Transcriber's Note:

Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

The following inconsistencies were noted and retained:

• subterminal and sub-terminal
• College Yard and College-yard
• Jer falcon and Jerfalcon
• foreneck and fore-neck
• acknowledgement and acknowledgment
• Hackmatack, Hackmetack, hackmitack
• Piercey and Piercy
• gray and grey
• Magdalene, Magdeleine, Magdaleine Islands
• Pittsburg and Pittsburgh
• Schuylkil and Schuylkill
• vermilion and vermillion
• grouse and grous
• aerial and ærial
• teasing and teazing
• sunrise and sun-rise
• characterised, characterized
• Huckleberry and Huckle-berry
• cupshaped and cup-shaped
• Bunting and Buntling
• pokeweed and poke-weed
• Red-wing and Redwing
• Charleston and Charlestown
• Linnæan and Linnean
• north-eastern and northeastern
• dog wood and dog-wood.

The following are possible errors, but retained:

• befal
• racoon
• persimons
• musquitoes
• tarpauling
• mollasses
• Carribbean
• tipt
• capt
• Chesapeak
• cruize
• chuse
• begrimmed
• Marratees
• pacan.

In the entries for the [Rosa Rubiginosa] and [Fringilla Zonotrichia], the question marks are as printed.

In the entry for the [Cardinal Grosbeak], the author says, "I have represented a pair of these beautiful birds on a branch of the Wild Olive." but the following entry is for the [Wild Almond].

In the entry for the [Pinnated Grous], a page number is missing.

In the entry for the [Great American Shrike], the volume number for Amer. Ornith. is missing.

Headings are missing for a number of the plant sections.

The Errata on [page 580] have been corrected in the text.

Links are provided to Volume 1 of this work. The links are designed to work when the book is read on line. If you want to download that volume and use the links, you will need to change the links to point to the file name on your own device.

• Download Volume 1 at http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56989.

ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY.

ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY,

OR AN ACCOUNT OF THE HABITS OF THE

BIRDS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA;

ACCOMPANIED BY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE OBJECTS REPRESENTED IN THE WORK ENTITLED

THE BIRDS OF AMERICA,

AND INTERSPERSED WITH DELINEATIONS OF AMERICAN SCENERY AND MANNERS.

BY JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, F.R.S.S.L. & E.

FELLOW OF THE LINNEAN AND ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETIES OF LONDON; MEMBER OF THE LYCEUM OF NEW YORK, OF THE NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY OF PARIS, THE WERNERIAN NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH; HONORARY MEMBER OF THE SOCIETY OF NATURAL HISTORY OF MANCHESTER, AND OF THE SCOTTISH ACADEMY OF PAINTING, SCULPTURE, AND ARCHITECTURE; MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY, OF THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES AT PHILADELPHIA, OF THE NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETIES OF BOSTON, OF CHARLESTON IN SOUTH CAROLINA, &C. &C.

VOL. II.

EDINBURGH:

ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH;

LONGMAN, REES, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN, LONDON; R. HAVELL, ENGRAVER, 77. OXFORD STREET, LONDON; THOMAS SOWLER, MANCHESTER; MRS ROBINSON, LEEDS; ALEXANDER HILL, EDINBURGH; BEILBY, KNOTT & BEILBY, BIRMINGHAM; E. CHARNLEY, NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE; AND GEORGE SMITH, LIVERPOOL.

MDCCCXXXIV.

PRINTED BY NEILL & CO. Old Fishmarket, Edinburgh.

INTRODUCTION.

When, for the first time, I left my father, and all the dear friends of my youth, to cross the great ocean that separates my native shores from those of the eastern world, my heart sunk within me. While the breezes wafted along the great ship that from La Belle France conveyed me towards the land of my birth, the lingering hours were spent in deep sorrow or melancholy musing. Even the mighty mass of waters that heaved around me excited little interest: my affections were with those I had left behind, and the world seemed to me a great wilderness. At length I reached the country in which my eyes first opened to the light; I gazed with rapture upon its noble forests, and no sooner had I landed, than I set myself to mark every object that presented itself, and became imbued with an anxious desire to discover the purpose and import of that nature which lay spread around me in luxuriant profusion. But ever and anon the remembrance of the kind parent, from whom I had been parted by uncontrollable circumstances, filled my mind, and as I continued my researches, and penetrated deeper into the forest, I daily became more anxious to return to him, and to lay at his feet the simple results of my multiplied exertions.

Reader, since I left you, I have felt towards you as towards that parent. When I parted from him he evinced his sorrow; when I returned he met me with an affectionate smile. If my recollection of your kind indulgence has not deceived me, I carried with me to the western world your wish that I should return to you; and the desire of gratifying that wish, ever present with me as I wandered amidst the deep forests, or scaled the rugged rocks, in regions which I visited expressly for the purpose of studying nature and pleasing you, has again brought me into your presence:—I have returned to present you with all that seems most interesting in my collections. Should you accept the offering, and again smile benignantly upon me, I shall be content and happy.

Soon after the engraving of my work commenced, I bade adieu to my valued friends in Edinburgh, whose many kindnesses were deeply impressed on my heart. The fair city gradually faded from my sight, and, as I crossed the dreary heaths of the Lammermoor, the mental prospect became clouded; but my spirits revived as I entered the grounds of Mr Selby of Twizel House, for in him I knew I possessed a friend. The few days spent under his most hospitable roof, and the many pleasures I enjoyed there, I shall ever remember with gratitude.

I was then on my way to London, which I had never yet visited. The number of letters given me to facilitate my entry into the metropolis of England, and to aid me in procuring subscribers to my work, accumulated during my progress. At Newcastle-upon-Tyne I made my next halt. There the venerable Bewick, the Adamsons, the Turners, the Donkins, the Buddles, the Charnleys and others, received me with great kindness, and helped to increase my list of subscribers. The noble family of the Ravensworths I also added to my friends, and from them I have since received important benefits, particularly from the Honourable Thomas Liddell, whose partiality for my pursuits induced him to evince a warm interest in my favour, which I shall ever acknowledge with feelings of affection and esteem.

It was there, reader, that, as my predecessor Wilson had done in America, I for the first time in England exhibited some engravings of my work, together with the contents of my portfolios. I cannot say that the employment was a pleasant one to me, nor do I believe it was so to him; but by means of it he at the time acquired that fame, of which I also was desirous of obtaining a portion; and, knowing that should I be successful, it would greatly increase the happiness of my wife and children, I waged war against my feelings, and welcomed all, who, from love of science, from taste, or from generosity, manifested an interest in the "American Woodsman."

See him, reader, in a room crowded by visitors, holding at arm's length each of his large drawings, listening to the varied observations of the lookers on, and feel, as he now and then did, the pleasure which he experienced when some one placed his sign manual on the list. This occupation was continued all the way until I reached the skirts of London; but the next place to which I went was the city of York, where I formed acquaintance with a congenial spirit, Mr Phillips, who is now well known to you as an eminent Professor of Geology. There also I admired the magnificent Minster, within whose sacred walls I in silence offered up my humble prayer to heaven.

At Leeds, the Gotts, the Bankses, the Walkers, the Marshalls, the Davys, were all extremely kind to me, and I found a fine museum belonging to the most interesting and amiable family of the Calverts, in whose society my evenings were chiefly spent.

On my second visit to Manchester I obtained upwards of twenty subscribers in one week, and became acquainted with persons whose friendship has never failed. Of them I may particularly mention the Dyers, the Kennedys, the Darbishires, and the Sowlers.

Having once more reached the hospitable home of the Rathbones at Liverpool, I felt my heart expand within me, and I poured forth my thanks to my Maker for the many favours which I had in so short a period received. I read to my friends the names of more than seventy subscribers to my "Birds of America."

My journey was continued through Chester, Birmingham, and Oxford, and I passed in view of the regal and magnificent Castle of Windsor. The impression made on my mind the day I reached the very heart of London I am unable to describe. Suffice it, kind reader, to tell you that many were the alternations of hope and fear as I traversed the vast metropolis. I cannot give you an adequate idea of my horror or of my admiration, when on the one side I saw pallid poverty groping in filth and rags, and turning away almost in despair, beheld the huge masses of the noblest monument ever raised to St Paul, which reminded me of the power and grandeur of man;—and along with the thronging crowds I moved, like them intent on making my way through the world.

Eighty-two letters of introduction were contained in my budget. Besides these I was the bearer of general letters from Henry Clay, Speaker of the House of Congress, General Andrew Jackson, and other individuals in America, to all our diplomatists and consuls in Europe and elsewhere. Thus, reader, you will perceive that I had some foundation for the hope that I should acquire friends in the great city.

In May 1827, I reached that emporium of the productions of all climes and nations. After gazing a day on all that I saw of wonderful and interesting, I devoted the rest to visiting. Guided by a map, I proceeded along the crowded streets, and endeavoured to find my way through the vast labyrinth. From one great man's door to another I went; but judge of my surprise, reader, when, after wandering the greater part of three successive days, early and late, and at all hours, I had not found a single individual at home!

Wearied and disappointed, I thought my only chance of getting my letters delivered was to consign them to the post, and accordingly I handed them all over to its care, excepting one, which was addressed to "J. G. Children, Esq. British Museum." Thither I now betook myself, and was delighted to meet with that kind and generous person, whose friendship I have enjoyed ever since. He it was who pointed out to me the great error I had committed in having put my letters into the post-office, and the evil arising from this step is perhaps still hanging over me, for it has probably deprived me of the acquaintance of half of the persons to whom they were addressed. In the course of a week, about half a dozen of the gentlemen who had read my letters, left their cards at my rooms. By degrees I became acquainted with a few of them, and my good friend of the Museum introduced me to others. I renewed my acquaintance with the benevolent Lord Stanley, and became known to other noblemen, liberal like himself. Soon after I was elected a Member of the Linnæan and Zoological Societies.

About this time, the Prince of Musignano, so well known for his successful cultivation of Natural History, arrived in London. He found me out through the medium of the learned geologist Featherstonhaugh, and one evening I had the pleasure of receiving a visit from him, accompanied by that gentleman, Mr Vigors, and some other persons. I felt happy in having once more by my side my first ornithological adviser, and that amiable and highly talented friend, with the accomplished geologist, remained with me until a late hour. Their departure affected me with grief, and since that period I have not seen the Prince. For several months I occupied myself with painting in oil, and attending to the progress of my plates. I now became acquainted with that eminent and amiable painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence, through a kindred spirit, Thomas Sully of Philadelphia; from both of whom, at different periods, I have received advice with reference to their enchanting art. One morning I had the good fortune to receive a visit from Mr Swainson, whose skill as a naturalist every one knows, and who has ever since been my substantial friend. M. Temminck also called, as did other scientific individuals, among whom was my ever-valued friend Robert Bakewell, whose investigations have tended so much to advance the progress of geology; and as my acquaintance increased I gradually acquired happiness. Having visited those renowned seats of learning, Cambridge and Oxford, I became acquainted at the former with the Vice-Chancellor Mr Davie, Professors Sedgwick, Whewell, and Henslow, the Right Honourable Wentworth Fitzwilliam, John Lodge, Esq. Dr Thackery, and many other gentlemen of great learning and talent; at the latter, with Dr Buckland, Dr Kidd, and others. These Universities afforded me several subscribers.

In the summer of 1828, my friend Swainson and I went to Paris, where I became acquainted with the great Cuvier, Geoffroy St Hilaire, his son Isidore, M. Dorbigny, and M. Lesson, as well as that master of flower-painters M. Redouté, and other persons eminent in science and the arts. Our time in Paris was usefully and agreeably spent. We were gratified at the liberality with which every object that we desired to examine in the great Museum of France was submitted to our inspection. Many of our evenings were spent under the hospitable roof of Baron Cuvier, where the learned of all countries usually assembled. Through the influence of my noble-spirited friend M. Redouté, I was introduced to the Duke of Orleans, now King of the French, and to several Ministers of State. The hour spent with Louis Phillippe and his Son, was, by their dignified urbanity, rendered one of the most agreeable that has fallen to my lot; and in consequence of that interview I procured many patrons and friends.

Returning to England, I spent the winter there, and in April 1829, sailed for America. With what pleasure did I gaze on each setting sun, as it sunk in the far distant west! with what delight did I mark the first wandering American bird that hovered over the waters! and how joyous were my feelings when I saw a pilot on our deck! I leaped on the shore, scoured the woods of the Middle States, and reached Louisiana in the end of November. Accompanied by my wife, I left New Orleans on the 8th of January 1830, and sailing from New York on the 1st of April, we had the pleasure, after a voyage of twenty-five days, of landing in safety at Liverpool, and finding our friends and relations well. When I arrived in London, my worthy friend J. G. Children, Esq. presented me with a Diploma from the Royal Society. Such an honour conferred on an American Woodsman could not but be highly gratifying to him. I took my seat in the hall, and had the pleasure of pressing the hand of the learned President with a warm feeling of esteem. I believe I am indebted for this mark of favour more particularly to Lord Stanley and Mr Children.

And now, kind reader, having traced my steps to the period when I presented you with my first volume of Illustrations and that of my Ornithological Biographies, allow me to continue my narrative.

Previous to my departure from England, on a second visit to the United States, I had the honour and gratification of being presented to his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, who graciously favoured me with a general letter of recommendation to the authorities in the British colonies. With others of a similar nature I was also honoured by the Noble Lords Stanley, Palmerston, Howick, and Goderich.

We sailed on the 1st of August 1831, and landed at New York, where I spent a few days only, and proceeded to Philadelphia. There I found my old and firm friends Harlan, Wetherell, Pickering, Sully, Norris, Walsh, and others, a few subscribers, and some diplomas. I had now two assistants, one from London, Mr Ward, the other a highly talented Swiss, Mr George Lehman. At Washington I received from the heads of our Government letters of assistance and protection along the frontiers, which it was my intention to visit. For these acts of kindness and encouragement, without which my researches would have been more arduous and less efficient, I am much indebted, and gratefully offer my acknowledgments, to Major-General M'Comb, General Jessup, General Gratiot, the Honourable Messrs M'Lean, Livingston, and Woodbury, to Colonel John Abert, and others, whose frank and prompt attentions will never be forgotten by me. I need not say that towards our President and the enlightened members of the civil, military, and naval departments, I felt the deepest gratitude for the facilities which they thus afforded me. All received me in the kindest manner, and accorded to me whatever I desired of their hands. How often did I think of the error committed by Wilson, when, instead of going to Washington, and presenting himself to President Jefferson, he forwarded his application through an uncertain medium. He, like myself, would doubtless have been received with favour, and obtained his desire. How often have I thought of the impression his piercing eye would have made on the discriminating and learned President, to whom, in half the time necessary for reading a letter, he might have said six times as much as it contained. But, alas! Wilson, instead of presenting himself, sent a substitute, which, it seems, was not received by the President, and which, therefore, could not have answered the intended end. How pleasing was it to me to find in our Republic, young as she is, the promptitude to encourage science occasionally met with in other countries. Methinks I am now bidding adieu to the excellent men who so kindly received me, and am still feeling the pressure of their hands indicative of a cordial wish for the success of my undertaking. May He who gave me being and inspired me with a desire to study his wondrous works, grant me the means of proving to my country the devotedness with which I strive to render myself not unworthy of her!

We now proceeded swiftly down the broad Chesapeak Bay, reached Norfolk, and removing into another steamer bound to the capital of Virginia, soon arrived at Richmond. Having made acquaintance, many years before, in Kentucky, with the governor of that State, the Honourable John Floyd, I went directly to him, was received in the kindest manner, and furnished with letters of introduction; after which we proceeded southward until we arrived at Charleston in South Carolina. It was there that I formed an acquaintance, now matured into a highly valued friendship, with the Rev. John Bachman, a proficient in general science, and in particular in zoology and botany, and one whose name you will often meet with in the course of my biographies. But I cannot refrain from describing to you my first interview with this generous friend, and mentioning a few of the many pleasures I enjoyed under his hospitable roof, and in the company of his most interesting family and connections.

It was late in the afternoon when we took our lodgings in Charleston. Being fatigued, and having written the substance of my journey to my family, and delivered a letter to the Rev. Mr Gilman, I retired to rest. At the first glimpse of day the following morning, my assistants and myself were already several miles from the city, commencing our search in the fields and woods, and having procured abundance of subjects both for the pencil and the scalpel, we returned home, covered with mud, and so accoutred as to draw towards us the attention of every person in the streets. As we approached the boarding house, I observed a gentleman on horseback close to our door. He looked at me, came up, inquired if my name was Audubon, and on being answered in the affirmative, instantly leaped from his saddle, shook me most cordially by the hand—there is much to be expressed and understood by a shake of the hand—and questioned me in so kind a manner, that I for a while felt doubtful how to reply. At his urgent desire, I removed to his house, as did my assistants. Suitable apartments were assigned to us, and once introduced to the lovely and interesting group that composed his family, I seldom passed a day without enjoying their society. Servants, carriages, horses, and dogs, were all at our command, and friends accompanied us to the woods and plantations, and formed parties for water excursions. Before I left Charleston, I was truly sensible of the noble and generous spirit of the hospitable Carolinians.

Having sailed for the Floridas, we, after some delay, occasioned by adverse winds, put into a harbour near St Simon's Island, where I was so fortunate as to meet with Thomas Butler King, Esq. who, after replenishing our provision-stores, subscribed to the "Birds of America." At length we were safely landed at St Augustine, and commenced our investigation. Of my sojourn in Florida, during the winter of 1831-32, you will find some account in this volume. Returning to Charleston, we passed through Savannah, respecting my short stay in which city you will also find some particulars in the sequel. At Charleston we lived with my friend Bachman, and continued our occupations. In the beginning of April, through the influence of letters from the Honourable Lewis M'Lean, of the Treasury Department, and the prompt assistance of Colonel J. Pringle, we went on board the revenue cutter the "Marion," commanded by Robert Day, Esq., to whose friendly attention I am greatly indebted for the success which I met with in my pursuits, during his cruize along the dangerous coast of East Florida, and amongst the islets that every where rise from the surface of the ocean, like gigantic water-lilies. At Indian Key, the Deputy-Collector, Mr Thruston, afforded me important aid; and at Key West I enjoyed the hospitality of Major Glassel, his officers, and their families, as well as of my friend Dr Benjamin Strobel, and other inhabitants of that singular island, to all of whom I now sincerely offer my best thanks for the pleasure which their society afforded me, and the acquisitions which their ever ready assistance enabled me to make.

Having examined every part of the coast which it was the duty of the commander of the Marion to approach, we returned to Charleston with our numerous prizes, and shortly afterwards I bent my course eastwards, anxious to keep pace with the birds during their migrations. With the assistance of my friend Bachman, I now procured for my assistant Mr Ward, a situation of ease and competence, in the Museum of the Natural History Society of Charleston, and Mr Lehman returned to his home. At Philadelphia I was joined by my family, and once more together we proceeded towards Boston. That dreadful scourge the cholera was devastating the land, and spreading terror around its course. We left Philadelphia under its chastising hand, and arrived at New York, where it was raging, while a heavy storm that suddenly burst over our heads threw an additional gloom over the devoted city, already bereft of a great part of her industrious inhabitants. After spending a day with our good friends and relatives, we continued our journey, and arrived at Boston.

Boston! Ah! reader, my heart fails me when I think of the estimable friends whose society afforded me so much pleasure in that beautiful city, the Athens of our Western World. Never, I fear, shall I have it in my power to return a tithe of the hospitality which was there shewn towards us, or of the benevolence and generosity which we experienced, and which evidently came from the heart, without the slightest mixture of ostentation. Indeed, I must acknowledge that although I have been happy in forming many valuable friendships in various parts of the world, all dearly cherished by me, the outpouring of kindness which I experienced at Boston far exceeded all that I have ever met with.

