over the lower edge
of the opening, after the manner of that old-fashioned toy
called a “supple jack.” First she threw her chips to one
side, then to the other, till the ground beneath the burrow
for a space thirty feet in circumference was generously
sprinkled with them.

Though several persons were watching her, and though
squirrels were springing about among the branches, she was
not disturbed, but went steadily on with her task. While she
was away on short vacations, the wren, dwelling in the porch
roof beneath, frequently investigated the hole she was dig-
ging—sparrows examined it, and squirrels looked into it, but
it was very noticeable that they all had an eye on her return.
Once in her absence one of her own young woodpeckers
scrambled to the edge of the hole and peeped in for a moment,
then scuttled back again to the place where the dead branch
joined the trunk of the tree, and in his usual noisy manner
demanded food.

It was near the end of the third day’s labor that the
woodpecker was first seen “trying on” her new home. Then
she went into it, and, nestling there, with head up for the
first time, looked out of the window. Evidently the pocket
was neither deep enough nor wide enough, for after this she
worked on both bottom and sides of it, scattering chips as
before. The work periods were shorter now and the rests
more frequent, showing that her strength was failing. On
the afternoon of the fifth day, when the burrow was finished,
completely exhausted, she made her way to the roof of the

197
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

house, where, with wings spread, she lay for more than an
hour. Seemingly too tired to reach her usual resting place
in the treetop across the way, she lay there gathering strength
for the longer flight.

Though the sexes are alike in the redhead family, it was
not difficult to distinguish them in this case, for the feathers
about the head and neck of the mother were much more worn
than those of her less industrious mate. Yet it may be an
injustice to him to accuse him of indolence, for was he not
purveying to their younglings?—a task which may have
taxed his energies to the limit. Perhaps, after all, it was
only a case of division of labor.

After the completion of the burrow, though the wood-
pecker was anxiously watched for, for several days, she was
not seen near it again, though the usual bits of bread placed
on the hitching-post brought her to its neighborhood.

The experiment was tried of putting some of the crusts
on top of the post and stuffing others tightly into the large
worm-holes. The latter were invariably taken first. Though
the young birds came there regularly to be fed, more than a
week passed before they made the slightest effort to help
themselves. They would cling to the sides of the post and,
with upward-pointing, open bills, whistle asthmatically for
the food, which the parents were compelled to place in their
throats. Whether it was wilfulness or inability that caused
them to act as they did, it was impossible to determine.

The whistling of the young birds, which was once be-
lieved to predict rain, or to be a demand for it from a thirsty
throat, always precedes or accompanies the taking of food.
Tt is doubtless a little more frequent before showers, for at

-such times the older birds are able to collect more beetles and

198
WOODPECKER LIFE

other insects that come out then from their shelters into the
open.

The old belief that woodpeckers are ever athirst because
of their inability to drink any save the rain that falls into
their open throats or the drops that fall from the leaves, may
have some foundation. In the case of this family, though a
basin of water was always conveniently near, and though
sparrows, robins, bluejays and wrens constantly patronized
it, no woodpecker was ever seen to refresh himself from it—
many as there were of them in the vicinity.

When more bread than the four birds could consume was
placed in the post, the older ones carried a part of it away—
usually the larger pieces on top—for future use, or pounded
it tightly into worm-holes in the same post, but never into
the ones in which they found it.

Several weeks after the burrow was finished, one even-
ing just about sunset, a red head was seen peeping from the
window in the treetop; then it was drawn back, and again it
appeared and was withdrawn, to be seen no more during the
evening. It was a dormitory, then, that you hollowed out
for yourself, was it, my lady?

One morning, near the close of August, it was noticed
that the entrance to the lodging was distinctly larger, and
that a patch of daylight showed through from the other side.
Whether for some reason the bird herself had enlarged the
opening before departing for the South, or whether this
had been done by mischievous squirrels on murder bent, is
not known; but certain it is that the red-mutched laborer was
gone. Others of her kind lingered in the grove for a week or
more, and though food was placed on the accustomed post,
neither she nor any of her immediate family appeared to
claim it.

