Birds and Nature, Vol. VIII, No. 4, November 1900. Various

America, wintering in the latitude of Cuba and Mexico and breeding from Maine to Montana and northward. It is said that a favorite place for its nesting is along the banks of the Yukon river, and other streams of the boreal regions, yet it is reported that the young have been captured in the Adirondack mountains. Though classed with the "sea ducks" (Fuligulinae) it is one of the most common of our fresh-water forms, and, like many other animals, as well as vegetable forms, of wide distribution, it is the recipient of numerous popular names, nearly all of them being more or less suggestive of its characteristics or habits. In the North it is frequently called the Butter-ball, the Butter-box, the Butter duck, the Spirit duck and the Dipper. In the South some of the same names are heard, but perhaps more often the Marionette, the Scotch dipper, or duck, the Scotch teal and the Wool-head. However, no more appropriate name could be selected than that of Buffle-head, having reference to the showy, ruffled or puffed plumage of the head. The technical name, albeola, meaning whitish, was given this species by Linnaeus in 1758, on account of the pure white on the side of the head.

      The adult males vary but little. The plumage of the head is puffy and, with that of the upper half of the neck, is a "rich silky, metallic green, violet purple and greenish bronze, the last prevailing on the lower part of the neck, the green on the anterior part of the head, the purple on the cheeks and crown." A beautiful pure white patch extends from the eyes, meeting on the top of the head. The lower portion of the neck and nearly all the feathers of the under side of the body, as well as the wing coverts, are also showy white. The lining of the wings is dark, and the upper side of the body is black.

      The head of the female is less puffy and of a brownish or dark gray color. The white head patch is not so prominent or pure and the plumage of the under side of the body is more or less tinged with gray. In both sexes the iris is dark brown, the bill bluish or lead color, and the legs and feet pinkish.

      There are few birds that are more expert in diving or swimming, while on land, owing to their larger feet and shorter legs, they are more awkward and waddle more than many of the ordinary ducks. Their graceful attitude while floating on the water, moving apparently without any motion of the body and scarcely causing a ripple on even a placid surface, has given them the name Spirit duck.

      The Buffle-head, like nearly all the sea ducks, feeds on mollusks and other animal-forms found in the water. As a result, their flesh is usually coarse and quite too rank for use as a food. The canvas-back is a notable exception, for during the winter months it feeds on the wild celery (Vallisneria) of the Middle Atlantic coast, and thus its flesh receives the flavor so appreciated by those who relish game food.

      AN HOUR WITH AN ANT

      If you want to know how to accomplish a hard task, come with me and watch a little ant for an hour.

      She was a small, black ant, and, seeing a brown worm eight times as large as herself, she was seized with the ambition to take it home in triumph.

      Now will you tell me how she knew that she could have no power over the worm while he was on his ten feet, that stuck to the sidewalk like glue? Before she attempted anything, she fastened her mandibles into his side and turned him over on his back just as you see Bridget turn the mattress. Then running to his head she again fastened her mandibles and dragged him for a couple of inches. While pausing to get her breath, the worm took the opportunity to get on his feet once more. The ant did not seem to notice the change in position till she tried again to drag the body. As soon as she felt it sticking, around she ran to the side, over went the worm in a trice, and once more the two started on their journey. Now they were close to a crack in the broad sidewalk, and I, thinking to help the little worker, in whom by this time I was quite interested, lifted the worm across the crack.

      Did you ever try to help some one and find too late you had done exactly the wrong thing? Then you know how I felt when that little ant began rushing around as if she were crazy, and when she got hold of the worm again, began to drag it back across the very crack I had lifted it over. Can you guess why? She was taking a bee-line to her house, and I had changed the direction. But how was she to get that big body across a crack that could swallow them both? That was what I waited anxiously to see. Soon the worm felt himself going down, down into a dark abyss, and of course caught hold of the side to save himself, and when he once felt he had a hold on life how he did hold on! The ant was not to be daunted; balancing herself on the edge, and holding on by her feet, she reached down her mandibles and dragged him by main force straight up the perpendicular wall to the top; nor did she stop till he was carried far enough from the edge not to get down again.

      In this way three cracks were safely crossed, and it was plain to see the worm was losing heart, although every time the ant paused for breath he would get over on his feet and have to be tossed back again.

      And now a new difficulty arose. The worm had been dragged about eighteen inches over the boards. Fourteen inches more would bring them to the ant's house, or, rather, hill. But the way was now off from the sidewalk, and no sooner did the worm feel the stubble under him than he gathered all his strength, turned over on his feet, and held on to every spear of grass for dear life.

      Indeed, it was his last chance, and I felt tempted to snatch him from the certain death awaiting him, but curiosity to see how this new obstacle would be overcome induced me to wait. The ant now felt justified in calling for assistance, and soon a dozen ants had come to help. Only five could work to advantage, so the rest, for ants never like to do the "heavy looking on," left to find other employment.

      The first thing to be done was to get the worm on his back, and this proved no easy task. He could fasten his feet just as fast as the ants could unfasten them. At last two ants went to one end and two to the other. Each one of the four seized a foot in her strong mandibles and held it out as far as possible, while the fifth one turned the captive. It was the funniest sight! It was easy now to drag him two or three inches, but breath had to be taken, and again the worm fastened. In vain they tugged and pulled. He had evidently learned their tactics and knew how to defend himself. Suddenly his body moved along an inch and a half, as if by magic. Was it magic? Not at all. One little ant had run up on an overhanging blade of grass, and, reaching down, holding on by the wonderful feet spoken of before, and grabbed the poor creature in the middle, raised it right up from the ground, and keeping hold, ran along overhead till the end of the spear of grass was reached.

      This was the last struggle of any importance. The worm gave up discouraged; it was only now a question of time till they had dragged him through the stubble up to the door of the house in the hill, and I saw only a faint quiver as of dread as his body passed through the mysterious opening. I could not help wondering if the ant who started the capture received all the praise she deserved, or if the other four took the glory to themselves.

      At any rate, no one could take away her own satisfaction in overcoming and winning in the struggle.

Harriet Woodbridge.

      SONG

      Day is dying! Float, O song,

      Down the westward river,

      Requiem chanting to the Day —

      Day, the mighty Giver.

      Pierced by shafts of Time he bleeds,

      Melted rubies sending

      Through the river and the sky,

      Earth and heaven blending;

      All the long-drawn earthly banks

      Up to cloud-land lifting:

      Slow between them drifts the swan,

      'Twixt two heavens drifting.

      Wings half open, like a flow'r,

      Inly deeper flushing,

      Neck and breast as Virgin's pure —

      Virgin proudly blushing.

      Day is dying! Float, O swan,

      Down the ruby river;

      Follow, song, in requiem

      To the mighty Giver.

– George Eliot, in the Spanish Gypsy.

      THE AMERICAN