Who that has visited that fair city, has not admired her site, her universities, her churches, her harbours, the pure morals of her people, the beautiful country around her, gladdened by glimpses of villas, each vying with another in neatness and elegance? Who that has made his pilgrimage to her far-famed Bunker's Hill, entered her not less celebrated Fanneuil Hall, studied the history of her infancy, her progress, her indignant patriotism, her bloody strife, and her peaceful prosperity—that has moreover experienced, as I have done, the beneficence of her warm-hearted and amiable sons—and not felt his bosom glow with admiration and love? Think of her Adamses, her Perkins, her Everetts, her Peabodys, Cushings, Quinceys, Storeys, Paines, Greens, Tudors, Davises, and Pickerings, whose public and private life presents all that we deem estimable, and let them be bright examples of what the citizens of a free land ought to be. But besides these honourable individuals whom I have taken the liberty of mentioning, many others I could speak of with delight, and one I would point out in particular, as he to whom my deepest gratitude is due, one whom I cannot omit mentioning, because, of all the good and the estimable, he it is whose remembrance is most dear to me:—that generous friend is George Parkman.

About the middle of August, we left our Boston friends, on our way eastward; and, after rambling here and there, came in sight of Moose Island, on which stands the last frontier town, boldly facing one of the entrances of the Bay of Fundy. The climate was cold, but the hearts of the inhabitants of Eastport were warm. One day sufficed to render me acquainted with all whom I was desirous of knowing. Captain Childs, the commander of the garrison, was most obliging to me, while his wife shewed the greatest kindness to mine, and the brave officers received my sons with brotherly feelings. Think, reader, of the true pleasure we enjoyed when travelling together, and everywhere greeted with so cordial a welcome, while every facility was afforded me in the prosecution of my researches. We made excursions into the country around, ransacked the woods and the shores, and on one occasion had the pleasure of meeting with a general officer in his Britannic Majesty's service, who, on my presenting to him the official documents with which I had been honoured by the Home Department, evinced the greatest desire to be of service to me. We removed for some weeks to Dennisville, a neat little village, where the acquaintance of Judge Lincoln's family rendered our stay exceedingly agreeable. We had, besides, the gratification of being joined by two gentlemen from Boston, one of whom has ever since remained a true friend to me. Time passed away, and having resolved to explore the British provinces of New Brunswick, we proceeded to St John's, where we met with much politeness, and ascending the river of that name, a most beautiful stream, reached Frederickton, where we spent a week. Here Sir Archibald Campbell, Bart. received us with all the urbanity and kindness of his amiable nature. We then ascended the river to some miles below the "Great Falls" parallel to Mar's Hill, and again entered the United States' territory near Woodstock. From this spot we proceeded to Bangor, on the Penobscot river, as you will find detailed in one of my short narratives entitled, "A Journey in New Brunswick and Maine."

Soon after our arrival in Boston, my son Victor Gifford set sail for England, to superintend the publication of my "Birds of America," and we resumed our pursuits, making frequent excursions into the surrounding country. Here I was a witness to the melancholy death of the great Spurzheim, and was myself suddenly attacked by a severe illness, which greatly alarmed my family; but, thanks to Providence, and my medical friends Parkman, Warren, and Shattuck, I was soon enabled to proceed with my labours. A sedentary life and too close application being the cause assigned for my indisposition, I resolved to set out again in quest of fresh materials for my pencil and pen. My wishes directing me to Labrador, I returned eastward with my youngest son, and had the pleasure of being joined by four young gentlemen, all fond of Natural History, and willing to encounter the difficulties and privations of the voyage,—George Shattuck, Thomas Lincoln, William Ingalls, and Joseph Cooledge.

At Eastport in Maine, I chartered a beautiful and fast-sailing schooner, the "Ripley," under the command of Mr Henry W. Emmery, and, through the medium of my government letters, was enabled to visit, in the United States' Revenue Cutters, portions of the Bay of Fundy, and several of the thinly inhabited islands at its entrance. At length the day of our departure for Labrador arrived. The wharf was crowded with all our friends and acquaintance, and as the "star-spangled banner" swiftly glided to the mast-head of our buoyant bark, we were surprised and gratified by a salute from the fort that towers high over the bay. As we passed the Revenue Cutter at anchor, her brave commander paid us the same honour; after which he came on board, and piloted us through a very difficult outlet.

The next day, favoured by a good breeze, we proceeded at a rapid rate and passing through the interesting Gut of Cansso, launched into the broad waters of the Gulf of St Lawrence, and made sail for the Magdeleine Islands. There we spent a few days, and made several valuable observations. Proceeding from thence, we came in view of the famous "Gannet Rock," where countless numbers of Solan Geese sat on their eggs. A heavy gale coming on, away we sped with reefed sails, towards the coast of Labrador, which next morning came in view. The wind had by this time fallen to a moderate breeze, the sky was clear, and every eye was directed towards the land. As we approached it we perceived what we supposed to be hundreds of snow-white sails sporting over the waters, and which we conjectured to be the barks of fishermen; but on nearing them, we found them to be masses of drifting snow and ice, which filled every nook and cove of the rugged shores. Our captain had never been on the coast before, and our pilot proved useless; but the former being a skilful and sagacious seaman, we proceeded with confidence, and after passing a group of fishing boats, the occupiers of many of which we had known at Eastport, we were at length safely anchored in the basin named "American Harbour," where we found several vessels taking in cured fish.

But few days had elapsed, when, one morning, we saw a vessel making towards our anchorage, with the gallant flag of England waving in the breeze, and as she was moored within a cable-length of the Ripley, I soon paid my respects to her commander, Captain Bayfield of the Royal Navy. The politeness of British Naval officers is proverbial, and from the truly frank and cordial reception of this gentleman and his brave "companions in arms," I feel more than ever assured of the truth of this opinion. On board the "Gulnare," there was also an amiable and talented surgeon, who was a proficient in botany. We afterwards met with the vessel in several other harbours.

Of the country of Labrador you will find many detached sketches in this volume, so that for the present it is enough for me to say that having passed the summer there, we sailed on our return for the United States, touched at Newfoundland, explored some of its woods and rivers, and landed at Pictou in Nova Scotia, where we left the Ripley, which proceeded to Eastport with our collections. While at Pictou, we called upon Professor MacCulloch of the University, who received us in the most cordial manner, shewed us his superb collections of Northern Birds, and had the goodness to present me with specimens of skins, eggs, and nests. He did more still, for he travelled forty miles with us, to introduce us to some persons of high station in the Province, who gave us letters for Halifax. There, however, we had the misfortune of finding the individuals to whom we had introductions absent, and being ourselves pressed for time, we remained only a day or two, when we resumed our progress.

Our journey through Nova Scotia was delightful, and, like the birds that, over our heads, or amidst the boughs, were cheerfully moving towards a warmer climate, we proceeded gaily in a southern direction. At St John's in New Brunswick, I had the gratification of meeting with my kind and generous friend Edward Harris, Esq. of New York. Letters from my son in England which he handed to me, compelled me to abandon our contemplated trip, through the woods to Quebec, and I immediately proceeded to Boston. One day only was spent there, when the husband was in the arms of his wife, who with equal tenderness embraced her beloved child.

I had left Eastport with four young gentlemen under my care, some of whom were strangers to me, and I felt the responsibility of my charge, being now and then filled with terror lest any accident should befal them, for they were as adventurous as they were young and active. But thanks to the Almighty, who granted us his protection, I had the satisfaction of restoring them in safety to their friends. And so excellent was the disposition of my young companions, that not a single instance of misunderstanding occurred on the journey to cloud our enjoyment, but the most perfect cordiality was manifested by each towards all the rest. It was a happy moment to me when I delivered them to their parents.

From Boston we proceeded to New York, where I obtained a goodly number of subscribers, and experienced much kindness. My work demanded that I should spend the winter in the south, and therefore I determined to set out immediately. I have frequently thought that my success in this vast undertaking was in part owing to my prompt decision in every thing relating to it. This decision I owe partly to my father, and partly to Benjamin Franklin. We arrived at Charleston in October 1833. At Columbia I formed an acquaintance with Thomas Cooper, the learned President of the College there. Circumstances rendered impracticable my projected trip to the Floridas, and along the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, for which reason, after spending the winter in keen research, aided by my friend Bachman, I retraced my steps in March, in company with my wife and son, to New York. At Baltimore, where we spent a week, my friends Messrs Morris, Gilmore, Skinner, and Drs Potter, Edmonston, Geddings, and Ducatell, greatly aided me in augmenting my list of subscribers, as did also my friend Colonel Theodore Anderson. My best acknowledgments are offered to these gentlemen for their polite and kind attentions.

Taking a hurried leave of my friends Messrs Prime, King, Stuveysant, Harris, Lang, Ray, Van Ransselaer, Low, Joseph, Kruger, Buckner, Carman, Peal, Cooper, and the Reverend W. A. Duer, President of the College, we embarked on board the packet ship the North America, commanded by that excellent man and experienced seaman Captain Charles Dixey, with an accession of sixty-two subscribers, and the collections made during nearly three years of travel and research.

In the course of that period, I believe, I have acquired much information relative to the Ornithology of the United States, and in consequence of observations from naturalists on both continents, I embraced every opportunity of forming a complete collection of the various birds portrayed in my work. Until this journey I had attached no value to a skin after the life which gave it lustre had departed: indeed, the sight of one gave me more pain than pleasure. Portions of my collections of skins I sent to my friends in Europe at different times, and in this manner I parted with those of some newly discovered species before I had named them, so careless have I hitherto been respecting "priority." While forming my collection, I have often been pleased to find that many species, which, twenty-five years ago, were scarce and rarely to be met with, are now comparatively abundant;—a circumstance which I attribute to the increase of cultivated land in the United States. I need scarcely add, that the specimens here alluded to have been minutely examined, for the purpose of rendering the specific descriptions as accurate as possible. And here I gladly embrace the opportunity offered of presenting my best thanks to Professor Jameson, for the kindness and liberality with which he has allowed me the free use of the splendid collection of birds in the museum of the University of Edinburgh. Of this privilege I have availed myself in comparing specimens in my own collection with others obtained both in the United States and in other parts of the world.

Ever anxious to please you, and lay before you the best efforts of my pencil, I carefully examined all my unpublished drawings before I departed from England, and since then I have made fresh representations of more than a hundred objects, which had been painted twenty years or more previously. On my latter rambles I have not only procured species not known before, but have also succeeded in obtaining some of those of which Bonaparte and Wilson had only met with single specimens. While in the Floridas and Carolinas, my opportunities of determining the numerous species of Herons, Ibises, Pigeons, &c. were ample, for I lived among them, and carefully studied their habits. One motive for my journey to Labrador was to ascertain the summer plumage and mode of breeding of the Water Birds, which in spring retire thither for the purpose of rearing their young in security, far remote from the haunts of man. Besides accomplishing this object, I also met there with a few species hitherto undescribed.

It has been said by some, that my work on the Birds of America would not terminate until I had added to those of the United States, the numerous species of the southern portion of our continent. Allow me, reader, to refer you in refutation of this assertion to my prospectus, in which it is stated that my work will be completed in four volumes. In whatever other enterprise I may engage, rely upon it I will adhere to my original design in this; and the only change will be, that the period of publication will be shortened, and that there will be added landscapes and views, which were not promised in the prospectus.

From my original intention of publishing all the Land Birds first, I have been induced to deviate, in consequence of letters from my patrons, requesting that, after the conclusion of the second volume, the Water Birds should immediately appear. Indeed the various opinions which my subscribers occasionally express, are not a little perplexing to the "American Woodsman," ever desirous to please all, and to adhere to the method proposed at the commencement of the work. In the fourth and last volume, after the Water Birds, will be represented all that remain unpublished, or that may in the mean time be discovered, of the Land Birds. As I cannot, in the fourth volume, proportion the plates in the same manner as in the other three, the number of large drawings will be much greater in it: but the numbers will still consist of five plates, and I trust my patrons will find the same careful delineation as before, with more perfect engraving and colouring. These last numbers will of course be much more expensive to me than those in which three of the plates were small. The fourth volume will conclude with representations of the eggs of the different species.

You have perhaps observed, or if not, I may be allowed to tell you, that in the first volume of my Illustrations, in which there are 100 plates, 240 figures of birds are given; and that in the second, consisting of the same number of plates, there are 244 figures. The number of species not described by Wilson, are, in the first volume twenty-one, and in the second twenty-four.

Having had but one object in view since I became acquainted with my zealous ornithological friend, the Prince of Musignano, I have spared no time, no labour, no expense, in endeavouring to render my work as perfect as it was possible for me and my family to make it. We have all laboured at it, and every other occupation has been laid aside, that we might present in the best form the Birds of America, to the generous individuals who have placed their names on my subscription list. I shall rejoice if I have in any degree advanced the knowledge of so delightful a study as that which has occupied the greater part of my life.

I have spoken to you, kind reader, more than once of my family. Allow me to introduce them:—my eldest son Victor Gifford, the younger John Woodhouse.—Of their natural or acquired talents it does not become me to speak; but should you some day see the "Quadrupeds of America" published by their united efforts, do not forget that a pupil of David first gave them lessons in drawing, and that a member of the Bakewell family formed their youthful minds.

To England I am as much as ever indebted for support in my hazardous and most expensive undertaking, and more than ever grateful for that assistance without which my present publication might, like an uncherished plant, have died. While I reflect on the unexpected honours bestowed on a stranger through the generous indulgence of her valuable scientific associations, I cannot refrain from expressing my gratitude for the facilities which I have enjoyed under the influence which these societies are spreading over her hospitable lands, as well as in other countries. I feel equally proud and thankful when I have to say that my own dear country is affording me a support equal to that supplied by Europe.

Permit me now to say a few words respecting the persons engaged about my work. I have much pleasure in telling my patrons in Europe and America, that my engraver Mr Havell has improved greatly in the execution of the plates, and that the numbers of the "Birds of America" have appeared with a regularity seldom observed in so large a publication. For this, praise is due not only to Mr Havell, but also to his assistants Mr Blake, Mr Stewart, and Mr Edington.

I have in this, as in my preceding volume, followed the nomenclature of my much valued friend Charles Lucian Bonaparte, and this I intend to do in those which are to come, excepting always those alterations which I may deem absolutely necessary. It is my intention, at the close, to present a general table, exhibiting the geographical distribution of the different species. The order in which the plates have been published, precluding the possibility of arranging the species in a systematic manner, it has not been deemed expedient to enter into the critical remarks as to affinity and grouping, which might otherwise have been made; but at another period I may offer you my ideas on this interesting subject.

And now, reader, allow me to address my excellent friend the Critic. Would that it were in my power to express the feelings that ever since he glanced his eye over my productions, whether brought forth by the pencil or the pen, have filled my heart with the deepest gratitude;—that I could disclose to him how exhilarating have been his smiles, and how useful have been his hints in the prosecution of my enterprise! If he has found reason to bestow his commendations upon my first volume, I trust he will not find the present more defective. Indeed, I can assure him that the labour bestowed upon it by me has been much greater, and that I have exerted every effort to deserve his approbation.

JOHN J. AUDUBON.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY.

THE RAVEN.

Corvus Corax, Linn.
PLATE CI. Male.

Leaving to compilers the task of repeating the mass of fabulous and unedifying matter that has been accumulated in the course of ages, respecting this and other remarkable species of birds, and arranging the materials which I have obtained during years of laborious but gratifying observation, I now resume my attempts to delineate the manners of the feathered denizens of our American woods and plains. In treating of the birds represented in the Second Volume of my Plates, as I have done with respect to those of the First, I will confine myself to the particulars which I have been able to gather in the course of a life chiefly spent in studying the birds of my native land, where I have had abundant opportunities of contemplating their manners, and of admiring the manifestations of the glorious perfections of their Omnipotent Creator.

There, amid the tall grass of the far-extended prairies of the West, in the solemn forests of the North, on the heights of the midland mountains, by the shores of the boundless ocean, and on the bosom of the vast lakes and magnificent rivers, have I sought to search out the things which have been hidden since the creation of this wondrous world, or seen only by the naked Indian, who has, for unknown ages, dwelt in the gorgeous but melancholy wilderness. Who is the stranger to my own dear country that can form an adequate conception of the extent of its primeval woods,—of the glory of those columnar trunks, that for centuries have waved in the breeze, and resisted the shock of the tempest,—of the vast bays of our Atlantic coasts, replenished by thousands of streams, differing in magnitude, as differ the stars that sparkle in the expanse of the pure heavens,—of the diversity of aspect in our western plains, our sandy southern shores, interspersed with reedy swamps, and the cliffs that protect our eastern coasts,—of the rapid currents of the Mexican Gulf, and the rushing tide streams of the Bay of Fundy,—of our ocean-lakes, our mighty rivers, our thundering cataracts, our majestic mountains, rearing their snowy heads into the calm regions of the clear cold sky? Would that I could delineate to you the varied features of that loved land! But, unwilling, as I always am, to attempt the description of objects beyond my comprehension, you will, I hope, allow me to tell you all that I know of those which I have admired in youth, and studied in manhood,—for the acquisition of which I have braved the enervating heats of the south, and the cramping colds of the north, penetrated the tangled cane-swamp, thrid the dubious trail of the silent forest, paddled my frail canoe in the creeks of the marshy shore, and swept in my gallant bark o'er the swelling waves of the ocean. And now, Kind Reader, let me resume my descriptions, and proceed towards the completion of a task which, with reverence would I say it, seems to have been imposed upon me by Him who called me into existence.

In the United States, the Raven is in some measure a migratory bird, individuals retiring to the extreme south during severe winters, but returning towards the Middle, Western, and Northern Districts, at the first indications of milder weather. A few are known to breed in the mountainous portions of South Carolina, but instances of this kind are rare, and are occasioned merely by the security afforded by inaccessible precipices, in which they may rear their young. Their usual places of resort are the mountains, the abrupt banks of rivers, the rocky shores of lakes, and the cliffs of thinly-peopled or deserted islands. It is in such places that these birds must be watched and examined, before one can judge of their natural habits, as manifested amid their freedom from the dread of their most dangerous enemy, the lord of the creation.

There, through the clear and rarified atmosphere, the Raven spreads his glossy wings and tail, and, as he onward sails, rises higher and higher each bold sweep that he makes, as if conscious that the nearer he approaches the sun, the more splendent will become the tints of his plumage. Intent on convincing his mate of the fervour and constancy of his love, he now gently glides beneath her, floats in the buoyant air, or sails by her side. Would that I could describe to you, reader, the many musical inflections by means of which they hold converse during these amatory excursions! These sounds doubtless express their pure conjugal feelings, confirmed and rendered more intense by long years of happiness in each other's society. In this manner they may recall the pleasing remembrance of their youthful days, recount the events of their life, express the pleasure they have enjoyed, and perhaps conclude with humble prayer to the Author of their being for a continuation of it.

Now, their matins are over; the happy pair are seen to glide towards the earth in spiral lines; they alight on the boldest summit of a rock, so high that you can scarcely judge of their actual size; they approach each other, their bills meet, and caresses are exchanged as tender as those of the gentle Turtle Dove. Far beneath, wave after wave dashes in foam against the impregnable sides of the rocky tower, the very aspect of which would be terrific to almost any other creatures than the sable pair, which for years have resorted to it, to rear the dearly-cherished fruits of their connubial love. Midway between them and the boiling waters, some shelving ledge conceals their eyry. To it they now betake themselves, to see what damage it has sustained from the peltings of the winter tempests. Off they fly to the distant woods for fresh materials with which to repair the breach; or on the plain they collect the hair and fur of quadrupeds; or from the sandy beach pick up the weeds that have been washed there. By degrees, the nest is enlarged and trimmed, and when every thing has been rendered clean and comfortable, the female deposits her eggs, and begins to sit upon them, while her brave and affectionate mate protects and feeds her, and at intervals takes her place.

All around is now silent, save the hoarse murmur of the waves, or the whistling sounds produced by the flight of the waterfowl travelling towards the northern regions. At length the young burst the shell, when the careful parents, after congratulating each other on the happy event, disgorge some half-macerated food, which they deposit in their tender mouths. Should the most daring adventurer of the air approach, he is attacked with fury and repelled. As the young grow up, they are urged to be careful and silent:—a single false movement might precipitate them into the abyss below; a single cry during the absence of their parents might bring upon them the remorseless claws of the swift Peregrine or Jerfalcon. The old birds themselves seem to improve in care, diligence, and activity, varying their course when returning to their home, and often entering it when unexpected. The young are now seen to stand on the edge of the nest; they flap their wings, and at length take courage and fly to some more commodious and not distant lodgment. Gradually they become able to follow their parents abroad, and at length search for maintenance in their company, and that of others, until the period of breeding arrives, when they separate in pairs, and disperse.