199
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

When he is gone, the most accomplished songsters
are not missed more than the red-headed woodpecker, whose
broad patches of clear color enliven the wood. Though he
may no longer assist in the growth of the forest by bringing
refreshing showers, as he is said to have done in the long-
ago time, he certainly is doing much in his own way to pre-
serve them. Well might the ancients have made a god of him.
He still possesses one of the gifts which won that honor for
him—the power of producing thunder—and in a way that
mortals can understand. Hear it rumbling among the dead
treetops, as the bird drums rapidly on the dry wood and sets
it to vibrating, then quickly lays his hollow bill against it
to add resonance to the peal. Vulcan himself could not have
felt greater satisfaction than he, as he stops to listen, in con-
scious pride over his accomplishment.

Whether he is a god made manifest in feathers, or merely
an old woman under a curse, expiating.the crime of selfish-
ness in picking up a living where there seems to be no life,
and in sharing this scant fare with the hungry, as we see this
bird with breast flattened and shoulders bent by hard work,
while our sympathies are awakened, we bless the day that
gave to the world this tireless little laborer of the wood.

200
BIRD LORE
 
OWL LORE

STORY similar to the Gertrude story of the wood-
pecker is told of a baker’s daughter refusing a cake
to our Lord when ahungered, and who was for her

selfishness transformed into an owl.

From her habit of moving her head from side to side,
another legend represents her as an old weaver, silently weav-
ing her silver web of the moonbeams.

To the Etruscans the owl was a psychopompos, or soul-
guide—Ceres turned a son of Styx into an owl because he
blabbed the secret of Persephone eating pomegranate seeds
in the realm of Hades.

According to Ovid, in old Rome it was believed that

~ witches could transform themselves into screech owls and

return to human form at pleasure. In owl form they throt-

tled or sucked the blood of babes asleep in their cradles, as
cats suck their breath.

203
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

In an English nursery rhyme, the owl sings:

Once I was a monarch’s daughter,
And sat on a lady’s knee,

But am now a mighty rover,
Banished to the ivy tree.

Crying, “Hoo hoo, hoo hoo, hoo hoo,
Hoo! hoo! hoo! my feet are cold!
Pity me, for here you see me,

99

Persecuted, poor and old!

In another north-country nursery song she sings:

“Oh!o 0000
I once was a king’s daughter,
And sat on my father’s knee;
But now I’m a poor hoolet,
And hide in a hollow tree.”

This owl princess is supposed to be none other than
Pharaoh’s daughter.

A Breton legend has it that once upon a time each of
all the birds gave a feather to the wren, who had lost her own
in trying to secure fire from heaven. The owl alone refused
this charity, saying: “I will not give up a single feather;
the winter is coming on, and I fear the cold.” “Very well,”
replied the king; “from this day on thoushalt be the most
wretched of birds, always shivering with cold. Thou shalt
never leave thy abode but by night, and if thou shouldst show
thyself in the daytime other birds shall pursue and persecute
thee.” From that very time the owl has never ceased to cry
“hou, hou!” as if perishing with the cold.

204
OWL LORE

The owl’s shriek causes an infant’s death_—A rab.

“The owl, for all his feathers, was acold.”—Kegats.
The owl’s ery at night betokens a change of weather.

» In China the owl is known as the “bird which calls for
the soul.”

In England it was once a common belief that if an owl
appeared at a birth it foreboded ill-luck to the infant.

In the north, the home of the white owl, she is believed
to possess prophetic power superior to that of any other
bird.

A Hebrides belief is that if an owl scream three times
over your home at night, a death will surely follow unless
some one calls out: “Pepper and salt for your mammy!”

In his Natural History, Pliny the Elder says of the
owl: “It is a portent of the night; and makes its presence
known by no kind of song, but rather by sobs and moans.
Accordingly, whenever it shows itself in cities, or at all by
daylight, it prognosticates dire misfortune.” Pliny, quoting
another writer, says: “The owl, unlike most other birds,
issues from the egg back foremost; inasmuch as one side of
the egg is weighed down by the great size of its head, so the
lighter end containing the back is presented to the fostering
warmth of the mother.”

205
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

To kill an owl makes one’s cows give bloody milk.

In Syria, the owl is called the “mother of ruins”; in
Treland, “the old woman of the night.”

In Belgium, scrambled owl’s eggs are deemed, by the
superstitious, a potent cure for drunkenness.

In Greece, the owl was sacred to Athena because of the
‘power of seeing in the night, which both possessed.

In some European countries dead owls were once nailed
to rafters or on doors to avert any evil which their living pres-
ence might have brought.

The blacks of Australia believe that when an owl is
killed, a woman’s death is sure to follow, as a man’s death
must follow the killing of a bat.

