Birds and Nature Vol. 11 No. 5 [May 1902]. Various

ordinary straightforward flight of the bird is performed with a regular rising and falling like that of the titlark; but its course, when startled from the ground, is exceedingly rapid and wayward. At such times, after the first alarm, they are wont to hover around in a desultory manner for a considerable time and then pitch suddenly down to the ground, often near where they rose. Under these circumstances they have a lisping, querulous note. But these common traits have nothing to do with the wonderful soaring action and the inimitable, matchless song of the birds during the breeding season. It is no wonder Audubon grew enthusiastic in describing it.

      “Rising from the nest or from its grassy bed, this plain-looking little bird, clad in the simplest colors, and making but a speck in the boundless expanse, mounts straight up on tremulous wings, until lost to view in the blue ether, and then sends back to earth a song of gladness that seems to come from the sky itself, to cheer the weary, give hope to the disheartened, and turn the most indifferent, for the moment at least, from sordid thoughts. No other bird music heard in our land compares with the wonderful strains of this songster; there is something not of earth in the melody, coming from above, yet from no visible source. The notes are simply indescribable; but once heard they can never be forgotten. Their volume and penetration are truly wonderful. They are neither loud nor strong, yet the whole air seems filled with the tender strains and the delightful melody continues long unbroken. The song is only heard for a brief period in the summer, ceasing when the inspiration of the love season is over, and it is only uttered when the birds are soaring.”

      Baird, Brewer and Ridgway tell that Captain Blackiston found this skylark common on the prairies of the Saskatchewan, and described the song as consisting of a quick succession of notes, in a descending scale, each note being lower than the preceding. The bird then descends to the ground with great rapidity, almost like a stone, and somewhat in the manner of a hawk sweeping on its prey. He also saw these birds in northern Minnesota.

      Some one says that the larks, those creatures of “light and air and motion, whose nest is in the stubble and whose tryst is in the cloud,” are well-known as the symbol of poets and victim of epicures, and Burroughs, to whom they are a symbol, says: “Its type is the grass where the bird makes its home, abounding, multitudinous, the notes nearly all alike and in the same key, but rapid, swarming, prodigal, showering down as thick and fast as drops of rain in a summer shower.” This of the skylark of Europe. But he adds: “On the Great Plains of the West there is a bird whose song resembles the lark’s quite closely, and it is said to be not at all inferior – the Missouri Skylark, an excelsior songster, which from far up in the transparent blue rains down its notes for many minutes together. It is no doubt destined to figure in the future poetical literature of the West.”

      Yet all that has been written of the “Star of music in a fiery cloud” by Burroughs and by Wadsworth, Shelley and the rest, might properly have been indited to the “Musical Cherub” of the Big Muddy Valley, when, climbing, “shrill with ecstacy, the trembling air,” he “calls up the tuneful nations,” and the same celestial pilgrim might have appeared to Eric MacKay:

      “In the light of the day,

      Like a soul on its way

      To the gardens of God, it was loosed from the earth;

      And the song that it sang was a pæan of mirth

      For the raptures of birth.”

Juliette A. Owen.

      THE MASTER’S PROTEST

      My song consists of all the notes

      That flow from feathered songsters’ throats;

      My heart is thrilled with all their pain,

      Their sorrow, love, and joy again.

      They have but taken of my song

      A measure, which they warble long.

      So let my protest now be heard —

      O call me not a Mocking-bird!

– Hildane Harrington.

      THE SHORT-BILLED MARSH WREN

(Cistothorus stellaris.)

      Because of its shy and retiring disposition and its apparent dislike to take wing the Short-billed Marsh Wren is not very often seen. It is usually found closely associated with its first cousin, the long-billed marsh wren, from which it is distinguished by the markings on the back and its short bill.

      It inhabits the reeds and tall grass of our marshes of the central states and ranges as far north as Massachusetts and Manitoba to as far west as Utah.

      After spending the winter in the southern states it reaches this locality about the last of April or the first of May. The marshes which it inhabits prevent close observation. But the fact that nests have been found with eggs in as early as the last week of May indicates it arrives about the last of April.

      The nest is a loose, globular affair situated in the top of a tussock of grass or in rushes some twelve or eighteen inches above the ground or water. It is composed of coarse grass closely interwoven with fine blades and fibers, making a compact structure. The inner part is lined with fine materials, such as soft down, cat-tail blossoms, etc. At one side, sometimes ingeniously hidden, is a small round entrance. The nest resembles very closely that of its first cousin in shape and location, but can easily be recognized by the eggs, which are pure white.

      This little bird sometimes builds a number of nests, but lays eggs in but one. Whether it does this because it enjoys the occupation, or for the purpose of producing a “blind,” no one can say. A number will nest in the same locality, thus forming quite a colony.

      Its song is quite different from that of the long-billed. Mr. Gault says: “In the manner of delivery it forcibly reminds one of the song of the dickcissel, although, of course, it is not near as loud. They are quite shy, but would allow one to approach within forty or fifty feet of them, when they would dart down into the thick grass, from which it was almost impossible to dislodge them.”