Notwithstanding all the care of the Raven, his nest is invaded wherever it is found. His usefulness is forgotten, his faults are remembered and multiplied by imagination; and whenever he presents himself he is shot at, because from time immemorial ignorance, prejudice, and destructiveness have operated on the mind of man to his detriment. Men will peril their lives to reach his nest, assisted by ropes and poles, alleging merely that he has killed one of their numerous sheep or lambs. Some say they destroy the Raven because he is black; others, because his croaking is unpleasant and ominous! Unfortunate truly are the young ones that are carried home to become the wretched pets of some ill-brought-up child! For my part, I admire the Raven, because I see much in him calculated to excite our wonder. It is true that he may sometimes hasten the death of a half-starved sheep, or destroy a weakly lamb; he may eat the eggs of other birds, or occasionally steal from the farmer some of those which he calls his own; young fowls also afford precious morsels to himself and his progeny;—but how many sheep, lambs, and fowls, are saved through his agency! The more intelligent of our farmers are well aware that the Raven destroys numberless insects, grubs, and worms; that he kills mice, moles, and rats, whenever he can find them; that he will seize the weasel, the young opossum, and the skunk; that, with the perseverance of a cat, he will watch the burrows of foxes, and pounce on the cubs; our farmers also are fully aware that he apprises them of the wolf's prowlings around their yard, and that he never intrudes on their corn fields except to benefit them;—yes, good reader, the farmer knows all this well, but he also knows his power, and, interfere as you may, with tale of pity or of truth, the bird is a Raven, and, as Lafontaine has aptly and most truly said, "La loi du plus fort est toujours la meilleure!"

The flight of the Raven is powerful, even, and at certain periods greatly protracted. During calm and fair weather it often ascends to an immense height, sailing there for hours at a time; and although it cannot be called swift, it propels itself with sufficient power to enable it to contend with different species of hawks, and even with eagles when attacked by them. It manages to guide its course through the thickest fogs of the countries of the north, and is able to travel over immense tracts of land or water without rest.

The Raven is omnivorous, its food consisting of small animals of every kind, eggs, dead fish, carrion, shell-fish, insects, worms, nuts, berries, and other kinds of fruit. I have never seen one attack a large living animal, as the Turkey Buzzard and Carrion Crow are wont to do; but I have known it follow hunters when without dogs, to feed on the offals of the game, and carry off salted fish when placed in a spring to freshen. It often rises in the air with a shell-fish for the purpose of breaking it by letting it fall on a rock. Its sight is exceedingly acute, but its smell, if it possess the sense, is weak. In this respect, it bears a great resemblance to our vultures.

The breeding season of this bird varies, according to the latitude, from the beginning of January to that of June. I have found young Ravens on the banks of the Lehigh and the Susquehannah rivers on the 1st of May; about ten days later on those of the majestic Hudson; in the beginning of June on the island of Grand Manan off the Bay of Fundy; and at Labrador, as late as the middle of July. The nest is always placed in the most inaccessible part of rocks that can be found, never, I believe, on trees, at least in America. It is composed of sticks, coarse weeds, wool, and bunches of hair of different animals. The eggs are from four to six, of a rather elongated oval shape, fully two inches in length, having a ground colour of light greenish-blue, sprinkled all over with small irregular blotches of light purple and yellowish-brown, so numerous on the larger end, as almost entirely to cover it. The period of incubation extends to nineteen or twenty days. Only one brood is raised in a year, unless the eggs or young be removed or destroyed. The young remain in the nest many weeks before they are able to fly. The old birds return to the same nest for years in succession; and should one of them be destroyed, the other will lead a new partner to the same abode. Even after the young have made their appearance, should one of the parents be killed, the survivor usually manages to find a mate, who undertakes the task of assisting in feeding them.

The Raven may be said to be of a social disposition, for, after the breeding season, flocks of forty, fifty, or more, may sometimes be seen, as I observed on the coast of Labrador, and on the Missouri. When domesticated, and treated with kindness, it becomes attached to its owner, and will follow him about with all the familiarity of a confiding friend. It is capable of imitating the human voice, so that individuals have sometimes been taught to enunciate a few words with great distinctness.

On the ground the Raven walks in a stately manner, its motions exhibiting a kind of thoughtful consideration, almost amounting to gravity. While walking it frequently moves up its wings as if to keep their muscles in action. I never knew an instance of their roosting in the woods, although they frequently alight on trees, to which they sometimes resort for the purpose of procuring nuts and other fruits. They usually betake themselves at night to high rocks, in situations protected from the northerly winds. Possessing to all appearance the faculty of judging of the coming weather, they remove from the higher, wild and dreary districts where they breed, into the low lands, at the approach of winter, when they are frequently seen along the shores of the sea, collecting the garbage that has been cast to land, or picking up the shell-fish as the tide retires. They are vigilant, industrious, and, when the safety of their young or nest is at stake, courageous, driving away hawks and eagles whenever they happen to come near, although in no case do they venture to attack man. Indeed, it is extremely difficult to get within shot of an old Raven. I have more than once been only a few yards from one while it was sitting on its eggs, having attained this proximity by creeping cautiously to the overhanging edge of a precipice; but the moment the bird perceived me, it would fly off apparently in much confusion. They are so cunning and wary, that they can seldom be caught in a trap; and they will watch one intended for a fox, a wolf, or a bear, until one of these animals comes up, and is taken, when they will go to it and eat the alluring bait.

While at Little Macatina Harbour, on the coast of Labrador, in July 1833, I saw a Raven's nest placed under the shelvings of the rugged and fearful rocks that form one side of that singular place. The young were nearly fledged, and now and then called loudly to their parents, as if to inquire why our vessel had come there. One of them in attempting to fly away fell into the water. It was secured, when I trimmed one of its wings, and turned it loose on the deck along with some other birds. The mother, however, kept sailing high over the schooner, repeating some notes, which it seems the young one understood, for it walked carefully to the end of the bowsprit, opened its wings, and tried to fly, but being unable, fell into the water and was drowned. In a few days the rest of the family left the place, and we saw no more of them. Some of the sailors who had come to the harbour eight years in succession, assured me that they had always observed the Ravens breeding there. My whole party found it impossible to shoot one of the old ones, who went to the nest and left it with so much caution, that the task of watching them became irksome. One afternoon I concealed myself under a pile of detached rocks for more than two hours. The young frequently croaked as I was waiting there, but no parent came; so I left the place, but the next moment the female was seen from the deck of the Ripley. She alighted in the nest, fed her young, and was off again before I could reach within shooting distance. It was at this place that I observed how singularly well those birds could travel to and from their nest, at a time when I could not, on account of the fog, see them on wing at a greater distance than twenty or thirty yards. On the 29th of the same month, young Ravens were seen in flocks with their parents; but they were already very shy.

I found a nest of this bird at a narrow part of the Lehigh in Pennsylvania, in a deep fissure of the rocks, not more than twenty feet above the water, the security afforded by which had probably been considered as equivalent to that which might have been gained by a greater height of rock. The nest, in fact, hung over the stream, so that it was impossible to reach it either from above or from below. Many years ago, I saw another placed immediately beneath the arch of the Rock Bridge in Virginia. It was situated on a small projecting stone scarcely a foot square; yet the Raven appeared quite satisfied as to the security of her brood on that narrow bed. This extraordinary production of Nature is placed on the ascent of a hill, which appears to have been rent asunder by some convulsion of the earth. The fissure is about 200 feet deep, and above 80 in width under the arch, narrowing to 40 or so at the bottom. The thickness of the arch probably exceeds 30 feet, and increases at either end. At the bottom is seen the water of what is called Cedar Creek, gently meandering in its rocky channel. The place, when I saw it, was graced by handsome trees, and in some positions there was a pleasing view of the "Blue Ridge" and the "North Mountain." Tradition reports that General Washington threw a dollar over the bridge from the creek below. I may mention, that I passed it under peculiar circumstances connected with my ornithological pursuits, as you will find detailed in another page of this volume.

I have already stated that some Ravens breed as far south as the Carolinas. The place to which they resort for this purpose is called the Table Mountain, which is situated in the district of Pendleton, and of which I extract an account from Drayton's Views of South Carolina. "The Table Mountain is the most distinguished of all the eminences of the State. Its height exceeds 3000 feet, and thirty farms may be discerned at any one view from its top by the unaided eye. Its side is an abrupt precipice of solid rock, 300 feet deep, and nearly perpendicular. The valley underneath appears to be as much below the level as the top of the mountain towers above it. This precipice is called the Lover's Leap. To those who are in the valley, it looks like an immense wall stretching up to heaven, and the awe which it inspires is considerably increased by the quantities of bones which lie whitening at its base,—the remains of various animals which had incautiously approached too near its edge. Its summit is often enveloped in clouds. The gradual ascent of the country from the sea-coast to this western extremity of the State, added to the height of this mountain, must place its top more than 4000 feet above the level of the Atlantic Ocean; an eminence from which vessels crossing the bar of Charleston might be seen with the aid of such improved glasses as are now in use. Large masses of snow tumble from the side of this mountain in the winter season, the fall of which has been heard seven miles. Its summit is the resort of deer and bears. The woods produce mast in abundance; wild pigeons resort to it in such numbers as sometimes to break the limbs of trees on which they alight."

A friend of mine, who is an excellent observer of the habits of birds, has told me that he saw a Raven's nest in the high lands of New York placed in a deep fissure of a rock, in the immediate vicinity of that of a Golden Eagle. I chanced one day, while in the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, to stop, for the purpose of resting and refreshing myself, at a camp of the good Jediah Irish, with whom I have already made you acquainted during my former rambles in that remarkable district. We had seen some Ravens that day, and our conversation returning to them, the person employed in preparing the food of the woodcutters told us, that whenever she chanced to place a salt mackerel or other fish in the brook running from the spring near the camp, "the Raven was sure to carry it away in less than an hour." She firmly believed that it had the power of smelling the fish as she carried it from the hut to the water. We went to the spot with her, and, leaving a fish there, returned to our homely meal, but on visiting the place several hours after, we found it untouched. "The Raven perhaps smelt the powder in our guns!" At all events, it did not choose to come that day.

The flesh of this bird is tough and unfit for food, but this indicates its great strength. When wounded, it bites severely, and scratches with its claws as fiercely as a Hawk. Like the latter also, it disgorges indigestible substances, as bones, hair, and feathers.

I have represented a very old male Raven on a branch of the Shell-bark Hickory; not because the bird alights on any particular kind of tree by preference, but because I thought you might be interested in seeing so fruitful a branch of that valuable ornament of our forests.

Corvus Corax, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 155.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 150.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 56.—Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americ. part ii. p. 290.—Lath. Gen. Synops. vol. i. p. 367.

Raven, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ix. p. 113. pl. 75. fig. 3.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 202.

Old Male. Plate CI.

Bill longish, thick, robust, somewhat compressed; upper mandible with the dorsal line arched and declinate, the sides convex; lower mandible straight, the sides inclined obliquely outwards; the edges of both sharp, the tip slightly deflected. Nostrils basal, lateral, round, covered by bristly feathers, which are directed forwards. Head large, neck short, body robust. Legs of moderate length, strong; tarsus covered anteriorly with scutella, shorter than the middle toe; toes scutellate above, separated almost to the base; first, second, and fourth nearly equal in length, third longest; claws moderate, arched, acute, compressed, channelled beneath.

Plumage compact, highly glossed. Stiff, bristly feathers, with disunited barbs over the nostrils, directed forwards and adpressed. Feathers of the hind neck with disunited barbs, of the fore part of the neck elongated, lanceolated, and pointed. Wings long, first primary short, fourth longest; primaries tapering, the third, fourth, and fifth, cut out towards the end externally; secondaries very broad, the outer abrupt with a minute acumen, the inner rounded. Tail rather long, rounded, of twelve slightly recurved feathers.

Beak, tarsi, toes and claws, deep black and shining. Iris brown. The general colour of the plumage is deep black, with purple reflections above, greenish below. Tints of green on the back, quills, and tail. Breast and belly browned, with green reflections, and a slight mixture of purple tints.

Length 26 inches, extent of wings 50; beak along the ridge 3, along the gap 3¼; tarsus 2¼, middle toe 2¾.

The Female is usually somewhat smaller, but in all respects resembles the male.

The Young Males are three years in acquiring the full development of the long-pointed feathers, which hang, as it were, from the throat and fore-part of the neck.

The Thick Shell-Bark Hickory.

Juglans Sulcata, Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. ii. p. 637.—J. laciniosa, Mich. Arbr. Forest. de l'Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 199. pl. 8.—Monœcia Polyandria, Linn. Terebinthaceæ, Juss.

Leaves pinnate, with about nine obovato-lanceolate, acuminate, serrate leaflets, which are downy beneath, the terminal one nearly sessile and attenuated at the base; fruit roundish, with four longitudinal prominences; nut nearly globular, slightly compressed, smooth, with an elongated tip. It occurs from Louisiana to Massachusetts, although not, I believe, farther eastward, and also exists in the whole of the western country, as far as I have travelled. It grows in almost every kind of soil, and in some parts acquires a great size. When detached, it forms a fine ornament to the meadows and fields. The wood, which is hard and extremely pliant, is greatly esteemed for various purposes, and when kept dry is lasting. Excepting the Pacan nuts, none in America are considered equal to those of the present species. They are generally collected after falling, late in autumn, and are abundant in most of our markets, large quantities being shipped to Europe.

THE BLUE JAY.

Corvus cristatus, Linn.
PLATE CII. Male and Female.

Reader, look at the plate in which are represented three individuals of this beautiful species,—rogues though they be, and thieves, as I would call them, were it fit for me to pass judgment on their actions. See how each is enjoying the fruits of his knavery, sucking the egg which he has pilfered from the nest of some innocent dove or harmless partridge! Who could imagine that a form so graceful, arrayed by nature in a garb so resplendent, should harbour so much mischief;—that selfishness, duplicity, and malice should form the moral accompaniments of so much physical perfection! Yet so it is, and how like beings of a much higher order, are these gay deceivers! Aye, I could write you a whole chapter on this subject, were not my task of a different nature.

The Blue Jay is one of those birds that are found capable of subsisting in cold as well as in warm climates. It occurs as far north as the Canadas, where it makes occasional attacks upon the corn cribs of the farmers, and it is found in the most southern portions of the United States, where it abounds during the winter. Every where it manifests the same mischievous disposition. It imitates the cry of the Sparrow Hawk so perfectly, that the little birds in the neighbourhood hurry into the thick coverts, to avoid what they believe to be the attack of that marauder. It robs every nest it can find, sucks the eggs like the crow, or tears to pieces and devours the young birds. A friend once wounded a Grous (Tetrao umbellus), and marked the direction which it followed, but had not proceeded two hundred yards in pursuit, when he heard something fluttering in the bushes, and found his bird belaboured by two Blue Jays, who were picking out its eyes. The same person once put a Flying Squirrel into the cage of one of these birds, merely to preserve it for one night; but on looking into the cage about eleven o'clock next day, he found the animal partly eaten. A Blue Jay at Charleston destroyed all the birds of an aviary. One after another had been killed, and the rats were supposed to have been the culprits, but no crevice could be seen large enough to admit one. Then the mice were accused, and war was waged against them, but still the birds continued to be killed; first the smaller, then the larger, until at length the Keywest Pigeons; when it was discovered that a Jay which had been raised in the aviary was the depredator. He was taken out, and placed in a cage, with a quantity of corn, flour and several small birds which he had just killed. The birds he soon devoured, but the flour he would not condescend to eat, and refusing every other kind of food soon died. In the north, it is particularly fond of ripe chestnuts, and in visiting the trees is sure to select the choicest. When these fail, it attacks the beech nuts, acorns, pears, apples, and green corn.

While at Louisville, in Kentucky, in the winter of 1830, I purchased twenty-five of these birds, at the rate of 6¼ cents each, which I shipped to New Orleans, and afterwards to Liverpool, with the view of turning them out in the English woods. They were caught in common traps, baited with maize, and were brought to me one after another as soon as secured. In placing them in the large cage which I had ordered for the purpose of sending them abroad, I was surprised to see how cowardly each newly caught bird was when introduced to his brethren, who, on being in the cage a day or two, were as gay and frolicksome as if at liberty in the woods. The new comer, on the contrary, would run into a corner, place his head almost in a perpendicular position, and remain silent and sulky, with an appearance of stupidity quite foreign to his nature. He would suffer all the rest to walk over him and trample him down, without ever changing his position. If corn or fruit was presented to him, or even placed close to his bill, he would not so much as look at it. If touched with the hand, he would cower, lie down on his side, and remain motionless. The next day, however, things were altered: he was again a Jay, taking up corn, placing it between his feet, hammering it with his bill, splitting the grain, picking out the kernel, and dropping the divided husks. When the cage was filled, it was amusing to listen to their hammering; all mounted on their perch side by side, each pecking at a grain of maize, like so many blacksmiths paid by the piece. They drank a great deal, eat broken pacan nuts, grapes, dried fruits of all sorts, and especially fresh beef, of which they were extremely fond, roosted very peaceably close together, and were very pleasing pets. Now and then one would utter a cry of alarm, when instantly all would leap and fly about as if greatly concerned, making as much ado as if their most inveterate enemy had been in the midst of them. They bore the passage to Europe pretty well, and most of them reached Liverpool in good health; but a few days after their arrival, a disease occasioned by insects adhering to every part of their body, made such progress that some died every day. Many remedies were tried in vain, and only one individual reached London. The insects had so multiplied on it, that I immersed it in an infusion of tobacco, which, however, killed it in a few hours.

On advancing north, I observed that as soon as the Canada Jay made its appearance, the Blue Jay became more and more rare; not an individual did any of our party observe in Newfoundland or Labrador, during our stay there. On landing a few miles from Pictou, on the 22d of August 1833, after an absence of several months from the United States, the voice of a Blue Jay sounded melodious to me, and the sight of a Humming Bird quite filled my heart with delight.

These Jays are plentiful in all parts of the United States. In Louisiana, they are so abundant as to prove a nuisance to the farmers, picking the newly planted corn, the pease, and the sweet potatoes, attacking every fruit tree, and even destroying the eggs of pigeons and domestic fowls. The planters are in the habit of occasionally soaking some corn in a solution of arsenic, and scattering the seeds over the ground, in consequence of which many Jays are found dead about the fields and gardens.

The Blue Jay is extremely expert in discovering a fox, a racoon, or any other quadruped hostile to birds, and will follow it, emitting a loud noise, as if desirous of bringing every Jay or Crow to its assistance. It acts in the same manner towards owls, and even on some occasions towards hawks.

This species breeds in all parts of the United States, from Louisiana to Maine, and from the Upper Missouri to the coast of the Atlantic. In South Carolina it seems to prefer for this purpose the live oak trees. In the lower parts of the Floridas it gives place in a great measure to the Florida Jay; nor did I meet with a single individual in the Keys of that peninsula. In Louisiana, it breeds near the planter's house, in the upper parts of the trees growing in the avenues, or even in the yards, and generally at a greater height than in the Middle States, where it is comparatively shy. It sometimes takes possession of the old or abandoned nest of a Crow or Cuckoo. In the Southern States, from Louisiana to Maryland, it breeds twice every year; but to the eastward of the latter State seldom more than once. Although it occurs in all places from the sea shore to the mountainous districts, it seems more abundant in the latter. The nest is composed of twigs and other coarse materials, lined with fibrous roots. The eggs are four or five, of a dull olive colour, spotted with brown.