Parts of owls were considered particularly efficacious
jin witches’ potions. Medea, the witches in Macbeth, and
' many others used them in their brews.

It is an Indian superstition that if you fix your eyes
on an owl and walk round and round him, he will follow you
with his eyes till his head is twisted from his body.

The heart of a white owl laid on the breast over the
heart of a sleeping woman was believed to have the power
of causing her to divulge her secrets; and the heart of a white
owl, carried into battle, possessed the talismanic power of
inspiring courage, averting danger and insuring success.

206
WREN LORE

rivalry between the eagle and the wren. The same

story, with variations, is told by the North American
Indians, and it is also common in Germany, France, Scot-
land and Norway.

B OTH Pliny and Aristotle allude to the story of the

In early English tradition the wren has the credit of
being the robin’s wife; and in Icelandic, of being the mouse’s
brother.

y Though the wren to-day seems the most domestic of

birds, in history she is given a bad reputation, being identi-
fied with sorcery, witchcraft, and immorality. In Norse
mythology she is a malignant fairy, whose office is to lead
youths astray. Until recently, on the Isle of Man, the mas-
culine inhabitants turned out to hunt the wren on Christmas
Day, believing her to have been once a sort of Lorelei, who,
by her songs and charms, had lured young men into the sea,
where the waves swept them away to death, and who had
assumed this tiny, feathered form when pursued by the en-
raged people. For some reason it was believed that this
malignant Lorelei wren would always go about working her
wicked charms on Christmas Day, till she should perish by
the hand of man. For this reason men hunted the wren and

207
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

kept the feathers of all such birds as were killed on this day
to use as amulets against shipwreck.

Wren hunts were also common in Ireland, where many
wren-hunt songs were sung. Each hunter carried two sticks,
one with which to beat the hedges, and one to throw at the
bird. When in the hunt a wren was killed, it was placed
on a ribbon-decked ivy or holly bough, or suspended in two
hoops crossed at right angles and decked with evergreens
and ribbons, and borne about triumphantly at the head of a
procession.

One of these songs is given in Crofton Croker’s “Re-
searches,” as follows:

IRISH WREN-HUNT SONG

“The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,
Saint Stephen’s Day was caught in the furze;
Although he is little, his family’s great—

I pray you, good landlady, give us a treat.

“My box it would speak, if it had but a tongue,
And two or three shillings would do it no wrong;
Sing holly, sing ivy—sing ivy, sing holly,

A drop just to drink, it would drown melancholy.

“And if you draw it of the best,
I hope your soul in heaven may rest;
But if you draw it of the small,
It won’t agree with the wren boys at all.”

208
WREN LORE

The following wren song, with verses sometimes varied
to suit the singer, is probably the most common:

“ ‘Let us go to the wood!’ said Richard to Robin.
‘Let us go to the wood!’ said Robin to Bobbin.
‘Let us go to the wood!’ said John, all alone.
‘Let us go to the wood!’ said every one.

‘What shall we do there?’ said Richard to Robin, ete.
‘We will hunt the wren,’ said Richard to Robin, etc.
‘Where is he? Where is he?’ said Richard to Robin, ete.
‘In yonder green bush,’ said Richard to Robin, etc.
‘How can we get him down? said Richard to Robin, ete.

‘He’s eaten! He’s eaten!’ said Richard to Robin, etc.”

There are thirty-two verses of a similar song, as given by
Mr. Swainson in “Folk Lore of British Birds.” Other wren
songs are equally full of repetition.

In some districts the wren hunt took place on St.
Stephen’s Day, because at the time St. Stephen was being
brought to execution and was about to escape from his sleep-
ing jailors, a wren flew on the face of one of them and woke
him.

Mr. Swainson tells us that a proclamation was issued
by Richard Dowden, Mayor of Cork in 1845, prohibiting
the wren hunt in the interest of “prevention of cruelty to
animals,” but that the custom is still observed in some parts
of Connaught.

209
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

A somewhat similar custom of wren-hunting followed
by conviviality prevails in France, where the youth who kills
the bird is dubbed king.

To-day many Manxmen will not put to sea without a
dead wren to ward off storms and disasters, because once
upon a time a queer sort of a something called a Jes spirit,
which hunted herring and brought on storms, whisked herself
into a wren, when pursued, and flew away. So it is believed
that when a dead wren is aboard, this Jes spirit is dead to
that part of the sea lying around about.

