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

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

      SNOW-FLAKES

      Out of the bosom of the Air,

      Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,

      Over the woodlands brown and bare,

      Over the harvest-fields forsaken,

      Silent, and soft, and slow

      Descends the snow.

      Even as our cloudy fancies take

      Suddenly shape in some divine expression,

      Even as the troubled heart doth make

      In the white countenance confession,

      The troubled sky reveals

      The grief it feels.

      This is the poem of the air,

      Slowly in silent syllables recorded;

      This is the secret of despair,

      Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,

      Now whispered and revealed

      To wood and field.

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

      O wonderful world of white!

      When trees are hung with lace,

      And the rough winds chide,

      And snowflakes hide

      Each break unsheltered place;

      When birds and brooks are dumb, – what then?

      O, round we go to the green again!

– G. Cooper, “’Round the Year.”

      THE WHITE-EYED VIREO.

      (Vireo noveboracensis.)

      “And then the wren and vireo

      Begin with song to overflow.”

– Thomas Hill – “Sunrise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      TO A WHITE-EYED VIREO

      Up there among the maple’s leaves,

      One morning bright in May,

      A tiny bird I chanced to spy,

      And plainly heard him say:

      “Sweet, who-are-you?”

      “Dost call to me, in words so fair,

      O little friend?” I cried;

      “Or to some feathered dame up there?”

      For answer he replied:

      “Sweet, do you hear?”

      O yes, I hear you, little bird,

      All clad in leafy hue;

      And I in turn, would like to ask

      The question, “Who are you?”

      But you might deem the question vain,

      And bid me note your size;

      The shading of your dainty coat;

      The color of your eyes.

      For there I shall my answer find.

      Shall you be answered, too?

      Will your wee feathered love reply,

      When asked, “Sweet, who-are-you?”

– Annie Wakely Jackson.

      PLEA OF THE YOUNG EVERGREENS

      We hide the stony mountain side with green,

      And grow in beauty where the plain was bare;

      We cling to crannies of the walled ravine,

      And through faint valleys waft a strengthening air.

      On coastings gray we stay the creeping sand;

      We lift our spears and halt the shifting dunes;

      Our bounteous youth makes glad the scanty land,

      While it transforms rank fens, and salt lagunes.

      We