The Blue Jay is truly omnivorous, feeding indiscriminately on all sorts of flesh, seeds, and insects. He is more tyrannical than brave, and, like most boasters, domineers over the feeble, dreads the strong, and flies even from his equals. In many cases in fact, he is a downright coward. The Cardinal Grosbeak will challenge him, and beat him off the ground. The Red Thrush, the Mocking Bird, and many others, although inferior in strength, never allow him to approach their nest with impunity; and the Jay, to be even with them, creeps silently to it in their absence, and devours their eggs and young whenever he finds an opportunity. I have seen one go its round from one nest to another every day, and suck the newly laid eggs of the different birds in the neighbourhood, with as much regularity and composure as a physician would call on his patients. I have also witnessed the sad disappointment it experienced, when, on returning to its own home, it found its mate in the jaws of a snake, the nest upset, and the eggs all gone. I have thought more than once on such occasions that, like all great culprits, when brought to a sense of their enormities, it evinced a strong feeling of remorse. While at Charleston, in November 1833, Dr Wilson of that city told me that on opening a division of his aviary, a Mocking Bird that he had kept for three years, flew at another and killed it, after which it destroyed several Blue Jays, which he had been keeping for me some months in an adjoining compartment.

The Blue Jay seeks for its food with great diligence at all times, but more especially during the period of its migration. At such a time, wherever there are chinquapins, wild chestnuts, acorns, or grapes, flocks will be seen to alight on the topmost branches of these trees, disperse, and engage with great vigour in detaching the fruit. Those that fall are picked up from the ground, and carried into a chink in the bark, the splinters of a fence rail, or firmly held under foot on a branch, and hammered with the bill until the kernel be procured.

As if for the purpose of gleaning the country in this manner, the Blue Jay migrates from one part to another during the day only. A person travelling or hunting by night, may now and then disturb the repose of a Jay, which in its terror sounds an alarm that is instantly responded to by all its surrounding travelling companions, and their multiplied cries make the woods resound far and near. While migrating, they seldom fly to any great distance at a time without alighting, for like true rangers they ransack and minutely inspect every portion of the woods, the fields, the orchards, and even the gardens of the farmers and planters. Always exceedingly garrulous, they may easily be followed to any distance, and the more they are chased the more noisy do they become, unless a hawk happen to pass suddenly near them, when they are instantly struck dumb, and, as if ever conscious of deserving punishment, either remain motionless for a while, or sneak off silently into the closest thickets, where they remain concealed as long as their dangerous enemy is near.

During the winter months they collect in large numbers about the plantations of the Southern States, approach the houses and barns, attend the feeding of the poultry, as well as of the cattle and horses in their separate pens, in company with the Cardinal Grosbeak, the Towhe Bunting, the Cow Bunting, the Starlings and Grakles, pick up every grain of loose corn they can find, search amid the droppings of horses along the roads, and enter the corn cribs, where many are caught by the cat and the sons of the farmer. Their movements on the wing are exceedingly graceful, and as they pass from one tree to another, their expanded wings and tail, exhibiting all the beauty of their graceful form and lovely tints, never fail to delight the observer.

Corvus cristatus, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 157.—Lath. Synops. vol. i. p. 386.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 58.

Garrulus cristatus, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americ. part ii. p. 293.

Blue Jay, Corvus cristatus, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. i. p. 2. pl. i. fig. 1.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 224.

Adult Male. Plate CII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, strong, straight, compressed, acute; upper mandible with the dorsal outline slightly arched, the sides sloping, the edges sharp and overlapping, the tip slightly declinate; lower mandible with the back narrow, the sides sloping. Nostrils basal, open, covered by the reversed bristly feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body robust. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus about the same length as the middle toe, anteriorly scutellate, compressed, acute behind; toes free, scutellate, the inner shorter than the outer; claws arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, blended, glossy. A tuft of reflected, adpressed, bristly feathers over the nostril on each side. Feathers of the head elongated, and erectile into a tuft. Wings short, first quill very short, fourth and fifth longest. Tail much rounded or wedge-shaped at the extremity, rather long, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill and feet brownish-black. Iris brown. The general colour of the upper parts is a beautiful bright purplish-blue; the ends of the secondary coverts, secondary quills and tail feathers white; the larger wing-coverts, secondary quills, and tail transversely barred with black. Feathers along the base of upper mandible black, and a broad band of the same colour from the occiput, passing behind the eye, down to the lower part of the neck, forming a kind of curved collar. Sides of the head pale blue, throat white. The lower parts are whitish, tinged on the breast and under the wings with reddish-brown.

Length 12 inches, extent of wings 14; bill ⅞; tarsus 1 2⁄12, middle toe nearly the same.

Adult Female. Plate CII. Fig. 2, 3.

The female scarcely differs in appearance from the male, being merely somewhat smaller, with the blue of the upper parts less rich, and the breast more tinged with brown.

The Trumpet-flower.

Bignonia radicans, Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. ii. p. 420.

The plant on which this Jay is represented, has been already noticed at [p. 254 of vol. i].

THE CANADA FLYCATCHER.

Muscicapa canadensis, Linn.
PLATE CIII. Male and Female.

What a beautiful object, in the delightful season of spring, is our Great Laurel, covered with its tufts of richly, yet delicately, coloured flowers! In imagination I am at this moment rambling along the banks of some murmuring streamlet, overshadowed by the thick foliage of this gorgeous ornament of our mountainous districts. Methinks I see the timid trout eyeing my movements from beneath his rocky covert, while the warblers and other sylvan choristers, equally fond of their wild retreats, are skipping in all the freedom of nature around me. Delightful moments have been to me those when, seated in such a place, with senses all intent, I gazed on the rosy tints of the flowers that seemed to acquire additional colouring from the golden rays of the sun, as he rode proudly over the towering mountains, drawing aside as it were the sable curtain that till now hung over the landscape, and drying up, with the gentleness of a parent towards his cherished offspring, the dewy tears that glittered on each drooping plant. Would that I could describe to you the thoughts that on such a morning have filled my whole soul; but alas, I have not words wherewith to express the feelings of gratitude, love, and wonder that thrilled and glowed in my bosom! I must therefore content myself with requesting you to look at the blossoms of the laurel as depicted in the plate, together with two of the birds, which, in pairs, side by side, are fond of residing among its glossy and verdant foliage.

A comparison of the plate in which I have represented this interesting species, with that exhibiting the bird named by me the Bonaparte Flycatcher,[1] will suffice to convince you, good reader, that these birds are truly distinct. My excellent friend Mr William Swainson, is quite correct, when, after describing the present species, he says, "we can perceive no character, either in the figure or the description of Wilson, which does not accord with our bird," but is certainly mistaken in supposing me to have informed him that the Canada Flycatcher and that named after the Prince of Musignano, are one and the same[2].

The Muscicapa Bonapartii was met with in Louisiana, where, during a residence of many years, I never saw the present species. Nay, the Canada Flycatcher, although a migratory, may be said to be truly a northern bird, never having been observed south of Pennsylvania, east of the range of the Alleghany mountains, or below Pittsburg, on their broad western slope.

I first became acquainted with the habits of the Canada Flycatcher in the Great Pine Forest, while in company with that excellent woodsman Jediah Irish, of whom I have previously spoken; and I have since ascertained that it gives a decided preference to mountainous places, thickly covered with almost impenetrable undergrowths of tangled shrubbery. I found it breeding in the Pine Forest, and have followed it through Maine, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and the country of Labrador, in every portion of which, suited to its retired habits, it brings forth its broods in peaceful security.

It no doubt comes from the southern parts of America, or from the West Indies, but the mode of its migration is still unknown to me. In Pennsylvania, about the middle of May, a few are seen in the maritime districts, where they seem merely to be resting after the fatigues of a long and tedious journey, before they retreat to their favourite haunts in the mountainous tracts. There they are heard while concealed among the opening blossoms, giving vent to their mirth in song, perhaps thanking the Author of their being for their safe return to their cherished abode. Their notes are not unmusical, although simple and not attractive. Wherever a streamlet of rushing water, deeply shaded by the great mountain laurel (Rhododendron maximum) was met with, there was the Canada Flycatcher to be found. You might see it skipping among the branches, peeping beneath each leaf, examining every chink of the bark, moving along with rapidity and elegance, singing, making love to its mate, and caressing her with all the fervour of a true sylvan lover.

The nest of this bird which I found, was filled to the brim with four young ones ready to take wing; and as it was on the 11th of August, I concluded that the parents had reared another brood that season. When I put my hand on them, they all left the nest and scrambled off, emitting a plaintive tsche, which immediately brought the old ones. Notwithstanding all the anxious cares of the latter in assisting them to hide, I procured all of them; but after examining each minutely I set them at liberty. They were of a dull greyish tint above, of a delicate citron colour beneath, and without any spots on the breast or sides. The nest was placed in the fork of a small branch of laurel, not above four feet from the ground, and resembled that of the Black-capped Warbler. The outer parts were formed of several sorts of mosses, supporting a delicate bed of slender grasses, carefully disposed in a circular form, and lined with hair. In another nest found near Eastport, in the State of Maine, on the 22d of May, five eggs had been laid, and the female was sitting on them. They were of a transparent whiteness, with a few dots of a bright red colour towards the large end. This nest also was placed in the fork of a small bush, and immediately over a rivulet.

The flight of the Canada Flycatcher is rather swifter than that of sylviæ generally is; and as it passes low amid bushes, the bird cannot be followed by the eye to any considerable distance. Now and then it gives chase on the wing, when the clicking of its bill is distinctly heard. By the 1st of October not one remained in the Great Pine Forest, nor did I see any in Labrador after the 1st of August. A few were seen in Newfoundland in the course of that month, and as I returned through Nova Scotia, these birds, like my own party, were all moving southward.

Muscicapa canadensis, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 327.

Sylvia pardalina, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 79.

Setophaga Bonapartii, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americana, part ii. p. 225.

Canada Flycatcher, Muscicapa canadensis, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 100. Pl. 26. fig. 2. Male.

Adult Male. Plate CIII. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, straight, broad and depressed at the base, acute; upper mandible slightly notched, and a little inflected at the tip, lower mandible straight. Nostrils basal, lateral, roundish, partly covered by the frontal feathers. Head and neck moderate. Eyes moderate. Body slender. Legs of ordinary size; tarsus a little longer than the middle toe; inner toe a little united at the base; claws compressed, acute, arched.

Plumage ordinary, blended. Wings of ordinary length, the second primary longest. Tail rather long, slightly emarginate, straight. Basirostral feathers bristly, and directed outwards.

Bill pale brown above, flesh-coloured below. Iris deep brown. Feet and claws flesh-coloured and semitransparent. The upper parts are of a light brownish-grey, the quills brown edged externally with paler, as are the tail-feathers, except the two middle, which are grey like the back. The head mottled with brownish-black; spots of the same colour, descending in a line from the lower mandible to the upper part of the breast, forming an interrupted gorgelet. A bright yellow line from the base of the mandible over the eye. The lower parts of a fine bright yellow, excepting under the tail, where they are white.

Length 5¼ inches, extent of wings 9; bill ⅜; tarsus ⅞, toe about the same length.

Adult Female. Pl. CIII. Fig. 2.

The female has the grey of the upper parts more tinged with brown, and the yellow of the lower parts less brilliant; but in other respects so resembles the male as not to require any particular description.

The Great Laurel.

Rhododendron maximum, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 600.—Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. i. p. 297.—Decandria monogynia, Linn.—Rhododendra, Juss.

This beautiful species frequently attains a height of 15 or even 20 feet. It is characterised by its oblong, acute leaves, its terminal umbels or clusters of pink campanulate flowers, the divisions of the calyces of which are oval and obtuse. It exhibits several varieties depending on the shape of the leaves, the colour of the flowers, and the comparative length of the stamens and style. The wood, which is tough and stubborn, is well adapted for turner's work. The species is found on all the moist declivities of our mountainous districts, from Carolina to Massachusetts.

THE CHIPPING SPARROW.

Fringilla socialis, Wils.
PLATE CIV. Male.

Few birds are more common throughout the United States than this gentle and harmless little finch. It inhabits the towns, villages, orchards, gardens, borders of fields, and prairie grounds. Abundant in the whole of the Middle States during spring, summer, and autumn; it removes to the southern parts to spend the winter, and there you may meet with it in flocks almost anywhere, even in the open woods. So social is it in its character that you see it at that season in company with the Song Sparrow, the White-throated, the Savannah, the Field, and almost every other species of the genus. The sandy roads exposed to the sun's rays are daily visited by it, where, among the excrement of horses and cattle, it searches for food, or among the tall grasses of our old fields it seeks for seeds, small berries, and insects of various kinds. Should the weather be cold it enters the barn-yard, and even presents itself in the piazza. It reaches Louisiana, the Carolinas, and other southern districts in November, and returns about the middle of March to the Middle and Eastern States, where it breeds.

Early in May the Chipping Sparrow has already formed its nest, which it has placed indifferently in the apple or peach tree of the orchard or garden, in any evergreen bush or cedar, high or low, as it may best suit, but never on the ground. It is small and comparatively slender, being formed of a scanty collection of fine dried grass, and lined with horse or cow hair. The eggs are four or five, of a bright greenish-blue colour, slightly marked with dark and light-brown spots, chiefly distributed towards the larger end. They are more pointed at the small end than is common in this genus. Although timorous, these birds express great anxiety when their nest is disturbed, especially the female. They generally raise two broods in the season, south of Pennsylvania, and not unfrequently in Virginia and Maryland.

The song of this species, if song it can with propriety be called, is heard at all hours of the day, the bird seeming determined to make up by quantity for defect in the quality of its notes. Mounted on the topmost branch of any low tree or bush, or on the end of a fence stake, it emits with rapidity six or seven notes resembling the sounds produced by smartly striking two pebbles together, each succeeding note rising in strength, although the song altogether is scarcely louder than the chirping of a cricket. It is often heard during the calm of a fine night, or in the warmer days of winter.

These gentle birds migrate by day; and no sooner has October returned and mellowed the tints of the sylvan foliage, than flitting before you on the road, you see family after family moving southward, chasing each other as if in play, sweeping across the path, or flocking suddenly to a tree if surprised, but almost instantly returning to the ground and resuming their line of march. At the approach of night they throw themselves into thickets of brambles, where, in company with several other species, they keep up a murmuring conversation until long after dark. Their flight is short, rather irregular, and seldom more elevated than the height of moderate-sized trees.

With the exception of the Sharp-shinned Hawk, the Marsh Hawk, and the Black Snake, these birds have few enemies, children being generally fond of protecting them. Little or no difference is perceptible between the sexes, and the young acquire the full plumage of their parents at the earliest approach of spring.

I did not find one individual of the species in Newfoundland, Labrador, or Nova Scotia.

Fringilla socialis, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. p. 109.

Chipping Sparrow, Fringilla socialis, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 127. Pl. 16. Fig. 5.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 497.

Adult male. Plate CIV.

Bill short, rather small, conical, acute; upper mandible rather narrower than the lower, very slightly declinate at the tip, rounded on the sides, as is the lower, which has the edges inflected and acute; the gap line straight, slightly deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, roundish, concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body robust. Legs of moderate length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, greatly compressed, acute, slightly arched, that of the hind toe little larger.

Plumage soft, rather compact. Wings shortish, curved, rounded, the third and fourth quills longest, the second nearly as long, the first little shorter. Tail rather long, emarginate.

Bill dusky. Iris brown. Feet flesh-colour. Upper part of the head, anterior portion of the back, and scapulars, bright chestnut, with blackish-brown spots, the middle of each feather being of the latter colour. Sides of the neck and rump light greyish-blue, as are the smaller wing-coverts. Quills, larger coverts and first row of smaller, dusky, the two latter tipped with white, the former more or less margined with chestnut. Tail dusky, the feathers edged with pale ochre. A white line over the eye, and the lower parts generally of a greyish-white.

Length 5¼ inches, extent of wings 8; bill little more than ¼.

The Female differs only in having the tints generally less intense. In winter, both have a blackish frontlet.

The Black Locust or False Acacia.

Robinia pseudacacia, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iii. p. 1131. Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. ii. p. 487.—Diadelphia Decandria, Linn. Leguminosæ, Juss.

This beautiful tree grows in the mountainous parts of the United States, from Canada to Carolina. Its wood, which is of great durability, is employed for various purposes, and particularly for gates and fence-stakes. The species is characterised by its spinescent stipules, pendulous racemes of white, sweet-scented flowers, and large smooth legumes. Although abundant in the natural state, it is now planted around farms and plantations, on account of the great value of its timber. It is besides a charming ornament of our avenues, either in the country, or in the streets of villages and cities.

THE RED-BELLIED NUTHATCH.

Sitta canadensis, Linn.
PLATE CV. Male and Female.

While the Brown-headed Nuthatch perambulates the southern districts, the Red-bellied species spends its time in the eastern and northern States, the two dividing the country, as it were, nearly equally between them. The southern limits of this little bird seldom extend farther than Maryland. It is more plentiful in Pennsylvania, particularly in the mountainous parts of that State, and becomes still more abundant as you proceed towards Maine and Nova Scotia, where the greater number spend even the coldest winters. Yet I saw none in Newfoundland, and only one in Labrador, which had probably been blown thither by a gale.

I found it building its nest near Eastport in Maine, on the 19th of May, before the Blue Bird had made its appearance there, and while much ice still remained on the northern exposures. The nest is dug in a low dead stump, seldom more than four feet from the ground, both the male and the female working by turns, until they have got to the depth of about fourteen inches. The eggs, four in number, are small, and of a white colour, tinged with a deep blush, and sprinkled with reddish dots. They raise, I believe, only one brood in the season.

The activity and industry of this little creature are admirable. With the quickness of thought it moves up and down the branches of trees, assuming various positions, examining every hole or cranny in the bark, frequently rapping against it with its bill, and detaching now and then small fragments, in order to get at the insects or larvæ concealed beneath. It searches for its food among the leaves of the tallest pines, along the fences, and on the fallen logs, ever busy, petulant, and noisy, probably never resting except during the night, when, like other species of the tribe, it attaches itself by the feet to the bark, and sleeps head downwards. Like other birds of this genus also, it is careless of man, although it never suffers him to form too close an acquaintance. During the breeding season, they move in pairs, and manifest a strong mutual attachment. Their almost incessant hink, hink, hink-hink, is heard at every hop they take, but less loudly sounded than the notes of the Brown-headed species, the male being more prodigal of noise than the female, which, however, now and then answers to his call.

It is pleasant to see such a pair leading their offspring through the tops of the tall trees of our great pine forests of the north, accompanied by a train of small Woodpeckers and Creepers, all bent on the same object, that of procuring food. Gaily they move from tree to tree, each emitting its peculiar note, and all evincing the greatest sociality. If danger is apparent, dead silence takes place, but as soon as their fear is removed, they become as clamorous and lively as before.

The flight of the Red-bellied Nuthatch is seldom protracted farther than from tree to tree; and in this manner a certain number go south at the approach of winter, some at this season venturing as far as South Carolina, although they are never seen in the maritime districts of that State. They are plentiful during summer in the Pocano mountains of Pennsylvania, and many breed there. Those which remain in our northern States during winter, now and then shew themselves in the orchards and farm-yards, alighting about the eaves of the out-houses, to seek for food.

While at sea, on one of my migrations from Europe to America, and at a distance of 300 miles from land, I saw one of these birds come on board one evening, during a severe gale. It alighted on the rigging, and proceeded at once to search for food in its usual manner. It was caught and brought to me; but although I gave it flies and some bits of cheese, it refused to touch them, generally sitting in the bottom of the cage with its head under its wing, and it died in the course of the night. On opening it, I could not perceive a particle of food in its stomach, so that its sudden death was probably occasioned by inanition and fatigue.

Sitta canadensis, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 177.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. p. 262.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synopsis of Birds of the United States, p. 96.

Red-bellied Black-cap Nuthatch, Sitta canadensis, Wilson, Amer. Ornith. vol. i. p. 40. Pl. 2. fig. 4.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 583.

Adult Male. Plate CV. Fig. 1.