It is a Gaelic belief that no house that the wren frequents
ever dies out.

“He that hurts a robin or a wren,
Will never prosper, sea nor land.”
—VYorkshire Couplet.

‘A Breton Legend:—The wren, being able to fly higher
than any other bird, secured the coveted fire from heaven and
started on her earthward journey, but in her descent her
wings began to burn, compelling her to intrust her precious
burden to the robin, whose feathers also burst into flames, as
his breast still shows. The lark, coming to the rescue,
brought the prize in safety to mankind on earth.

In some parts of Brittany it is said that the wren
brought the fire from the lower regions, and that her feathers
were scorched as she passed through the keyhole.

On this account the wren, together with the robin, the
lark and the swallow, as fire-bringers, are regarded as sacred,
and the robbing of their nests as acts of horror. In some of

210
WREN LORE

the French provinces such crimes are believed to be punished
by the destruction of the offender’s house by lightning. An-
other superstition is that the fingers of the offending hand
will shrivel away and drop off. —

Like the robin and the raven, the wren was often the
companion of saints.

Q1T
EAGLE LORE

CCORDING to some old stories, a dip in the ocean

A wave renews the youth of the eagle; according to

others, before the dip, the bird spreads his feathers

to the sun, which consumes them; then plunging into the
purifying and vivifying water, he arises in youth.

The young eagle was said to begin life with a fire test.

_ In some parts of Ireland it is believed that Adam and
/Eve still exist as eagles.
In religious history the eagle figures as the companion
of saints because, according to Saint Jerome, “he ascends
to the very throne of God.”

It was once a matter of common belief that the young
- eagle who could not look the sun in the eye unflinchingly was
slain by its parents as unfit for an eagle’s career.

Among the Dakotah Indians there is a deluge legend to
the effect that when the flood came, all the Indians, hoping
to escape, fled to a hilltop, but were finally overwhelmed—
all but one woman, who was borne away by a great eagle,
her father swooping down, and carried to a high mountain.
She afterward became the mother of twins, who perpetuated
the race.

212
EAGLE LORE
‘To the Indian, the eagle was the keeper of fires, sun,
moon and stars.
f

l--The eagle is used as a symbol of power by the United

States, Austria and Russia.

_.--Un olden times the eagle was the symbol of war, around
which the armies of Rome rallied.

In early England it was believed that eagle’s feathers
would consume any other feathers placed with them.

~The North American Indian still decorates his war
bonnet with eagle’s feathers, each feather being the symbol
of a great deed done.

In Finnish literature the eagle brings fire from heaven
to reward Vaino for leaving the birch tree standing as a
perch and nesting place for birds.

The North American Indian believes that the sky is in-
habited by a great eagle, who causes thunder to roll and
snow and hail to fall by the shaking of his mighty feathers.

ee
Soe.

In Greek mythology the eagle is emblematic of the de-
structive power of Zeus.

Bird of Pan in early Greek mythology.

,. The eagle was one of the guardians of Walhalla, the
banquet-hall of the Norse gods.

213
SWALLOW LORE

WALLOWS in antiquity were deemed lucky on land
but unlucky at sea. Cleopatra abandoned a voyage on
seeing one of these birds on the masthead of her ship.

The killing of a swallow makes the cows give bloody
milk.

Swallows building under the eaves bring good luck to
a house.

To kill a swallow brings misfortune, in Germany, and
there no one dares to destroy her nest.

Possessing weather intelligence, swallows tell us, when
they fly high, that the day will be clear; when low, that it
will be cloudy or stormy.

In Norway it is said that when the Saviour hung on
|_the cross a pitying swallow, perching there, peered sorrow-
| fully down and twitted “Hugsvala, svala, svala. Honom!”
‘(“Console, console, console Him!’)

The Russian peasant believes that on the 25th of March
the swallow comes flying from Paradise to bring warmth to
{ the earth, while other Europeans believe that she comes before

‘\ Maundy Thursday to be present at the commemoration of the

crucifixion.
Q14
SWALLOW LORE

In Bohemia in the springtime if one swallow is first seen
by a maiden she will be married during the year; if a pair,
she will remain single.

Once upon a time the present to a lady of a gold ring
that had lain in a swallow’s nest nine days inspired love in
her breast for the donor.

The heart of a swallow worn around the neck was sup-
posed to render the wearer attractive; the same amulet was
used to strengthen memory.

