Birds and all Nature, Vol. VII, No. 4, April 1900

Оглавление

Various. Birds and all Nature, Vol. VII, No. 4, April 1900

APRIL

THE PROCESSION OF SPRING

THE AMERICAN BITTERN

OUR LITTLE MARTYRS

LITTLE GUESTS IN FEATHERS

PLANTING THE TREES

ORIGIN OF THE EASTER EGG

MORAL VALUE OF FORESTS

EASTER LILIES

THE SCARLET IBIS

CHIPPY – A BABY MOCKING BIRD

BIRDLAND SECRETS

THE MASSENA QUAIL

IN THE OLD LOG HOUSE

ANIMALS AS PATIENTS

THE TRIPLET TREE

COUNTRIES DEVOID OF TREES

SNOW PRISONS OF GAME BIRDS

THE RING-BILLED DUCK

A STRANGE BIRD HOUSE

THE CHICKADEE

REFLECTIONS

FOXGLOVE

FRUIT BATS OF THE PHILIPPINES

MONKEYS AS GOLD FINDERS

A PLEA FOR THE TREES

"THAT I MAY HELP."

A TRAGEDY IN THREE PARTS

STRANGE PLANTS

A BRIGAND BIRD

THE BROOK

THE BLOOD-ROOT

TANSY CAKES

THE PARTRIDGE CALL

OUR FEATHERED NEIGHBORS

THE BLUE GROSBEAK

ODD PLACES CHOSEN

THE YOUNG NATURALIST

BIRD LIFE IN INDIA

IRELAND'S LOST GLORY

BIRDS AND REPTILES RELATED

THE ROCK SHELLS

SPRING HAS COME

Отрывок из книги

THIS curious bird has several local names. It is called the "stake-driver," "booming bittern," and "thunder-pumper," in consequence of its peculiar cry. It was once thought that this noise was made by using a hollow reed, but the peculiar tone is possibly due to the odd shaped neck of the bird. Gibson says you hear of the stake-driver but can not find his "stake."

We have never seen a bittern except along water courses. He is a solitary bird. When alarmed by the approach of someone the bird sometimes escapes recognition by standing on its short tail motionless with its bill pointing skyward, in which position, aided by its dull coloring, it personates a small snag or stump or some other growth about it.

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As the cage door is often left open he is sometimes "lost" briefly. At one of these times I decided that he had gone to sleep under the bed and would be quite safe till morning. Before day-light my mother called to me from the next room that there was "something in her bed," and, sure enough, the truant stood upon her pillow, his wings almost brushing her face.

The song of an indigo bird, kept in my room, is often followed by from two to four subdued notes of exceeding richness and sweetness. Aside from the ordinary song, sometimes reduced to the syllables, "meet, meet, I'll meet you," words unheard save by aid of a vivid imagination, the bird has an exquisite warble, loud and exhilarating, as rounded and velvety as the bluebird's.

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