Bill straight, of moderate length, very hard, conico-subulate, a little compressed, more or less wedge-shaped at the tip; upper mandible with the dorsal outline very slightly arched, the edges sharp towards the point; lower mandible smaller, of equal length, straight. Nostrils basal, round, half-closed by a membrane, partially covered by the frontal feathers. The general form is short and compact. Feet rather strong, the hind toe stout, with a strong hooked claw; the claws arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, blended, with little gloss. Wings rather short, broad, the second and third primaries longest. Tail short, broad, even, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill black. Iris brown. Feet and claws flesh-coloured, tinged with yellowish-green. The general colour of the plumage above is a light leaden-grey, beneath pale brownish-red. The top of the head is bluish-black. A long white line passes over the eye; a broader line of black from the bill to the eye, and beyond it down the neck; the throat white. Primary quills dusky margined with greyish-blue; tail-feathers blackish, the two middle ones of the general colour of the back; the lateral ones white towards the end.

Length 4½ inches; extent of wings 8; bill along the ridge 5⁄12; gap-line 7⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CV. Fig. 2.

There is scarcely any perceptible external difference between the sexes, the lower parts of the female being merely a little paler, and the black of the head not so deep.

THE RUNAWAY.

Never shall I forget the impression made on my mind by the rencontre which forms the subject of this article, and I even doubt if the relation of it will not excite in that of my reader emotions of varied character.

Late in the afternoon of one of those sultry days which render the atmosphere of the Louisiana swamps pregnant with baneful effluvia, I directed my course towards my distant home, laden with a pack consisting of five or six Wood Ibises, and a heavy gun, the weight of which, even in those days when my natural powers were unimpaired, prevented me from moving with much speed. Reaching the banks of a miry bayou, only a few yards in breadth, but of which I could not ascertain the depth, on account of the muddiness of its waters, I thought it might be dangerous to wade through it with my burden; for which reason, throwing to the opposite side each of my heavy birds in succession, together with my gun, powder-flask, and shot-bag, and drawing my hunting-knife from its scabbard, to defend myself, if need should be, against alligators, I entered the water, followed by my faithful dog. As I advanced carefully and slowly, "Plato" swam around me, enjoying the refreshing influence of the liquid element that cooled his fatigued and heated frame. The water deepened, as did the mire of its bed; but with a stroke or two I gained the shore.

Scarcely had I stood erect on the opposite bank, when my dog ran to me, exhibiting marks of terror, his eyes seeming ready to burst from their sockets, and his mouth grinning with the expression of hatred, while his feelings found vent in a stifled growl. Thinking that all this was produced by the scent of a wolf or bear, I stooped to take up my gun, when a stentorial voice commanded me to "stand still, or die!" Such a "qui vive" in these woods was as unexpected as it was rare. I instantly raised and cocked my gun; and although I did not yet perceive the individual who had thus issued so peremptory a mandate, I felt determined to combat with him for the free passage of the grounds. Presently a tall firmly-built Negro emerged from the bushy underwood, where, until that moment, he must have been crouched, and in a louder voice repeated his injunction. Had I pressed a trigger, his life would have instantly terminated; but observing that the gun, which he aimed at my breast, was a wretched rusty piece, from which fire could not readily be produced, I felt little fear, and therefore did not judge it necessary to proceed at once to extremities. I laid my gun at my side, tapped my dog quietly, and asked the man what he wanted.

My forbearance, and the stranger's long habit of submission, produced the most powerful effect on his mind. "Master," said he, "I am a runaway. I might perhaps shoot you down; but God forbids it, for I feel just now, as if I saw him ready to pass his judgment against me for such a foul deed, and I ask mercy at your hands. For God's sake, do not kill me, master!" And why, answered I, have you left your quarters, where certainly you must have fared better than in these unwholesome swamps? "Master, my story is a short, but a sorrowful one. My camp is close by, and as I know you cannot reach home this night, if you will follow me there, depend upon my honour you shall be safe until the morning, when I will carry your birds, if you choose, to the great road."

The large intelligent eyes of the Negro, the complacency of his manner, and the tones of his voice, I thought, invited me to venture; and as I felt that I was at least his equal, while, moreover, I had my dog to second me, I answered that I would follow him. He observed the emphasis laid on the words, the meaning of which he seemed to understand so thoroughly, that, turning to me, he said, "There, master, take my butcher's knife, while I throw away the flint and priming from my gun!" Reader, I felt confounded: this was too much for me; I refused the knife, and told him to keep his piece ready, in case we might accidentally meet a cougar or a bear.

Generosity exists everywhere. The greatest monarch acknowledges its impulse, and all around him, from his lowliest menial to the proud nobles that encircle his throne, at times experience that overpowering sentiment. I offered to shake hands with the runaway. "Master," said he, "I beg you thanks," and with this he gave me a squeeze, that alike impressed me with the goodness of his heart, and his great physical strength. From that moment we proceeded through the woods together. My dog smelt at him several times, but as he heard me speak in my usual tone of voice, he soon left us, and rambled around as long as my whistle was unused. As we proceeded, I observed that he was guiding me towards the setting of the sun, and quite contrary to my homeward course. I remarked this to him, when he with the greatest simplicity replied, "merely for our security."

After trudging along for some distance, and crossing several bayous, at all of which he threw his gun and knife to the opposite bank, and stood still until I had got over, we came to the borders of an immense cane brake, from which I had, on former occasions, driven and killed several deer. We entered, as I had frequently done before, now erect, then on "all fours." He regularly led the way, divided here and there the tangled stalks, and, whenever we reached a fallen tree, assisted me in getting over it with all possible care. I saw that he was a perfect Indian in the knowledge of the woods, for he kept a direct course as precisely as any "Red-skin" I ever travelled with. All of a sudden he emitted a loud shriek, not unlike that of an owl, which so surprised me, that I once more instantly levelled my gun. "No harm, master, I only give notice to my wife and children that I am coming." A tremulous answer of the same nature gently echoed through the tree-tops. The runaway's lips separated with an expression of gentleness and delight, when his beautiful set of ivory teeth seemed to smile through the dusk of evening that was thickening around us. "Master," said he, "my wife, though black, is as beautiful to me as the President's wife is to him; she is my queen, and I look on our young ones as so many princes:—but you shall see them all, for here they are, thank God!"

There, in the heart of the cane-brake, I found a regular camp. A small fire was lighted, and on its embers lay gridling some large slices of venison. A lad nine or ten years old was blowing the ashes from some fine sweet potatoes. Various articles of household furniture were carefully disposed around, and a large pallet of bear and deer skins seemed to be the resting-place of the whole family. The wife raised not her eyes towards mine, and the little ones, three in number, retired into a corner, like so many discomfited racoons; but the Runaway, bold and apparently happy, spoke to them in such cheering words, that at once one and all seemed to regard me as one sent by Providence to relieve them from all their troubles. My clothes were hung up by them to dry, and the Negro asked if he might clean and grease my gun, which I permitted him to do, while the wife threw a large piece of deer's flesh to my dog, which the children were already caressing.

Only think of my situation, reader! Here I was, ten miles at least from home, and four or five from the nearest plantation, in the camp of runaway slaves, and quite at their mercy. My eyes involuntarily followed their motions, but as I thought I perceived in them a strong desire to make me their confidant and friend, I gradually relinquished all suspicion. The venison and potatoes looked quite tempting, and by this time I was in a condition to relish much less savoury fare; so, on being humbly asked to divide the viands before us, I partook of as hearty a meal as I had ever done in my life.

Supper over, the fire was completely extinguished, and a small lighted pine-knot placed in a hollowed calabash. Seeing that both the husband and wife were desirous of communicating something to me, I at once and fearlessly desired them to unburden their minds; when the Runaway told me a tale of which the following is the substance.

About eighteen months before, a planter residing not very far off, having met with some losses, was obliged to expose his slaves at a public sale. The value of his negroes was well known, and on the appointed day, the auctioneer laid them out in small lots, or offered them singly, in the manner which he judged most advantageous to their owner. The Runaway, who was well known as being the most valuable next to his wife, was put up by himself for sale, and brought an immoderate price. For his wife, who came next, and alone, eight hundred dollars were bidden and paid down. Then the children were exposed, and, on account of their breed, brought high prices. The rest of the slaves went off at rates corresponding to their qualifications.

The Runaway chanced to be purchased by the overseer of the plantation; the wife was bought by an individual residing about a hundred miles off, and the children went to different places along the river. The heart of the husband and father failed him under this dire calamity. For a while he pined in deep sorrow under his new master; but having marked down in his memory the names of the different persons who had purchased each dear portion of his family, he feigned illness, if indeed he whose affections had been so grievously blasted could be said to feign it, refrained from food for several days, and was little regarded by the overseer, who felt himself disappointed in what he had considered a bargain.

On a stormy night, when the elements raged with all the fury of a hurricane, the poor negro made his escape, and, being well acquainted with all the neighbouring swamps, at once made directly for the cane brake, in the centre of which I found his camp. A few nights afterwards he gained the abode of his wife, and the very next after their meeting he led her away. The children one after another he succeeded in stealing, until at last the whole objects of his love were under his care.

To provide for five individuals was no easy task in those wilds, which, after the first notice was given of the wonderful disappearance of this extraordinary family, were daily ransacked by armed planters. Necessity, it is said, will bring the wolf from the forest. The Runaway seems to have well understood the maxim, for under night he approached his first master's plantation, where he had ever been treated with the greatest kindness. The house servants knew him too well not to aid him to the best of their power, and at the approach of each morning he returned to his camp with an ample supply of provisions. One day, while in search of wild fruits, he found a bear dead before the muzzle of a gun that had been set for the purpose. Both articles he carried to his home. His friends at the plantation managed to supply him with some ammunition, and in damp and cloudy days he first ventured to hunt around his camp. Possessed of courage and activity, he gradually became more careless, and rambled farther in search of game. It was on one of his excursions that I met him, and he assured me that the noise which I made in passing the bayou had caused him to lose the chance of killing a fine deer, although, said he, "my old musket misses fire sadly too often."

The runaways, after disclosing their secret to me, both rose from their seat, with eyes full of tears. "Good master, for God's sake, do something for us and our children," they sobbed forth with one accord. Their little ones lay sound asleep in the fearlessness of their innocence. Who could have heard such a tale without emotion? I promised them my most cordial assistance. They both sat up that night to watch my repose, and I slept close to their urchins, as if on a bed of the softest down.

Day broke so fair, so pure, and so gladdening, that I told them such heavenly appearances were ominous of good, and that I scarcely doubted of obtaining their full pardon. I desired them to take their children with them, and promised to accompany them to the plantation of their first master. They gladly obeyed. My Ibises were hung around their camp, and, as a memento of my having been there, I notched several trees, after which I bade adieu, perhaps for the last time, to that cane brake. We soon reached the plantation, the owner of which, with whom I was well acquainted, received me with all the generous kindness of a Louisiana planter. Ere an hour had elapsed, the Runaway and his family were looked upon as his own. He afterwards repurchased them from their owners, and treated them with his former kindness; so that they were rendered as happy as slaves generally are in that country, and continued to cherish that attachment to each other which had led to their adventures. Since this event happened, it has, I have been informed, become illegal to separate slave families without their consent.

THE BLACK VULTURE OR CARRION CROW.

Cathartes Jota, Bonap.
PLATE CVI. Male and Female.

The habits of this species are so intimately connected with those of the Turkey Buzzard (Cathartes Aura), that I cannot do better than devote this article to the description of both. And here, I beg leave to request of you, reader, that you allow me to present you with a copy of a paper which I published several years ago on the subject, and which was read, in my presence, to a numerous assemblage of the members of the Wernerian Natural History Society of Edinburgh, by my friend Mr Neill, the Secretary of that Society. It is scarcely necessary for me to apologise for introducing here the observations which I then narrated, more especially as they referred principally to an interesting subject of discussion, which has been since resumed. They are as follows:—

"As soon as, like me, you shall have seen the Turkey Buzzard follow, with arduous closeness of investigation, the skirts of the forests, the meanders of creeks and rivers, sweeping over the whole of extensive plains, glancing his quick eye in all directions, with as much intentness as ever did the noblest of Falcons, to discover where below him lies the suitable prey; when, like me, you have repeatedly seen that bird pass over objects calculated to glut his voracious appetite, unnoticed, because unseen; and when you have also observed the greedy Vulture, propelled by hunger, if not famine, moving like the wind suddenly round his course, as the carrion attracts his eye; then will you abandon the deeply-rooted notion, that this bird possesses the faculty of discovering, by his sense of smell, his prey at an immense distance.

This power of smelling so acutely I adopted as a fact from my youth. I had read of this when a child; and many of the theorists, to whom I subsequently spoke of it, repeated the same with enthusiasm, the more particularly as they considered it an extraordinary gift of nature. But I had already observed, that nature, although wonderfully bountiful, had not granted more to any one individual than was necessary, and that no one was possessed of any two of the senses in a very high state of perfection; that if it had a good scent, it needed not so much acuteness of sight, and vice versa. When I visited the Southern States, and had lived, as it were, amongst these Vultures for several years, and discovered thousands of times that they did not smell me when I approached them, covered by a tree, until within a few feet; and that when so near, or at a greater distance, I shewed myself to them, they instantly flew away much frightened; the idea evaporated, and I assiduously engaged in a series of experiments, to prove to myself, at least, how far this acuteness of smell existed, or if it existed at all.

I sit down to communicate to you the results of those experiments, and leave for you to conclude how far and how long the world has been imposed on by the mere assertions of men who had never seen more than the skins of our Vultures, or heard the accounts from men caring little about observing nature closely.

My First Experiment was as follows:—I procured a skin of our common deer, entire to the hoofs, and stuffed it carefully with dried grass until filled rather above the natural size,—suffered the whole to become perfectly dry, and as hard as leather,—took it to the middle of a large open field,—laid it down on its back with the legs up and apart, as if the animal was dead and putrid. I then retired about a hundred yards, and in the lapse of some minutes, a Vulture, coursing round the field tolerably high, espied the skin, sailed directly towards it, and alighted within a few yards of it. I ran immediately, covered by a large tree, until within about forty yards, and from that place could spy the bird with ease. He approached the skin, looked at it with apparent suspicion, jumped on it, raised his tail, and voided freely (as you well know all birds of prey in a wild state generally do before feeding),—then approaching the eyes, that were here solid globes of hard, dried, and painted clay, attacked first one and then the other, with, however, no farther advantage than that of disarranging them. This part was abandoned; the bird walked to the other extremity of the pretended animal, and there, with much exertion, tore the stitches apart, until much fodder and hay was pulled out; but no flesh could the bird find or smell; he was intent on discovering some where none existed, and, after reiterated efforts, all useless, he took flight and coursed about the field, when, suddenly wheeling round and alighting, I saw him kill a small garter snake, and swallow it in an instant. The Vulture rose again, sailed about, and passed several times quite low over the stuffed deer-skin, as if loath to abandon so good looking a prey.

Judge of my feelings when I plainly saw that the Vulture, which could not discover, through its extraordinary sense of smell, that no flesh, either fresh or putrid, existed about that skin, could at a glance see a snake, scarcely as thick as a man's finger, alive, and destitute of odour, hundreds of yards distant. I concluded that, at all events, his ocular powers were much better than his sense of smell.

Second Experiment.—I had a large dead hog hauled some distance from the house, and put into a ravine, about twenty feet deeper than the surface of the earth around it, narrow and winding much, filled with briars and high cane. In this I made the negroes conceal the hog, by binding cane over it, until I thought it would puzzle either Buzzards, Carrion Crows, or any other birds to see it, and left it for two days. This was early in the month of July, when, in this latitude, a dead body becomes putrid and extremely fetid in a short time. I saw from time to time many Vultures, in search of food, sail over the field and ravine in all directions, but none discovered the carcass, although during this time several dogs had visited it, and fed plentifully on it. I tried to go near it, but the smell was so insufferable when within thirty yards, that I abandoned it, and the remnants were entirely destroyed at last through natural decay.

I then took a young pig, put a knife through its neck, and made it bleed on the earth and grass about the same place, and having covered it closely with leaves, also watched the result. The Vultures saw the fresh blood, alighted about it, followed it down into the ravine, discovered by the blood the pig, and devoured it, when yet quite fresh, within my sight.

Not contented with these experiments, which I already thought fully conclusive, having found two young Vultures, about the size of pullets, covered yet with down, and looking more like quadrupeds than birds, I had them brought home and put into a large coop in the yard, in the view of every body, and attended to their feeding myself. I gave them a great number of Red-headed Woodpeckers and Parokeets, birds then easy to procure, as they were feeding daily on the mulberry trees in the immediate neighbourhood of my orphans.

These the young Vultures could tear to pieces by putting both feet on the body, and applying the bill with great force. So accustomed to my going towards them were they in a few days, that when I approached the cage with hands filled with game for them, they immediately began hissing and gesticulating very much like young pigeons, and putting their bills to each other, as if expecting to be fed mutually, as their parent had done.

Two weeks elapsed, black feathers made their appearance, and the down diminished. I remarked an extraordinary increase of their legs and bill, and thinking them fit for trial, I closed three sides of the cage with plank, leaving the front only with bars for them to see through,—had the cage cleaned, washed, and sanded, to remove any filth attached to it from the putrid flesh that had been in it, and turned its front immediately from the course I usually took towards it with food for them.

I approached it often barefooted, and soon perceived that if I did not accidentally make a noise, the young birds remained in their silent upright attitudes, until I shewed myself to them by turning to the front of their prison. I frequently fastened a dead squirrel or rabbit, cut open, with all the entrails hanging loosely, to a long pole, and in this situation would put it to the back part of the cage; but no hissing, no movement, was made; when, on the contrary, I presented the end of the pole thus covered over the cage, no sooner would it appear beyond the edge, than my hungry birds would jump against the bars, hiss furiously, and attempt all in their power to reach the food. This was repeatedly done with fresh and putrid substances, all very congenial to their taste.

Satisfied within myself, I dropped these trials, but fed the birds until full grown, and then turned them out into the yard of the kitchen, for the purpose of picking up whatever substances might be thrown to them. Their voracity, however, soon caused their death: young pigs were not safe if within their reach; and young ducks, turkeys, or chickens, were such a constant temptation, that the cook, unable to watch them, killed them both, to put an end to their depredations.

Whilst I had these two young vultures in confinement, an extraordinary occurrence took place respecting an old bird of the same kind, which I cannot help relating to you. This bird, sailing over the yard, whilst I was experimenting with the pole and squirrels, saw the food, and alighted on the roof of one of the outhouses; then alighted on the ground, walked directly to the cage, and attempted to reach the food within. I approached it carefully, and it hopped off a short distance; as I retired, it returned, when always the appearances of the strongest congratulations would take place from the young towards this new comer. I directed several young negroes to drive it gently towards the stable, and to try to make it go in there. This would not do; but, after a short time, I helped to drive it into that part of the gin-house where the cotton seeds are deposited, and there caught it. I easily discovered that the bird was so emaciated, that to this state of poverty only I owed my success. I put it in with the young, who both at once jumped about him, making most extraordinary gestures of welcome, whilst the old bird, quite discomfited at his confinement, lashed both with great violence with his bill. Fearing the death of the young, I took them out, and fed plentifully the old bird; his appetite had become so great through fasting, that he ate too much, and died of suffocation.

I could enumerate many more instances, indicating that the power of smelling in these birds has been grossly exaggerated, and that, if they can smell objects at any distance, they can see the same objects much farther. I would ask any observer of the habits of birds, why if Vultures could smell at a great distance their prey, they should spend the greater portion of their lives hunting for it, when they are naturally so lazy, that, if fed in one place, they never leave it, and merely make such a change as is absolutely necessary to enable them to reach it. But I will now enter on their habits, and you will easily discover how this far famed power has originated.

Vultures are gregarious, and often associate in flocks of twenty, forty, or more;—hunting thus together, they fly in sight of each other, and thus cover an immense extent of country. A flock of twenty may easily survey an area of two miles, as they go turning in large circles, often intersecting each other in their lines, as if forming a vast chain of rounded links;—some are high, whilst others are low;—not a spot is passed unseen, and, consequently, the moment that a prey is discovered, the favoured bird rounds to, and, by the impetuosity of its movements, gives notice to its nearest companion, who immediately follows him, and is successively attended by all the rest. Thus the farthest from the discoverer being at a considerable distance, sails in a direct line towards the spot indicated to him by the flight of the others, who all have gone in a straight course before him, with the appearance of being impelled by this extraordinary power of smelling, so erroneously granted to them. If the object discovered is large, lately dead, and covered with a skin too tough to be eaten and torn asunder, and affords free scope to their appetites, they remain about it, and in the neighbourhood. Perched on high dead limbs, in such conspicuous positions, they are easily seen by other Vultures, who, through habit, know the meaning of such stoppages, and join the first flock, going also directly, and affording further evidence to those persons who are satisfied with appearance only. In this manner I have seen several hundreds of Vultures and Carrion Crows assembled near a dead ox at the dusk of evening, that had only two or three about it in the morning; when some of the later comers had probably travelled hundreds of miles searching diligently themselves for food, and probably would have had to go much farther, had they not espied this association.