In Ireland the peasants believe that there is a certain
hair on every one’s head, which, if picked off by a swallow,
dooms the man to perdition.

In Norfolk they say that when swallows congregate
about churches before departing for the South they are de-
ciding who shall die before their return.

If a swallow flies under a cow she gives bloody milk and
is said to be “swallow struck.” She may be cured by sprink-
ling her milk on the spot where roads cross.

An old French legend says that it was the swallow that
removed the crown of thorns from the brow of Christ, and
that a thorn, piercing her breast, gave it the ruddy dye.

Pliny tells of the swallow curing blindness in her
progeny by the use of the swallow herb, a magic,plant which,
if taken from her and carried in the pocket, would insure

wealth to the possessor.
215
MAGPIE LORE

NOTHER story of the magpie’s nest-building differs
from the one already told in that the magpie was the
teacher.

The magpie. is said to be the only bird that did not
~ go into the ark with Noah. Instead, she sat on the roof and
' chattered of disaster.

In most sections the magpie is considered a bird of evil
omen, though she occasionally prophesies births and wed-
dings.

An old rhyme gives the import of her prophecies:

“One is sorrow, two is mirth,
‘Three a wedding, four a birth,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret, not to be told;
Eight for heaven, nine for hell,

‘Ten for the de’il’s ain sel’.
—Northumberland.

In England one magpie was thought to be a sign of
bad weather, while two betokened fair, because, when chill-
ing winds blew, only one bird could leave the nest in quest
of food; but when the day was mild or warm, both might go
forth without causing the young to suffer.

216
{

MAGPIE LORE

hi ‘ In mythology she is the bird of Bacchus.

In Germany her chattering is prophetic of coming
guests.

From its thieving habits, the magpie is called the “egg-
lift” in Lincolnshire.

In Scotland the perching of a magpie on a house is be-
lieved to foretell the death of a child.

In Germany it is believed that witches assume magpie
form—or that they ride on the backs of these birds.

In Scotland the magpie was once called the “devil’s
bird,” and was believed to have the devil’s blood in his tongue.
If her tongue was scratched and a drop of human blood in-
serted, it was believed that she would receive the gift of
speech.

In England, when an unlucky number of these birds
is seen by the superstitious, a cross is made in the air, or the
hat removed and a bow made to the birds, to neutralize the
charm. With crossed thumbs this rhyme is often repeated:

“TI cross the magpie,
The magpie crosses me;
Bad luck to the magpie,
And good luck to me.”

The sight. of a crow will also break the charm—or spitting
over the shoulder—or crossing the feet—or making the sign
of the cross on the breast.

217
aor

| the tender heart of the robin gushed forth as the sharp thorn

ROBIN LORE

N seeing the suffering of our Lord on the cross, the
robin in pity plucked a thorn, which pierced his
brow, from the torturing crown. The blood from

entered his own breast, producing a crimson stain that re-

mains to this day.
—A Breton Legend.

The robin, as well as the swallow and the woodpecker,
was classed as a fire-bringer. Each bears a red mark to
fortify the claim. A correspondent of Notes and Queries sent
this story told by a Caermarthenshire nurse to a child under
her care: ‘‘Far, far away in a land of woe, dwell darkness,
and spirits of evil and fire. Day by day does the little bird
bear in his bill a drop of water to quench the flame. So near
to the burning stream does he fly, that his dear little feathers
are scorched, and hence he is named Bronrhuddyn (breast-
burned or breast-scorched). To serve little children, the
robin dares approach the infernal pit. No good child will
hurt the devoted benefactor of man. The robin returns from
the land of fire, and therefore he feels the cold of winter far
more than his brother birds. He shivers in the brumal

218
ROBIN LORE

blast; hungry, he chirps before your door. Oh, my child,
then, in gratitude, throw a few crumbs to poor redbreast!”

d _- Shakespeare refers to the robin as “the ruddock with
charitable bill.”

In Germany and the British Isles the killing of a robin
causes the cow of the slayer to give bloody milk.

In Bohemia the destruction of a robin’s nest is believed
to bring palsy to the hands of the destroyer, while in the
Tyrol such a wrongdoer is expected to be visited by epilepsy.
In Suffolk a broken leg is the natural result of breaking the
eggs of a robin.

The story of the “Babes in the Wood,” taken from a
play written in 1601, is but an expression of the still older
belief that robins cover dead bodies with leaves, on finding
them unburied.

