Birds and Nature Vol. 9 No. 5 [May 1901] - Various

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p>Birds and Nature Vol. 9 No. 5 [May 1901] Illustrated by Color Photography

      MAY

      May brings all the flowers at once,

      Teased by rains and kissed by suns;

      Now the meadows white and gold;

      Now the lambs leap in the fold.

      May is wreathed with virgin white;

      Glad May dances all the night;

      May laughs, rolling ’mong the flowers,

      Careless of the wintry hours.

      May’s storms turn to sunny rain,

      And, when Iris springs again,

      All the angels clap their hands,

      Singing in their seraph bands.

– Walter Thornbury, “The Twelve Brothers.”

      Now, shrilleth clear each several bird his note,

      The Halcyon charms the wave that knows no gale,

      About our eaves the swallow tells her tale,

      Along the river banks the swan, afloat,

      And down the woodland glades the nightingale.

      Now tendrils curl and earth bursts forth anew —

      Now shepherds pipe and fleecy flocks are gay —

      Now sailors sail, and Bacchus gets his due —

      Now wild birds chirp and bees their toil pursue —

      Sing, poet, thou – and sing thy best for May!

– William M. Hardinge, “Spring.”

      AUDUBON’S ORIOLE

(Icterus audubonii.)

      The name oriole is from the French word oriol, which is a corruption of the Latin word aureolus, meaning golden. The name was originally applied to a vire, but is now used in a much wider sense and includes a number of birds.

      The true orioles are birds of the Old World and are closely related to the thrushes. It is said that no fewer than twenty species from Asia and Africa have been described.

      The orioles of America belong to a very different group of birds and are related to our blackbirds, the bobolink and the meadowlark. All these birds belong to the family Icteridae, the representatives of which are confined to the New World.

      The genus of orioles (Icterus) contains about forty species, chiefly natives of Central and South America. The plumage of nearly all the species is more or less colored with shades of yellow, orange and black.

      Audubon’s Oriole, the male of which we illustrate, has a very limited range, including the “valley of the Lower Rio Grande in Texas and southward in Mexico to Oaxaca.” It is more common in central and eastern Mexico than in any other part of its range. In the summer, it only frequents the denser forests of its Texas home, but during the winter months it will approach the inhabited regions.

      The Mexicans capture these Orioles and offer them for sale. In captivity, however, they seem to lose their vivacity and will not sing. “When free their usual song is a prolonged and repeated whistle of extraordinary mellowness and sweetness, each note varying in pitch from the preceding.”

      It is said that this beautiful bird is frequently called upon to become the foster parents of the offspring of some of those birds that have neither the inclination to build their own nests or to raise their own families. The ingenious nests of the orioles seem to be especially attractive to these tramp birds which possess parasitic tastes.

      The red-eyed cowbird (Callothrus robustus), of the Southern United States and Central America, seems to be the pest that infests the homes of Audubon’s Oriole. It has been stated that the majority of the sets of eggs collected from the nests of this Oriole contain one or more of the cowbird’s eggs. It is also probable that many of the Oriole’s eggs are destroyed by the cowbirds as well as by other agencies, and thus, though the raising of two broods the same season is frequently attempted, the species is far from abundant.

      Regarding the nesting habits of the Audubon’s Oriole, Captain Charles Bendire says, “The nest of this Oriole is usually placed in mesquite trees, in thickets and open woods, from six to fourteen feet from the ground. It is a semipensile structure, woven of fine, wire-like grass used while still green and resembles those of the hooded and orchard orioles, which are much better known. The nest is firmly attached, both on the top and sides, to small branches and growing twigs and, for the size of the bird, it appears rather small. One now before me measures three inches in depth inside by about the same in inner diameter. The rim of the nest is somewhat contracted to prevent the eggs from being thrown out during high winds. The inner lining consists of somewhat finer grass tops, which still retain considerable strength and are even now, when perfectly dry, difficult to break. Only a single nest of those found was placed in a bunch of Spanish moss and this was suspended within reach of the ground; the others were attached to small twigs.”

      The number of eggs vary from two to five and “sets of one or two eggs of this Oriole, with two or three cowbird’s eggs, seem to be most frequently found, some of the first named eggs being thrown out to make room.” The eggs are ovate in form and the general color varies from white with a bluish cast to white with a grayish cast and in some instances a purple shade predominates. The markings vary greatly both in color and form. They may be either thread-like, in streaks or in blotches. In color they may be various shades of either brown, purple or lavender.

      The food of Audubon’s Oriole consists of insects and, to some extent, of berries and other fruits. Mr. Chark, who studied the habits of this species in Texas, says that he observed it frequently feeding on the fruit of the hackberry. He also states that these birds were usually in pairs and exhibited a retiring disposition, preferring the thick foliage of the margins of streams rather than that of more open and exposed places.

Seth Mindwell.

      TO A SEA-BIRD

      Sauntering hither on listless wings,

      Careless vagabond of the sea,

      Little thou heedest the surf that sings,

      The bar that thunders, the shale that rings, —

      Give me to keep thy company.

      Little thou hast, old friend, that’s new,

      Storms and wrecks are old things to thee;

      Sick am I of these changes, too;

      Little to care for, little to rue, —

      I on the shore, and thou on the sea,

      All of thy wanderings, far and near,

      Bring thee at last to shore and me;

      All of my journeyings end them here,

      This our tether must be our cheer, —

      I on the shore and thou on the sea.

      Lazily rocking on ocean’s breast,

      Something in common, old friend, have we;

      Thou on the shingle seek’st thy nest,

      I to the waters look for rest, —

      I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

– Bret Harte.

      FROM AN ORNITHOLOGIST’S YEAR BOOK

THE HEART OF A DRYADI

      It was an oak wood. A few hickories and chestnuts grew there, but the oaks ruled; great of girth, brawny of limb, with knotted muscles like the figures of Michael Angelo or Tintoretto’s workmen in his painting of the Forge of Vulcan. As to coloring, the oaks were of the Venetian painter’s following, every oak of them! In summer they were “men in green,” rich, vigorous green, with blue shadows between the rustling boughs; in early autumn, though russet in the shadow, the sunshine showed them a deep and splendid crimson, pouring through them like a libation to the gods of the lower earth, and to the noble dead, for the Dryad had a heart for heroes and all

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