Around the spot both species remain; some of them from time to time examining the dead body, giving it a tug in those parts most accessible, until putridity ensues. The accumulated number then fall to work, exhibiting a most disgusting picture of famished cannibals; the strongest driving the weakest, and the latter harassing the former with all the animosity that a disappointed hungry stomach can excite. They are seen jumping off the carcass, reattacking it, entering it, and wrestling for portions partly swallowed by two or more of them, hissing at a furious rate, and clearing every moment their nostrils from the filth that enters there, and stops their breathing. No doubt remains on my mind, that the great outward dimensions of these nostrils were allotted them for that especial and necessary purpose.

The animal is soon reduced to a mere skeleton, no portion of it being now too hard to be torn apart and swallowed, so that nothing is left but the bare bones. Soon all these bloody feeders are seen standing gorged, and scarcely able to take wing. At such times the observer may approach very near the group, whilst engaged in feeding, and see the Vultures in contact with the Dogs, who really by smelling have found the prey;—whenever this happens, it is with the greatest reluctance that the birds suffer themselves to be driven off, although frequently the sudden scowl or growl of the Dogs will cause nearly all the Vultures to rise a few yards in the air. I have several times seen the Buzzards feeding at one extremity of the carcass, whilst the Dogs were tearing the other; but if a single Wolf approached, or a pair of White-headed Eagles, driven by extreme hunger, then the place was abandoned to them until their wants were supplied.

The repast finished, each bird gradually rises to the highest branches of the nearest trees, and remains there until the full digestion of all the food they have swallowed is completed; from time to time opening their wings to the breeze, or to the sun, either to cool or to warm themselves. The traveller may then pass under them unnoticed; or, if regarded, a mere sham of flying off is made. The bird slowly recloses its wings, looks at the person as he passes, and remains there until hunger again urges him onwards. This takes often times more than a day, when gradually, and very often singly, each vulture is seen to depart.

They now rise to an immense height; cutting, with great elegance and ease, many circles through the air; now and then gently closing their wings, they launch themselves obliquely, with great swiftness, for several hundred yards, check and resume their portly movements, ascending until, like specks in the distance, they are seen altogether to leave that neighbourhood, to seek elsewhere the required means of subsistence.

Having heard it said, no doubt with the desire of proving that Buzzards smell their prey, that these birds usually fly against the breeze, I may state that, in my opinion, this action is simply used, because it is easier for birds to sustain themselves on the wing, encountering a moderate portion of wind, than when flying before it; but I have so often witnessed these birds bearing away under the influence of a strong breeze, as if enjoying it, that I consider either case as a mere incident connected with their pleasures or their wants.

Here, my dear Sir, let me relate one of those facts, curious in itself, and attributed to mere instinct, but which I cannot admit under that appellation, and which, in my opinion, so borders on reason, that, were I to call it by that name, I hope you will not look on my judgment as erroneous, without your further investigating the subject in a more general point of view.

During one of those heavy gusts that so often take place in Louisiana, in the early part of summer, I saw a flock of these birds, which had undoubtedly discovered that the current of air that was tearing all over them, was a mere sheet, raise themselves obliquely against it, with great force, slide through its impetuous current, and reassume above it, their elegant movements. The power given to them by nature of discerning the approaching death of a wounded animal, is truly remarkable. They will watch each individual thus assailed by misfortune, and follow it with keen perseverance, until the loss of life has rendered it their prey. A poor old emaciated horse or ox, a deer mired on the margin of the lake, where the timid animal has resorted to escape flies and musquitoes, so fatiguing in summer, is seen in distress with exultation by the Buzzard. He immediately alights; and, if the animal does not extricate itself, waits and gorges in peace on as much of the flesh as the nature of the spot will allow. They do more: they often watch the young kid, the lamb and the pig issuing from the mother's womb, and attack it with direful success; yet, notwithstanding this, they frequently pass over a healthy horse, hog, or other animal, lying as if dead, basking in the sunshine, without even altering their course in the least. Judge then, my dear Sir, how well they must see.

Opportunities of devouring young living animals are so very frequent around large plantations in this country, that to deny them would be ridiculous, although I have heard it attempted by European writers. During the terrifying inundations of the Mississippi, I have very frequently seen many of these birds alight on the dead floating bodies of animals, drowned by the waters in the lowlands, and washed by the current, gorging themselves at the expense of the squatter, who often loses the greater portion of his wandering flocks on such occasions. Dastardly withal, and such cowards are they, that our smaller hawks can drive them off any place: the little king-bird proves indeed a tyrant, whenever he espies the large marauder sailing about the spot where his dearest mate is all intent on incubation; and the eagle, if hungry, will chase him, force him to disgorge his food in a moment, and leave it at his disposal.

Many of those birds accustomed, by the privileges granted them by law, of remaining about cities and villages in our southern states, seldom leave them, and might almost be called a second set, differing widely in habits from those that reside constantly at a distance from these places. Accustomed to be fed, they are still more lazy; their appearance exhibits all the nonchalance belonging to the garrisoned half-paid soldier. To move is for them a hardship, and nothing but extreme hunger will make them fly down from the roof of the kitchen into the yard, or follow the vehicles employed in cleaning the streets of disagreeable substances, except where (at Natchez for instance), the number of these expecting parasites is so great that all the refuse of the town, within their reach, is insufficient: they then are seen following the scavengers' cart, hopping, flying, and alighting all about it, amidst grunting hogs and snarling dogs, until the contents, having reached a place of destination outside the suburbs, are deposited, and swallowed by them.

Whilst taking a view of this city from her lower ancient fort, I have for several days seen exhibitions of this kind.

I do not think that the vultures thus attached to cities are so much inclined to multiply as those more constantly resident in the forests, perceiving the diminution of number during the breeding season, and having remarked that many individuals known to me by particular marks made on them, and a special cast of countenance, were positively constant residents of town. The Vultur Aura is by no means so numerous as the atratus. I have seldom seen more than from twenty-five to thirty together; when, on the contrary, the latter are frequently associated to the number of an hundred.

The Vultur Aura is a more retired bird in habits, and more inclined to feed on dead game, snakes, lizards, frogs, and the dead fish that frequently are found about the sand-flats of rivers and borders of the sea-shore; is more cleanly in its appearance; and, as you will see by the difference in the drawings of both species, a neater and better formed bird. Its flight is also vastly superior in swiftness and elegance, requiring but a few flaps of its large wings to raise itself from the ground; after which it will sail for miles by merely turning either on one side or the other, and using its tail so slowly, to alter its course, that a person looking at it, whilst elevated and sailing, would be inclined to compare it to a machine fit to perform just a certain description of evolutions. The noise made by the vultures through the air, as they glide obliquely towards the earth, is often as great as that of our largest hawks, when falling on their prey; but they never reach the ground in this manner, always checking when about 100 yards high, and going several rounds, to examine well the spot they are about to alight on. The Vultur Aura cannot bear cold weather well; the few who, during the heat of summer, extend their excursions to the middle or northern states, generally return at the approach of winter; and I believe also, that very few of these birds breed east of the pine swamps of New Jersey. They are much attached to particular roosting-trees, and I know will come to them every night from a great distance. On alighting on these, each of them, anxious for a choice of place, creates always a general disturbance; and often, when quite dark, their hissing is heard in token of this inclination for supremacy. These roosting-trees of the Buzzards are generally in deep swamps, and mostly in high dead cypress trees; frequently, however, they roost with the carrion crows (Vultur atratus), and then it is on the largest dead timber of our fields, not unfrequently near the houses. Sometimes, also, this bird will roost close to the body of a thickly leaved tree: in such a position I have killed several when hunting wild turkeys by moonlight, mistaking them for these latter birds.

In Mississippi, Louisiana, Georgia, and Carolina, they prepare to breed early in the month of February, in common with most of the genus Falco. The most remarkable habit attached to their life is now to be seen: they assemble in parties of eight or ten, sometimes more, on large fallen logs, males and females, exhibiting the strongest desire to please mutually, and forming attachments in the choice of a mate, when each male, after many caresses, leads his partner off on the wing from the group, neither to mix nor associate with any more, until their offspring are well able to follow them in the air; after which, and until incubation takes place (about two weeks), they are seen sailing side by side the whole day.

These birds form no nest, yet are very choice respecting the place of deposit for their two eggs. Deep in the swamps, but always above the line of overflowing water-mark, a large hollow tree is sought, either standing or fallen, and the eggs are dropped on the mouldering particles inside, sometimes immediately near the entrance, at other times as much as twenty feet within. Both birds alternately incubate, and each feeds the other, by disgorging the contents of the stomach, or part of them, immediately before the bird that is sitting. Thirty-two days are required to bring forth the young from the shell; a thick down covers them completely; the parents, at that early period, and indeed for nearly two weeks, feed them by disgorging food considerably digested from their bills, in the manner of the common pigeons. The down acquires length, becomes thinner, and of a darker tint as the bird grows older. The young vultures, at three weeks, are large for their age, weighing then upwards of a pound, but extremely clumsy and inactive; unable to keep up their wings, then partly covered by large pin feathers, dragging them almost upon the ground, and bearing their whole weight on the full length of their legs and feet.

If approached at that time by a stranger or enemy, they hiss with a noise resembling that made by a strangling cat or fox, swell themselves, and hop sideways as fast as in their power. The parents, while sitting, and equally disturbed, act in the same manner; fly only a very short distance, waiting there the departure of the offender, to resume their duty. As the young grow larger, the parents simply throw their food before them; and, with all their exertions, seldom bring their offspring fat to the field. Their nests become so fetid, before the final departure of the young birds, that a person forced to remain there half an hour would be in danger of suffocation.

I have been frequently told, that the same pair will not abandon their first nest or place of deposit, unless broken up during incubation. This would attach to the vulture a constancy of affection that I cannot believe exists; as I do not think that pairing, in the manner described, is of any longer duration than the necessitous call of nature for the one season; and again, were they so inclined, they would never congregate in the manner they do, but would go in single pairs all their lives like eagles.

Vultures do not possess, in any degree, the power of bearing off their prey as falcons do, unless it be slender portions of entrails hanging by the bill. When chased by others from a carcass, it even renders them very awkward in their flight, and forces them to the earth again almost immediately.

Many persons in Europe believe that Buzzards prefer putrid flesh to any other. This is a mistake. Any flesh that they can at once tear with their very powerful bill in pieces, is swallowed, no matter how fresh. What I have said of their killing and devouring young animals, affords sufficient proofs of this; but it frequently happens that these birds are compelled to wait until the hide of their prey will yield to the bill. I have seen a large dead alligator, surrounded by vultures and carrion crows, of which nearly the whole of the flesh was so completely decomposed before these birds could perforate the tough skin of the monster, that, when at last it took place, their disappointment was apparent, and the matter, in an almost fluid state, abandoned by the vultures."

The above account of my experiments was read on the 16th day of December 1826, and was what I may call my "maiden speech." Well do I remember the uneasy feelings which I experienced: the audience was large, and composed of many of the most distinguished men of that enlightened country. My paper was a long one; and it contradicted all former opinions on the subject under discussion; yet the cheering appearance of kindness which every where met my eye, as I occasionally glanced around, gradually dispelled my uneasiness, and brought me to a state of confidence. The reading of the paper being at length accomplished, I was congratulated by the President, as well as by every member present. Many questions were put to me, all of which I answered as well as I could. My esteemed and learned friend, Professor Jameson, requested permission to publish my paper in his valuable journal, which I most readily granted. Strolling homeward, I felt proud that I had at last broken the charm by which men had so long been held in ignorance respecting the history of our Vultures, assured that the breach which I had made upon a general and deeply rooted opinion, must gradually dissolve it, as well as many other absurdities which have for ages infested science, like the vile grub beneath the bark of the noblest forest tree, retarding its growth, until happily removed by the constant hammerings of the industrious Woodpecker!

I returned to America, urged by enthusiasm, to pursue the study of Nature in the majestic forests; and finding that doubts excited by persons prejudiced against me, existed in the minds of some individuals, I resolved to have my series of experiments repeated by some other person, in those districts where Vultures abound, and in the presence of a number of scientific men, with the view of satisfying the incredulous as much as in my power. My travels were continued, and I became acquainted with one of the best practical ornithologists our country affords, and moreover a man of general learning, my worthy and esteemed friend the Reverend John Bachman of Charleston, South Carolina. To him I frequently wrote, requesting him to make experiments on the faculty of smelling in our vultures. In the winter of 1833-4, the following were made, and afterwards published in Loudon's Magazine of Natural History (No. 38, March 1834, p. 164).

"On the 16th December 1833, I commenced a series of experiments on the habits of our Vultures, which continued till the end of the month, and these have been renewed at intervals till the 15th of January 1834. Written invitations were sent to all the Professors of the two Medical Colleges in this city, to the officers and some of the members of the Philosophical Society, and such other individuals as we believed might take an interest in the subject. Although Mr Audubon was present during most of this time, and was willing to render any assistance required of him, yet he desired that we might make the experiments ourselves—that we might adopt any mode that the ingenuity or experience of others could suggest, at arriving at the most correct conclusions. The manner in which these experiments were made, together with the results, I now proceed to detail.

There were two points in particular on which the veracity of Audubon had been assailed, 1st, Whether the Vultures feed on fresh or putrid flesh, and, 2d, Whether they are attracted to their food by the eye or scent.

On the first head it was unnecessary to make many experiments, it being a subject with which even the most casual observer amongst us is well acquainted. It is well known that the roof of our market-house is covered with these birds every morning, waiting for any little scrap of fresh meat that may be thrown to them by the butchers! At our slaughter-pens, the offal is quickly devoured by our vultures, whilst it is yet warm from the recent death of the slain animal. I have seen the Vultur Aura a hundred miles in the interior of the country, where he may be said to be altogether in a state of nature, regaling himself on the entrails of a deer which had been killed not an hour before. Two years ago, Mr Henry Ward, who is now in London, and who was in the employ of the Philosophical Society of this city, was in the habit of depositing at the foot of my garden, in the suburbs of Charleston, the fresh carcasses of the birds he had skinned, and in the course of half an hour, both species of Vulture, and particularly the Turkey Buzzard, came and devoured the whole. Nay, we discovered that Vultures fed on the bodies of those of their own species that had been thus exposed. A few days ago, a Vulture that had been killed by some boys in the neighbourhood, and that had fallen near the place where we were performing our experiments, attracted, on the following morning, the sight of a Turkey Buzzard, who commenced pulling off its feathers and feeding upon it. This brought down two of the Black Vultures, who joined him in the repast. In this instance, the former chased away the two latter to some distance,—an unusual occurrence, as the Black Vulture is the strongest bird, and generally keeps off the other species. We had the dead bird lightly covered with some rice chaff, where it still remains undiscovered by the Vultures.

2d, Whether is the Vulture attracted to its food by the sense of smell or sight? A number of experiments were tried to satisfy us on this head, and all led to the same result. A few of these I proceed to detail.

1st, A dead Hare (Lepus timidus), a Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus), a Kestrel (Falco Tinnunculus), a recent importation from Europe, together with a wheel-barrow full of offal from the slaughter-pens, were deposited on the ground, at the foot of my garden. A frame was raised above it at the distance of 12 inches from the earth; this was covered with brushwood, allowing the air to pass freely beneath it, so as to convey the effluvium far and wide; and although 25 days have now gone by, and the flesh has become offensive, not a single Vulture appears to have observed it, though hundreds have passed over it, and some very near it, in search of their daily food. Although the Vultures did not discover this dainty mess, the dogs in the vicinity, who appeared to have better olfactory nerves, frequently visited the place, and gave us much trouble in the prosecution of our experiments.

2d, I now suggested an experiment which would enable us to test the inquiry whether the Vulture would be attracted to an object by the sight alone. A coarse painting on canvass was made, representing a sheep skinned and cut open. This proved very amusing;—no sooner was this picture placed on the ground, than the Vultures observed it, alighted near, walked over it, and some of them commenced tugging at the painting. They seemed much disappointed and surprised, and after having satisfied their curiosity, flew away. This experiment was repeated more than fifty times, with the same result. The painting was then placed within fifteen feet of the place where the offal was deposited; they came as usual, walked around it, but in no instance, evinced the slightest symptoms of their having scented the offal which was so near him.

3d, The most offensive portions of the offal were now placed on the earth; these were covered over by a thin canvass cloth; on this were strewed several pieces of fresh beef. The Vultures came, ate the flesh that was in sight, and although they were standing on a quantity beneath them, and although their bills were frequently within the eighth of an inch of this putrid matter, they did not discover it. We made a small rent in the canvass, and they at once discovered the flesh, and began to devour it. We drove them away, replaced the canvass with a piece that was entire; again they commenced eating the fresh pieces exhibited to their view, without discovering the hidden food they were trampling upon.

4th, The medical gentlemen who were present made a number of experiments to test the absurdity of a story, widely circulated in the United States, through the newspapers, that the eye of the Vulture, when perforated, and the sight extinguished, would in a few minutes be restored, in consequence of his placing his head under his wing, the down of which was said to renew his sight. The eyes were perforated; I need not add, that although they were refilled, and had the appearance of rotundity, yet the bird became blind, and that it was beyond the power of the healing art to restore his lost sight. His life was, however, preserved, by occasionally putting food in his mouth. In this situation they placed him in a small out-house, hung the flesh of the hare (which had now become offensive) within his reach; nay, they frequently placed it within an inch of his nostrils, but the bird gave no evidence of any knowledge that his favourite food was so near him. This was repeated from time to time during an interval of twenty-four days (the period of his death), with the same results.

We were not aware that any other experiment could be made to enable us to arrive at more satisfactory conclusions; and as we feared, if prolonged, they might become offensive to the neighbours, we abandoned them."

As my humble name can scarcely be known to many of those into whose hands this communication may fall, I have thought proper to obtain the signature of some of the gentlemen who aided me in, or witnessed these experiments; and I must also add, that there was not an individual among the crowd of persons who came to judge for themselves, who did not coincide with those who have given their signatures to this certificate.

"We the subscribers, having witnessed the experiments made on the habits of the Vultures of Carolina (Cathartes Aura and Cathartes Jota), commonly called Turkey Buzzard and Carrion Crow, feel assured that they devour fresh as well as putrid food of any kind, and that they are guided to their food altogether through their sense of sight, and not that of smell.

• Robert Henry, A.M., President of the College of South Carolina.
• John Wagner, M.D., Prof. of Surg. at the Med. Col. State So. Car.
• Henry R. Frost, M.D., Pro. Mat. Med. Col. State So. Car.
• C. F. Leitner, Lecturer on Bot. and Nat. His. So. Car.
• B. B. Strobel, M.D.
• Martin Strobel."