“The robin redbreast, if he find a man or woman dead,
will cover his face with moss; and some think that if the
body should remain unburied he will cover the whole body.”
'=-Johnson’s “Cornucopia,” published late in the sixteenth

century.

THE ROBIN

My old Welsh neighbor, over the way,
Crept slowly out in the sun of spring,

Pushed from her ears the locks of gray,

. ‘And listened to hear the robin sing.

219
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

‘Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped,
And, cruel in sport as boys will be,

Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped
From bough to bough in the apple tree.

“Nay!” said the grandmother; “have you not heard,
My poor, bad boy, of the fiery pit,
And how, drop by drop, this merciful bird
Carries the water that quenches it?

“He brings cool dew in his little bill,
And lets it fall on the souls of sin;

You can sée the mark on his red breast still,
Of fires that scorch as he drops it in.

“My poor bron rhuddyn! My breast-burned bird,
Singing so sweetly from limb to limb!
Very dear to the heart of our Lord
Is he who pities the lost like him!”

“Amen!” I said to the beautiful myth;
“Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well;
Each good thought is a drop wherewith
To cool and lessen the fires of hell.”

Prayers of love like raindrops fall,
Tears of pity are cooling dew;

And dear to the heart of our Lord are all
Who suffer like Him in the good they do.

WHiIttTIER.
220
ROBIN LORE

A BRETON LEGEND

“Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth forlorn,
His God-like forehead by the mock crown torn,
A little bird took from that crown one thorn,
To soothe the dear Redeemer’s throbbing head.
That bird did what she could; His blood, ’tis said,
Down dropping, dyed her tender bosom red.
Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest;
Weasel nor wildcat will her young molest;
All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast.”

Hosxyns-ABRAHALL—The Redbreast.

221
RAVEN LORE
ORIGIN OF THE RAVEN

RUE it is—and it would be an injustice to conceal
the fact, much more to deny it—that ravens of
old fed Elijah; but that was the punishment of

some old sin committed by two who before the flood bore the
human shape, and who, soon after the ark rested on Mount
Ararat, flew off to the desolation of swamped forests and the
disfigured solitudes of the drowned glens. Dying ravens
hide themselves from daylight in burial places among the
rocks, and are seen hobbling into their tombs, as if driven
thither by a flock of fears, and crouching under a remorse
that disturbs instinct, even as if it were conscience. So sings
and says the Celtic superstition—muttered to us in a dream
—adding that there are raven ghosts; great black bundles of
feathers, forever in the forest, night-hunting in famine for
prey, emitting a last feeble croak at the blush of dawn, and
then all at once invisible.”

—Wilson’s “Recreations of Christopher North.”

ORIGIN OF CROWS—ESKIMO

3 In the moon of falling leaves, an Indian mother, the wife
’ of a chief, took with her into the forest her children that they,

222
RAVEN LORE

might help her in gathering spruce boughs to be used in col-
lecting the eggs of salmon. Leaving the children to watch a
pile of boughs on the beach, she returned to find them gone.
On calling to them to return she was answered only by the
voices of crows flying about over the forest. For their wan-
dering and disobedience they were doomed to live in this form
forevermore, and to this day crows are carved on the totems
of all of their tribe.

A HEBRIDES FABLE

‘A crow never can be put to shame. The lapwing,
who, as every one knows, has a habit of repeating him-
self, said to the crow: “I never saw your like for stealing
eggs, for stealing eggs.” The crow, rubbing his beak on the
grass, replied: “Nor did we ourselves, though it is we who

are older.” — Journal of Am. Folk Lore.

WHY RAVENS ARE BLACK—A TYROLESE STORY

In the old days ravens were of beautiful appearance,
with plumage as white as snow, which they kept clean by
constant washing in a stream. To this stream came once
upon a time the Holy Child desiring to drink, but the ravens
prevented him by splashing about and making muddy the
water. Whereupon He said: “Ungrateful birds! Proud
you may be of your beauty, but your feathers so snowy white
shall become black and remain so till the Judgment Day,”
and so they have been ever since.

ZINGERLE.

223
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

In the myth of the metamorphosis of Coronis by Apollo
as told by Ovid, the raven, once white, was turned black for
deceitful conduct.

“The raven flies not straight like other birds, but crooked
because cursed by Noah.”