It now remains for me to present you with an account of those habits of the Black Vulture which have not been described above. This bird is a constant resident in all our Southern States, extends far up the Mississippi, and continues the whole year in Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and even in the State of Ohio as far as Cincinnati. Along the Atlantic coast, it is, I believe, rarely seen farther east than Maryland. It seems to give a preference to maritime districts, or the neighbourhood of water. Although shy in the woods, it is half domesticated in and about our cities and villages, where it finds food without the necessity of using much exertion. Charleston, Savannah, New Orleans, Natchez, and other cities, are amply provided with these birds, which may be seen flying or walking about the streets the whole day in groups. They also regularly attend the markets and shambles, to pick up the pieces of flesh thrown away by the butchers, and, when an opportunity occurs, leap from one bench to another, for the purpose of helping themselves. Hundreds of them are usually found, at all hours of the day, about the slaughter-houses, which are their favourite resort. They alight on the roofs and chimney-tops, wherever these are not guarded by spikes or pieces of glass, which, however, they frequently are, for the purpose of preventing the contamination by their ordure of the rain water, which the inhabitants of the Southern States collect in tanks, or cisterns, for domestic use. They follow the carts loaded with offal or dead animals, to the places in the suburbs where these are deposited, and wait the skinning of a cow or horse, when in a few hours they devour its flesh, in the company of the dogs, which are also accustomed to frequent such places. On these occasions, they fight with each other, leap about and tug in all the hurry and confusion imaginable, uttering a harsh sort of hiss or grunt, which may be heard at a distance of several hundred yards. Should eagles make their appearance at such a juncture, the Carrion Crows retire, and patiently wait until their betters are satisfied, but they pay little regard to the dogs. When satiated, they rise together, should the weather be fair, mount high in the air, and perform various evolutions, flying in large circles, and alternately plunging and rising, until they at length move off in a straight direction, or alight on the dead branches of trees, where they spread out their wings and tail to the sun or the breeze. In cold and wet weather they assemble round the chimney-tops, to receive the warmth imparted by the smoke. I never heard of their disgorging their food on such occasions, that being never done unless when they are feeding their young, or when suddenly alarmed or caught. In that case, they throw up the contents of their stomach with wonderful quickness and power.

No law exists for the protection of this or the other species, their usefulness alone affording them security in the Southern States, although the people generally speak of a law with the view of preventing them from being molested. As to their propensity to attack live animals, at least those in a sickly state, although I could adduce numerous instances, it will suffice to produce the following attestations:—

"We the subscribers, natives of South Carolina, certify, that the Vultures of this State, commonly called the Turkey Buzzard and Carrion Crow, particularly the latter, will attack and destroy living animals, by feeding on them, such as young poultry, and the young of sheep and hogs; that they will also attack grown animals when in a helpless state, and destroy them in like manner.

• Paul S. H. Lee.
• Stiles Rivers.
• L. Witsell.
• Thos. Riggs.
• Thos. W. Boone.
• Malachi Ford.
• L. S. Fishburne.

Saint Bartholomew Parish, Colleton District, 32 miles from Charleston, 25th Jan. 1834."

"I hereby certify, that some years ago—I cannot specify the precise time, but have a perfect recollection of the fact—I saw a horse lying on the common, about half-a-mile from the city of Charleston, surrounded by a number of Buzzards, apparently feeding on him. My curiosity being excited by observing the horse move, I approached and drove off the Buzzards. They had already plucked out the eyes of the horse, and picked a wound in the anus, where I discovered a jet of blood from a small artery, which had been divided. I am well satisfied that the horse did not die for many hours afterwards. He struggled considerably whilst the Buzzards were operating on him, but was unable to rise from the ground.

B. B. Strobel, M.D.

Charleston, 5th Feb. 1834."

"I certify, that at my plantation, about four miles from the city of Charleston, one of my cattle, about two years old, in feeding in a ditch, got its horn so entangled in the root of a cane, as to be unable to get out. In this situation it was attacked by the Turkey Buzzard and Carrion Crow, who picked out one of its eyes, and would have killed it by feeding on it while alive, if it had not been discovered. It was extricated and driven home, but had been so much injured, that I had it knocked on the head to put it out of its misery.

Gilbert C. Geddes.

Charleston, 26th Feb. 1834."

The Carrion Crows of Charleston resort at night to a swampy wood across the Ashley river, about two miles from the city. I visited this roosting place in company with my friend John Bachman, approaching it by a close thicket of undergrowth, tangled with vines and briars. When nearly under the trees on which the birds were roosted, we found the ground destitute of vegetation, and covered with ordure and feathers, mixed with the broken branches of the trees. The stench was horrible. The trees were completely covered with birds, from the trunk to the very tips of the branches. They were quite unconcerned; but, having determined to send them the contents of our guns, and firing at the same instant, we saw most of them fly off, hissing, grunting, disgorging, and looking down on their dead companions as if desirous of devouring them. We kept up a brisk fusillade for several minutes, when they all flew off to a great distance high in the air; but as we retired, we observed them gradually descending and settling on the same trees. The piece of ground was about two acres in extent, and the number of Vultures we estimated at several thousands. During very wet weather, they not unfrequently remain the whole day on the roost; but when it is fine, they reach the city every morning by the first glimpse of day.

The flight of this species, although laboured, is powerful and protracted. Before rising from the ground, they are obliged to take several leaps, which they do in an awkward sidelong manner. Their flight is continued by flappings, repeated eight or ten times, alternating with sailings of from thirty to fifty yards. The wings are disposed at right angles to the body, and the feet protrude beyond the tail, so as to be easily seen. In calm weather, they may be heard passing over you at the height of forty or fifty yards; so great is the force with which they beat the air. When about to alight, they allow their legs to dangle beneath, the better to enable them to alight.

They feed on all sorts of flesh, fresh or putrid, whether of quadrupeds or birds, as well as on fish. I saw a great number of them eating a dead shark near the wharf at St Augustine in East Florida; and I observed them many times devouring young cormorants and herons in the nest, on the keys bordering that peninsula.

The Carrion Crow and Turkey Buzzard possess great power of recollection, so as to recognise at a great distance a person who has shot at them, and even the horse on which he rides. On several occasions I have observed that they would fly off at my approach, after I had trapped several, when they took no notice of other individuals; and they avoided my horse in the pastures, after I had made use of him to approach and shoot them.

At the commencement of the love season, which is about the beginning of February, the gesticulation and parade of the males are extremely ludicrous. They first strut somewhat in the manner of the Turkey Cock, then open their wings, and, as they approach the female, lower their head, its wrinkled skin becoming loosened, so as entirely to cover the bill, and emit a puffing sound, which is by no means musical. When these actions have been repeated five or six times, and the conjugal compact sealed, the "happy pair" fly off, and remain together until their young come abroad. These birds form no nest, and consequently never breed on trees; the hollow of a prostrate log, or the excavation of a bank of earth, suffices for them. They never lay more than two eggs, which are deposited on the bare ground; they are about three inches in length, rather pointed at the smaller end, thick in the shell, with a pure white ground, marked towards the greater ends with large irregular dashes of black and dark brown. Twenty-one days are required for hatching them. The male and female sit by turns, and feed each other. The young are at first covered with a light cream-coloured down, and have an extremely uncouth appearance. They are fed by regurgitation almost in the same manner as pigeons, and are abundantly supplied with food. When fledged, which is commonly about the beginning of June, they follow their parents through the woods. At this period, their head is covered with feathers to the very mandibles. The plumage of this part gradually disappears, and the skin becomes wrinkled; but they are not in full plumage till the second year. During the breeding season, they frequent the cities less, those remaining at that time being barren birds, of which there appear to be a good number. I believe that the individuals which are no longer capable of breeding, spend all their time in and about the cities, and roost on the roofs and chimneys. They go out, in company with the Turkey Buzzards, to the yards of the hospitals and asylums, to feed on the remains of the provisions cooked there, which are as regularly thrown out to them.

I have represented a pair of Carrion Crows or Black Vultures in full plumage, engaged with the head of our Common Deer, the Cervus virginianus.

Cathartes Jota, Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 23.

Cathartes atratus, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americ. part ii. p. 6.

Vultur Jota, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 247.

Black Vulture or Carrion Crow, Vultur atratus, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ix. p. 104. Pl. 75. fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 46.

Adult Male. Plate CVI. Fig. 1.

Bill elongated, rather stout, straight at the base, slightly compressed; the upper mandible covered to the middle by the cere, broad, curved, and acute at the end, the edge doubly undulated. Nostrils medial, approximate, linear, pervious. Head elongated, neck longish, body robust. Feet strong; tarsus roundish, covered with small rhomboidal scales; toes scutellate above, the middle one much longer, the lateral nearly equal, second and third united at the base by a web. Claws arched, strong, rather obtuse.

Plumage rather compact, with ordinary lustre. The head and upper part of the neck are destitute of feathers, having a black, rugose, carunculated skin, sparsely covered with short hairs, and downy behind. Wings ample, long, the first quill rather short, third and fourth longest. Tail longish, even, or very slightly emarginated at the end, of twelve broad, straight, feathers.

Bill greyish-yellow at the end, dusky at the base, as is the corrugated skin of the head and neck. Iris reddish-brown. Feet yellowish-grey; claws black. The general colour of the plumage is dull-black, slightly glossed with blue; the primary quills light brownish on the inside.

Length 26 inches; extent of wings 54; bill 2½; tarsus 3½; middle toe 4.

Adult Female. Plate CVI. Fig. 2.

The female resembles the male in external appearance, and is rather less.

THE CANADA JAY.

Corvus Canadensis, Linn.
PLATE CVII. Male and Female.

I have found this species of Jay breeding in the State of Maine, where many individuals belonging to it reside the whole year, and where in fact so many as fifteen or twenty may be seen in the course of a day by a diligent person anxious to procure them. In the winter, their numbers are constantly augmented by those which repair to that country from places farther north. They advance to the southward as far as the upper parts of the State of New York, where the person who first gave intimation to Mr Wilson that the species was to be found in the Union, shot seven or eight one morning, from which number he presented one to the esteemed author of the "American Ornithology," who afterwards procured some in the same neighbourhood. This species is best known in Maine by the name of the "Carrion Bird," which is usually applied to it on account of its carnivorous propensities. When their appetite is satisfied, they become shy, and are in the habit of hiding themselves amongst close woods or thickets; but when hungry, they shew no alarm at the approach of man, nay, become familiar, troublesome, and sometimes so very bold as to enter the camps of the "lumberers," or attend to rob them of the bait affixed to their traps. My generous friend, Edward Harris, Esq. of New York, told me that while fishing in a birch canoe on the lakes in the interior of the State of Maine, in the latter part of the summer of 1833, the Jays were so fearless as to alight in one end of his bark, while he sat in the other, and help themselves to his bait, taking very little notice of him.

The lumberers or wood-cutters of this State frequently amuse themselves in their camp during their eating hours, with what they call "transporting the carrion bird." This is done by cutting a pole eight or ten feet in length, and balancing it on the sill of their hut, the end outside the entrance being baited with a piece of flesh of any kind. Immediately on seeing the tempting morsel, the Jays alight on it, and while they are busily engaged in devouring it, a wood-cutter gives a smart blow to the end of the pole within the hut, which seldom fails to drive the birds high in the air, and not unfrequently kills them. They even enter the camps, and would fain eat from the hands of the men while at their meals. They are easily caught in any kind of trap. My friend, the Rev. John Bachman, informed me that when residing in the State of New York, he found one caught in a snare which had been set with many others for the common Partridge or "Quail," one of which the Jay had commenced eating before he was himself caught.

In the winter they are troublesome to the hunters, especially when the ground is thickly covered with snow, and food consequently scarce, for, at such a time, they never meet with a Deer or a Moose hung on a tree, without mutilating it as much as in their power. In the Bay of Fundy I observed, several mornings in succession, a Canada Jay watching the departure of a Crow from her nest, after she had deposited an egg. When the Crow flew off, the cunning Jay immediately repaired to the nest, and carried away the egg. I have heard it said that the Canada Jay sometimes destroys the young of other birds of its species, for the purpose of feeding its own with them; but not having witnessed such an act, I cannot vouch for the truth of the report, which indeed appears to me too monstrous to be credited.

I have often been delighted by the sight of their graceful movements on alighting after removing from one tree to another, or while flying across a road or a piece of water. They have an odd way of nodding their head, and jerking their body and tail, while they emit their curiously diversified notes, which at times resemble a low sort of mewing, at others the sound given out by an anvil lightly struck with a hammer. They frequently alight about the middle of a tree, and hop with airy grace from one branch to another until they reach the very top, when they remove to another tree, and thus proceed through the woods. Their flight resembles that of the Blue Jay, although I do not consider it quite so firm or protracted.

The Canada Jay breeds in Maine, in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and Labrador. It begins so early as February or March to form its nest, which is placed in the thickest part of a fir tree, near the trunk, and at a height of from five to ten feet. The exterior is composed of dry twigs, with moss and grass, and the interior, which is flat, is formed of fibrous roots. The eggs, which are from four to six, are of a light grey colour, faintly marked with brown. Only one brood is raised in the season. I found the young following their parents on the 27th June 1833, at Labrador, where I shot both old and young, while the former was in the act of feeding the latter.

The young, which was fully fledged, had no white about the head; the whole plumage was of a very deep slate colour approaching to black, excepting the ends of the tail feathers, which were of a sullied white, the lower mandible almost white. The bill was (of course) shorter than that of the old bird, more dilated at the base, the bristles there proportionally shorter. The legs were of a deep purplish black. In short, it bore a perfect resemblance to the bird called the "Short-billed Jay, or Whiskey Jack, Garrulus brachyrinchus," of my excellent friend Mr Swainson, as described and figured by himself and Dr Richardson in their beautiful and valuable Fauna Boreali-Americana, (Vol. II. p. 296. Pl. 551.) So unlike the parent birds did the young of this species appear, that before I saw them fed by the old ones, I urged my young companions to shoot every one of the brood, thinking they might be of a new species. The contents of the stomach of both young and old birds were insects, leaves of fir trees, and eggs of ants. The intestines measured one foot eleven inches. The flesh of both was of a dark bluish colour, and smelt strongly of their food.

I have represented a pair of these birds on an oak branch, with its rich autumnal tints, and have attached to it the nest of a hornet, having observed the bird in the State of Maine pursuing that insect.

Corvus Canadensis, Linn. Syst. Nat. p. 158.—Lath. Synops. vol. i. p. 389.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 58.

Canada Jay, Corvus canadensis, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 33. Pl. 21. Fig. 1.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 232.

Garrulus canadensis, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americana, part ii. p. 295.

Adult Male. Plate CVII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, strong, straight, compressed, acute; upper mandible with the dorsal outline slightly arched, the sides sloping, the edges sharp and overlapping, the tip slightly declinate; lower mandible with the back narrow, the sides sloping. Nostrils basal, open, covered by the reversed bristly-feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body rather slight. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus about the same length as the middle toe, anteriorly scutellate, compressed, acute behind; toes free, scutellate, the inner shorter than the outer; claws arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, blended, slightly glossed. A tuft of reflected, adpressed, bristly feathers over the nostril on each side. Wings short; first quill very short, fourth and fifth longest. Tail longish, much rounded, of twelve rounded feathers. During winter, there is an accumulation of soft, downy feathers on the rump.

Bill and feet black. Iris brown. Forehead and feathers covering the nostrils brownish-white; throat, a collar passing round the lower part of the neck, and the lower parts generally of a white colour, slightly tinged with yellowish. The general tint of the upper parts is a dull leaden grey; the back of the neck black; the margins of the quills and coverts dull-white, as are those of the tail feathers, which are broadly tipped with the same.

Length 11 inches, extent of wings 15; beak 1; tarsus 1½.

Adult Female. Plate CVII. Fig. 2.

The Female scarcely differs in any perceptible degree from the Male; the light coloured tints being only more tinged with brown, and the grey of the upper parts somewhat duller.

The White Oak.

Quercus alba, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iv. p. 429.—Michaux, Arbr. Forest. de l'Amerique Sept. vol. ii. p. 13. pl. 1. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 633.—Monœcia Polyandria, Linn. Amentaceæ, Juss.

Leaves oblong, pinnatifido-sinuate, downy beneath, the lobes linear-lanceolate, obtuse, attenuated at the base, entire on the margin; the fruit pedunculate, the cupule tubercular, flat at the base, cupshaped, the acorn ovate. Although this species of oak is not abundant in Maine, where the Canada Jay chiefly occurs, I have employed it in my drawing, on account of the rich colouring of its fine leaves during the autumnal months. It is in Louisiana, where it is plentiful, that one must see it, to judge of the grandeur which it attains under favourable circumstances. I have often seen these oaks spreading their young branches amid the tops of Magnolias fully one hundred feet above the ground, with stems from four to six feet in diameter, to the height of fifty or more feet, straight as a line, and without a branch to that height. When left in fields, their tops, naturally inclined to spread, render their aspect majestic; and one is tempted to try to calculate the many years these noble trees have stood against the blast of the tempest. The wood, which is of excellent quality, being hard and durable, is applied to numerous uses. Its distribution is very extensive in the United States, it being found in the forests from Louisiana to Massachusetts, and in the western countries beyond the Mississippi.

THE FOX-COLOURED SPARROW.

Fringilla iliaca, Merrem.
PLATE CVIII. Male and Female.

Although the Fox-coloured Sparrow visits us regularly at the approach of winter, it merely remains during the few months of the year which are too severe in the more northern parts of our continent, where it resides at all other periods. It wanders, however, as far southward as the lower parts of Louisiana, is also met with in Kentucky, and in the countries bordering on the Ohio, Missouri, and Mississippi, and visits the Floridas, Georgia, the Carolinas, and in short every State south of Massachusetts. In the latter State, and in that of Maine, few individuals are seen after its passage through these districts, late in October.

In the northern parts of America, where it breeds, it replaces the Towhe Bunting, so abundant in our middle States, where it delights us with its song. To that species the Fox-coloured Sparrow comes next in size, while it greatly surpasses it in its musical powers.

While in the United States, it lives retired, and separates itself from most other species. Little flocks, consisting of a family or two, take possession of some low well-covered thicket, by the side of some clear streamlet, where they spend the winter unmolested, searching for food among the fallen and withered leaves, or among the roots and dead branches of trees. Should a warm morning dawn on their retreat, the male birds directly ascend to the middle branches of the brambles, and in a soft under tone cheer the females with their melodies. At all other times they remain comparatively silent, merely emitting a note to call each other, or to assure their little family that all is safe around them. Towards spring a kind of bustle takes place in their camp: the males, already warmed with affection and love, renew their attentions to their mates; new connections are formed by the young; their song becomes much improved; and the passer by may here and there see a pair moving slowly and cautiously towards the land whence they had emigrated some months before.

Follow these birds wherever you will, you invariably find them not in deep woods, but along the fences, and amid patches of briars and tangled underwood, which at all times seem so pleasing to them. They traverse the whole of the Union by day, resting here and there awhile, to watch the gradual improvement of the season.

They enter the British Provinces full of joy, and lavish of song. Many are well pleased to remain there, but the greater number pursue their course to revisit the Magdeleine Islands, Newfoundland, and the country of Labrador. There you find them in every pleasant dell, where no sooner have they arrived than each searches for a safe retreat in which to place its nest. This is in due time replenished with eggs; and, while the female sits on them with care and anxiety, her devoted lover chants the blessings they both enjoy.

The flight of this bird is low, rapid, and undulating. While passing over the Gulf of St Lawrence, it flies swiftly, at a moderate height, without uttering any note. They appear to be able to travel to a considerable distance, without the necessity of alighting, and I have thought that they may accomplish the passage of the Gulf without resting on any of its islands. As soon as they alight, they betake themselves to the deepest thickets.

During the breeding season, their plumage has a richness which it does not exhibit in the winter months, while with us. Indeed some of the males at that time are so highly coloured as to be of a bright red rather than of a brown tint; and their appearance, as they pass from one bush to another, or skip from stone to stone, is extremely pleasing. I have attempted to represent this colouring in the Plate.

Would that I could describe the sweet song of this finch; that I could convey to your mind the effect it produced on my feelings, when wandering on the desolate shores of Labrador!—that I could intelligibly tell you of the clear, full notes of its unaffected warble, as it sat perched on the branch of some stunted fir. There for hours together was continued the delightful serenade, which kept me lingering about the spot. The brilliancy and clearness of each note, as it flowed through the air, were so enchanting, the expression and emphasis of the song so powerful, that I never tired of listening. But, reader, I can furnish no description of the melody.

While in South Carolina, in January 1834, after I had returned from the country where this species breeds, I happened, one fair day, to meet with a group of these birds. They were singing in concert. Never shall I forget the impression which their notes made on me: I suddenly stopped and looked around; for a moment I imagined that I had been by magic transported to the wilds of Labrador; but how short was the duration of these feelings!—a hawk sailed over the spot of their concealment, and in an instant all was silent as the tomb.