THE CROW STONE

“On the first of April boil the eggs taken out of a crow’s
nest until they are hard, and being cold, let them be placed
in the nest as they were before. When the crow knows this
she flies a long way to find the stone, and returns with it to
her nest, and the eggs being touched with it they become
fresh and prolific. The stone must be immediately snatched
out of the nest. Its virtue is to increase riches, to bestow
honors, and foretell future events.”

Lronarpus CamitLus—Mirror of Stones.

In Brittany two crows are said to come and perch on
the house-roof when the head of the family is about to die.
Two crows are there assigned to every family to foretell
family events.

—Journal of Folk Lore, Vol. XT.

Hindoos gave food to the crows as to the souls of the
dead.
—Zoological Mythology, p. 258.

In Switzerland a crow perching on the roof of a house
in which a corpse lies means that the soul of the dead is lost.
SWAINSON.

224
RAVEN LORE

“In Sussex the cry of the crow thrice repeated is con-
sidered a sure sign of death.”

In Bohemia, peasants declare that from springtime up
to St. Lawrence’s, or, according to some, St. Bartholomew’s
Day, the crows dare not roost in the forest or on trees, be-
cause they were the birds who pecked out the eyes of St.
Lawrence, or, as some say, of St. Carlo Borromeo. The
children are also told on the birth of a baby that it was
brought to the house by crows, who let it fall down the chim-
ney.

GROHMANN.

“In Andalusia, if the raven is heard croaking over a
house, an unlucky day is expected; repeated thrice, it is a
fatal presage.” If perching high, turning and croaking, a
corpse will come from that direction.

In some parts of Europe the raven is supposed to have
the power of bringing infection.

“Saturday is the raven’s day, and woe to the armies
that fall on that day under the gloom of its ominous wing.”
—Robinson’s “Poet’s Birds,” p. 381.

WEATHER LORE

“When crows fly low it is a sign of rain.”

When rooks or crows stay at home or return early in
the day, rain should be expected; if they fly far away it
will be fair.

—Devonshire.

225
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

Ravens bring the summer rain.
—Greece.

When rooks congregate on the dead branches of trees
there will be rain before night; if they sit on the live
branches, the day will be fine.

—VYorkshire.

226
WOODPECKER LORE

‘ y ARIATIONS of the Gertrude story are told in other
lands of the owl, cuckoo and lapwing.

In Norway the woodpecker is called “Gertrude’s fowl.”

In Greek fable, Palytechus was changed to a wood-
pecker.

FRENCH STORY OF THE WOODPECKER

In the beginning, when the earth had been created but
had not yet been given permanent form, the birds were told
to hollow out with their beaks places in the form of lakes,
rivers and pools, that would be filled later with water. All
obeyed except the indolent woodpecker, who, because of her
refusal, was denied the privilege of even drinking from the
cavities made by other birds; she should drink nothing save
rain, and should get that as she could. And so it is that she
ever calls to the clouds, “Rain, rain,” and that she ever keeps
an upward attitude that she may receive in her open beak the
drops which fall from the leaves.

227
BIRD LEGEND AND LIFE

The woodpecker is said to laugh before rain because the
insects on which it feeds come out of their hiding places at
that time.

In Germany a woodpecker flying to the right was an
omen of good fortune.

Because of his blood-red coat and fiery eye the woodpecker
is known in mythology as the bird of Mars.

Because his name was too sacred to use, the Greeks
spoke of the woodpecker as the “tree chiseller” or “hewer
with an ax.”

In German legends we are told that the woodpecker
knows where grows the magic Springwurzel, the herb which
will enable the possessor to open the closed doors of moun-
tain rocks; to enter and bear away the treasures of the Venus-
berg. Pliny also tells of the woodpecker bringing the spring-
wort.

The Italians worshiped in the woodpecker the great
god Picus, and the Esthonians their rain and thunder god,
Pikne or Pikker. In 1644 Johann Gutsloff noted the prayer
of the old Esthonian farmer: ‘Beloved Piker, we will
sacrifice to thee an ox with two horns and four hoofs, and
want to beg you as to our ploughing and sowing that our
straw shall be red as copper and our grain as yellow as
gold. Send elsewhither all black, thick clouds over great
swamps, high woods and wide wastes. But give to us plough-
men and sowers a fertile season and sweet rain.”

228
WOODPECKER LORE

Whoever takes honey from the hive with the beak of a
woodpecker will not be stung.

It is believed in Italy that this bird purveyed to Romu-
lus after the wolfly fountains failed.

229
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