The nest of the Fox-coloured Sparrow, which is large for the size of the bird, is usually placed on the ground, among moss or tall grass, near the stem of a creeping fir, the branches of which completely conceal it from view. Its exterior is loosely formed of dry grass and moss, with a carefully disposed inner layer of finer grasses, circularly arranged; and the lining consists of very delicate fibrous roots, together with some feathers from different species of water-fowl. In one instance I found it composed of the down of the Eider-duck. The period at which the eggs are laid, is from the middle of June to the 5th of July. They are proportionally large, four or five in number, rather sharp at the smaller end, of a dull greenish tint, sprinkled with irregular small blotches of brown. I think that the description given in the splendid work of my friends Swainson and Richardson, of the eggs of this species, must have been taken from those of the White-crowned Bunting, as it agrees precisely with eggs which I have found in many nests of that bird.

When one approaches the nest, the female affects lameness, and employs all the usual arts to decoy him from it. They raise only one brood in the season. The young, before they depart for the United States, already resemble their parents, which have by this time lost much of the brilliancy of their colouring. They leave Labrador about the 1st of September, in small groups, formed each of a single family. When in that country, and in Newfoundland, I frequently observed them searching along the shores for minute shell-fish, on which they feed abundantly.

Many of these birds are frequently offered for sale in the markets of Charleston, they being easily caught in "figure-of-four traps!" Their price is usually ten or twelve cents each. I saw many in the aviaries of my friends Dr Samuel Wilson and the Reverend John Bachman, of that city. To the former I am indebted for the following particulars relative to this species, part of which I was myself witness to.

Dr Wilson, who was almost in the daily habit of visiting my friend Bachman, with whom it was my good fortune to reside while at Charleston, was fond of talking about birds, many of which he knew more accurately than ordinary ornithologists are wont to do. "My Dear Mr Audubon," he said, "I have several beautiful Fox-coloured Sparrows in my aviary, but of late some of them have been killed, and I wish you would tell me by what other birds the murders can have been committed." I laid the charge first on the Blue Jays; but he replied that even they appeared as if greatly molested by some other species. A day elapsed, the Doctor returned, and astonished me not a little by informing me that the culprit was a Mocking-bird. I went to his house on the 8th December; and, while standing on the piazza, we both saw the Mocking-bird alight on one of the Fox-coloured Sparrows, in the manner of a small hawk, and peck at the poor bird with such force as to convince us that its death must soon ensue. The muscular powers of the finch, however, appeared almost too much for the master songster of our woods; it desisted for a moment, out of breath, and we could observe its pantings; but it did not fail to resume its hitherto unknown character of tyrant. A servant was dispatched to the rescue, and peace was restored; but the finch was almost reduced to its last gasp, and shortly after expired. This very Mocking-bird we strongly suspected of being the individual that had killed a Blue Jay of exceedingly meek disposition, a few weeks before. It was ultimately removed into a lonely cage, where it is yet passing its days, perhaps in unavailing penitence.

Fringilla iliaca, Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 112.

Fox-coloured Sparrow, Fringilla rufa, Wilson's Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 53. pl. 22. fig. 4.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 514.

Fringilla ([Zonotrichia?]) iliaca, Swains. North Zool. vol. ii. p. 257.

Adult Male in Summer. Plate CVIII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, robust, conical, acute; upper mandible broader than the lower, almost straight in its dorsal outline, as is the lower, both being rounded on the sides, and the lower with inflected acute edges; the gap line nearly straight, a little deflected at the base, and not extending to beneath the eye. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, partially concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck shortish; body robust. Legs of moderate length, rather strong; tarsus shorter than the middle toe; covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe rather large.

Plumage compact above, soft and blended beneath; wings short, curved, rounded, the second, third and fourth quills longest, and nearly equal; the first and fifth equal; tail longish, even, or slightly rounded.

Bill dark brown above, the base of the lower mandible yellow, its tip bluish; iris deep brown; feet flesh-coloured; upper part of the head and neck smoke-grey; back dusky brown; rump, tail, wing-coverts, and outer part of the quills bright ferruginous; tips of the coverts whitish, forming a narrow bar, space from the upper mandible to the eye pale reddish; ear-coverts chestnut. The ground colour of the lower parts is white anteriorly, pale greyish behind; the sides of the neck, the throat, and flanks, marked with triangular spots of chestnut, which are darker on the hind parts.

Length 7½ inches; extent of wings 10½; bill 5⁄12 along the ridge, 7⁄12 along the gap; tarsus 8⁄12, middle toe 1.

Adult Female. Plate CVIII. Fig. 2.

The Female differs little from the Male, the tints being merely somewhat fainter. Length 7½ inches.

THE SAVANNAH FINCH.

Fringilla Savanna, Wils.
PLATE CIX. Male and Female.

This species is one of the most abundant of our Finches. It is also one of the hardiest, standing the winter of our Middle Districts, ranging as far north as Labrador, and crowding our old fields and open woods of the south, from October to April. It is nearly allied to the Yellow-Winged Sparrow and Henslow's Bunting, but differs from both in many important particulars.

It confines itself principally to the ground, where it runs with extreme agility, lowering its body as if to evade your view, and when in danger hiding as closely as a mouse, nay, seldom taking to wing, unless much alarmed or suddenly surprised. It is fondest of dry, rather elevated situations, not very distant from the sea shore, and although it travels much, I have never found one in deep woods. During winter it associates with the Field Sparrow and Bay-winged Sparrow, and with these it is often seen in open plains of great extent, scantily covered with tall grasses or low clumps of trees and briars. Regardless of man, it approaches the house, frequents the garden, and alights on low buildings with as little concern as if in the most retired places.

It migrates by day, when it suffers from the attacks of the Marsh, the Pigeon and the Sharp-shinned Hawks, and rests on the ground by night, when it is liable to be preyed upon by the insidious Minx. Its flight, although rather irregular, is considerably protracted, for it crosses I believe without resting the broad expanse of the Gulf of St Lawrence. In June 1833, I found it gradually moving northward as I advanced towards the country of Labrador; and although a great number tarry and breed in all intermediate places from Maryland to that dreary region, I saw them there in abundance.

The nest of the Savannah Finch is placed on the ground at the foot of a tuft of rank grass, or of a low bush. It is formed of dry grasses, and is imbedded in the soil, or among the grass, the inner part being finished with straw and blades of a finer texture. The eggs, from four to six in number, are of a pale bluish colour, softly mottled with purplish-brown. Some eggs have a broadish circle of these spots near the large end, while the extremity itself is without any markings. It generally breeds twice every season in the Middle States, but never more than once to the eastward of Massachusetts. While searching for the nests of this and many other species, I observed that the artifices used by the female to draw intruders away, are seldom if ever practised until after incubation has commenced.

Although this little Finch cannot be said to have a song, it is yet continually pouring out its notes. You see it perched on a fence rail, the top of a stone, or a tall grass or bush, mimicking as it were the sounds of the Common Cricket. Indeed, when out of sight of the performer, one might readily imagine it was that insect he heard. During winter, it now and then repeats a cheep, which, although more sonorous, is not more musical. In spring, when disturbed and forced from its perch, it flies quite low over the ground in a whirring manner, and re-alights as soon as an opportunity offers.

Like all the other land-birds that resort to Labrador in summer, it returns from that country early in September.

Fringilla Savanna, Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 109.

Savannah Finch, Fringilla Savanna, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 72. Pl. 34. fig. 4, Male; and vol. iii. p. 55. Pl. 22. fig. 3, Female.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 489.

Adult Male. Plate CIX. Fig. 1.

Bill short, conical, acute; upper mandible straight in its dorsal outline, rounded on the sides, as is the lower, which has the edges sharp and inflected; the gap line straight, not extending to beneath the eye. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, concealed by the feathers. Head rather large. Neck short. Legs of moderate length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, compressed, acute, slightly arched; that of the hind toe a little larger.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings shortish, curved, rounded, the third and fourth quills longest. Tail short, emarginate.

Bill pale-brown beneath, dusky above. Iris brown. Feet light flesh-colour. Cheeks and space over the eye light citron-yellow. The general colour of the plumage above is pale reddish-brown, spotted with brownish-black, the edges of the feathers being of the former colour. The lower parts are white, the breast marked with small deep brown spots, the sides with long streaks of the same.

Length 5½ inches; extent of wings 8½; bill along the ridge 5⁄12, along the gap 6⁄12; tarsus 10⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CIX. Fig. 2.

The Female resembles the Male, the tints of the plumage being merely a little lighter.

Length 5½ inches; extent of wings 8½.

The Indian Pink-root or Worm-grass.

Spigelia marilandica, Pursh, Fl. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 139.—Pentandria Monogynia, Linn. Apocyneæ, Juss. Fig. 1. of the Plate.

Stem tetragonal, all the leaves opposite, ovate, acuminate. Perennial. This plant grows in damp meadows, along rivulets, and even in the depth of the woods. It is abundant in Kentucky, as well as on the eastern ranges of the Alleghany Mountains, even to the vicinity of the Atlantic. Its rich carmine flowers have no scent.

Phlox aristata, Mich. Fl. Amer. vol. i. p. 144.—Pursh, Fl. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 150.—Pentandria Monogynia, Linn. Polemonia, Juss. Fig. 2. of the Plate.

See [vol. i. p. 361].

THE HOODED WARBLER.

Sylvia mitrata, Lath.
PLATE CX. Male and Female.

In many parts of our woods, the traveller, as he proceeds, cannot help stopping to admire the peaceful repose that spreads its pleasing charm on all around. The tall trees are garlanded with climbing plants, which have entwined their slender stems around them, creeping up the crevices of the deeply furrowed bark, and vying with each other in throwing forth the most graceful festoons, to break the straight lines of the trunks which support them; while here and there from the taller branches, numberless grape-vines hang in waving clusters, or stretch across from tree to tree. The underwood shoots out its branches, as if jealous of the noble growth of the larger stems, and each flowering shrub or plant displays its blossoms, to tempt the stranger to rest a while, and enjoy the beauty of their tints, or refresh his nerves with their rich odours. Reader, add to this scene the pure waters of a rivulet, and you may have an idea of the places in which you will find the Hooded Warbler.

The Southern and Western States are those to which this beautiful bird gives a preference. It abounds in Louisiana, along the Mississippi, and by the Ohio nearly to Cincinnati. It is equally plentiful in the northern parts of the Floridas, Georgia, and the two Carolinas, after which it becomes rare. None, I believe, are ever seen east of the State of New York. It enters the lower parts of Louisiana about the middle of March, and by the beginning of May has laid its eggs, or sometimes even hatched them. It arrives in South Carolina in April, immediately constructs its nest, and has young quite as soon as in Louisiana.

The Hooded Flycatcher is one of the liveliest of its tribe, and is almost continually in motion. Fond of secluded places, it is equally to be met with in the thick cane brakes of the high or low lands, or amid the rank weeds and tangled bushes of the lowest and most impenetrable swamps. You recognise it instantly on seeing it, for the peculiar graceful opening and closing of its broad tail distinguishes it at once, as it goes on gambolling from bush to bush, now in sight, now hid from your eye, but constantly within hearing.

Its common call-note so resembles that of the Painted Finch or Nonpareil, that it requires a practised ear to distinguish them. Its song, however, is very different. It is rather loud, lively yet mellow, and consists of three notes, resembling the syllables weet, weet, weeteē, a marked emphasis being laid on the last. Although extremely loquacious during the early part of spring, it becomes almost silent the moment it has a brood; after which its notes are heard only while the female is sitting on her eggs; for they raise two, sometimes three, broods in a season.

Full of activity and spirit, it flies swiftly after its insect prey, securing the greater part of it on wing. Its flight is low, gliding, and now and then protracted to a considerable distance, as it seldom abandons the pursuit of an insect until it has obtained it.

The nest of this gay bird is always placed low, and is generally attached to the forks of small twigs. It is neatly and compactly formed of mosses, dried grasses, and fibrous roots, and is carefully lined with hair, and not unfrequently a few large feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a dull white, spotted with reddish-brown towards the larger end. The male and female sit by turns, and show extreme anxiety for the safety of their eggs or young.

My worthy friend John Bachman, gave me the following account of the courageous disposition and strength of attachment of the Hooded Flycatcher. "I found a nest of these birds in a low piece of ground, so entangled with smilax and briars that it was difficult for me to pass through it. The nest was not placed more than two feet from the ground. This was in the month of May, and the parents were engaged in feeding the young it contained. Not far from that spot, whilst on a stand, waiting for a deer to pass, I saw another pair of the Hooded Flycatcher collecting materials to build a nest. The female was the most active, and yet the male was constantly near to her. A Sharp-shinned Hawk suddenly pounced upon them, seized the female, and flew off with her. The male, to my surprise, followed close after the Hawk, flying within a few inches of him, and darting at him in all directions, as if fully determined to make him drop his prey. The pursuit continued thus until the birds were quite out of my sight!"

This species, like many of its delicate tribe, appears to suffer so much from occasional cold, that, although at all other times a shy and wary bird, when chilly weather surprises it, it becomes at once careless of its safety. On such occasions I have approached them near enough to touch them with my gun. By the middle of September they all retire farther south.

The plant on which I have represented a pair of these birds, is common in the localities which they usually prefer. Although richly coloured, it has no scent.

Hooded Flycatcher, Muscicapa cucullata, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 101. Pl. 26. Fig. 3. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 373.

Sylvia mitrata, Lath. Index Ornith. vol. ii. p. 528.—Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 79.

Adult Male. Plate CX. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, straight, subulato-conical, acute, nearly as deep as broad at the base, the edges acute, the gap line a little deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, elliptical, lateral, half-closed by a membrane. Head rather small. Neck short. Body rather slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly by a few scutella, the uppermost long; toes scutellate above, the inner free, the hind toe of moderate size; claws slender, compressed, acute, arched.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings short, a little rounded, the second and third quills longest. Tail longish, slightly emarginate. Rather strong bristles at the base of the bill.

Bill blackish above, paler below. Iris brown. Feet flesh-coloured. Forehead, sides of the head, and the chin deep yellow, as are the breast and belly. Hind-head, throat, and lower part of the neck black. The general colour of the upper parts is yellowish-olive; wings dusky; three lateral tail-feathers white on the terminal half of their inner webs.

Length 5½, extent of wings 8; bill along the ridge nearly 5⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CX. Fig. 2.

The Female has the forehead, the sides of the head, and all the lower parts yellow, the hind part of the head dusky; in other respects she resembles the male.

Dimensions nearly the same as in the male.

This species more resembles a Flycatcher than a Sylvia in its habits, as well as in the bristles at the base of the bill, and, in fact, is very nearly allied to the Muscicapa Selbii, [vol. i. p. 46].

THE LOST ONE.

A "Live-oaker" employed on the St John's River, in East Florida, left his cabin, situated on the banks of that stream, and, with his axe on his shoulder, proceeded towards the swamp in which he had several times before plied his trade of felling and squaring the giant trees that afford the most valuable timber for naval architecture and other purposes.

At the season which is the best for this kind of labour, heavy fogs not unfrequently cover the country, so as to render it difficult for one to see farther than thirty or forty yards in any direction. The woods, too, present so little variety, that every tree seems the mere counterpart of every other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt, is so tall that a man of ordinary stature cannot see over it, whence it is necessary for him to proceed with great caution, lest he should unwittingly deviate from the ill-defined trail which he follows. To increase the difficulty, several trails often meet, in which case, unless the explorer be perfectly acquainted with the neighbourhood, it would be well for him to lie down, and wait until the fog should disperse. Under such circumstances, the best woodsmen are not unfrequently bewildered for a while; and I well remember that such an occurrence happened to myself, at a time when I had imprudently ventured to pursue a wounded quadruped, which led me some distance from the track.

The live-oaker had been jogging onwards for several hours, and became aware that he must have travelled considerably more than the distance between his cabin and the "hummock" which he desired to reach. To his alarm, at the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the sun at its meridian height, and could not recognise a single object around him.

Young, healthy, and active, he imagined that he had walked with more than usual speed, and had passed the place to which he was bound. He accordingly turned his back upon the sun, and pursued a different route, guided by a small trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his course: he saw it gradually descend in the west, but all around him continued as if enveloped with mystery. The huge grey trees spread their giant boughs over him, the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living being crossed his path, all was silent and still, and the scene was like a dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion. He wandered like a forgotten ghost that had passed into the land of spirits, without yet meeting one of his kind with whom to hold converse.

The condition of a man lost in the woods is one of the most perplexing that could be imagined by a person who has not himself been in a like predicament. Every object he sees, he at first thinks he recognises, and while his whole mind is bent on searching for more that may gradually lead to his extrication, he goes on committing greater errors the farther he proceeds. This was the case with the live-oaker. The sun was now setting with a fiery aspect, and by degrees it sunk in its full circular form, as if giving warning of a sultry morrow. Myriads of insects, delighted at its departure, now filled the air on buzzing wings. Each piping frog arose from the muddy pool in which it had concealed itself; the squirrel retired to its hole, the crow to its roost, and, far above, the harsh croaking voice of the heron announced that, full of anxiety, it was wending its way to the miry interior of some distant swamp. Now the woods began to resound to the shrill cries of the owl; and the breeze, as it swept among the columnar stems of the forest-trees, came laden with heavy and chilling dews. Alas, no moon with her silvery light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost One, wearied and vexed, laid himself down on the damp ground. Prayer is always consolatory to man in every difficulty or danger, and the woodsman fervently prayed to his Maker, wished his family a happier night than it was his lot to experience, and with a feverish anxiety waited the return of day.

You may imagine the length of that cold, dull, moonless night. With the dawn of day came the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man started on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart, pursued a course which he thought might lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the trace of a track to guide him, and yet, as the sun rose, he calculated the many hours of day-light he had before him, and the farther he went continued to walk the faster. But vain were all his hopes: that day was spent in fruitless endeavours to regain the path that led to his home, and when night again approached, the terror that had been gradually spreading over his mind, together with the nervous debility induced by fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, rendered him almost frantic. He told me that at this moment he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not been for the piety with which his parents had in early life imbued his mind, and which had become habitual, would have cursed his existence. Famished as he now was, he laid himself on the ground, and fed on the weeds and grass that grew around him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and terror. "I knew my situation," he said to me. "I was fully aware that unless Almighty God came to my assistance, I must perish in those uninhabited woods. I knew that I had walked more than fifty miles, although I had not met with a brook, from which I could quench my thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips and blood-shot eyes. I knew that if I should not meet with some stream I must die, for my axe was my only weapon, and although deer and bears now and then started within a few yards or even feet of me, not one of them could I kill; and although I was in the midst of abundance, not a mouthful did I expect to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty stomach. Sir, may God preserve you from ever feeling as I did the whole of that day!"

For several days after, no one can imagine the condition in which he was, for when he related to me this painful adventure, he assured me that he had lost all recollection of what had happened. "God," he continued, "must have taken pity on me one day, for, as I ran wildly through those dreadful pine barrens, I met with a tortoise. I gazed upon it with amazement and delight, and, although I knew that were I to follow it undisturbed, it would lead me to some water, my hunger and thirst would not allow me to refrain from satisfying both, by eating its flesh, and drinking its blood. With one stroke of my axe the beast was cut in two, and in a few moments I dispatched all but the shell. Oh, Sir, how much I thanked God, whose kindness had put the tortoise in my way! I felt greatly renewed. I sat down at the foot of a pine, gazed on the heavens, thought of my poor wife and children, and again, and again thanked my God for my life, for now I felt less distracted in mind, and more assured that before long I must recover my way, and get back to my home."

The Lost One remained and passed the night, at the foot of the same tree under which his repast had been made. Refreshed by a sound sleep, he started at dawn to resume his weary march. The sun rose bright, and he followed the direction of the shadows. Still the dreariness of the woods was the same, and he was on the point of giving up in despair, when he observed a racoon lying squatted in the grass. Raising his axe, he drove it with such violence through the helpless animal, that it expired without a struggle. What he had done with the turtle, he now did with the racoon, the greater part of which he actually devoured at one meal. With more comfortable feelings, he then resumed his wanderings—his journey I cannot say,—for although in the possession of all his faculties, and in broad daylight, he was worse off than a lame man groping his way in the dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew not where the door stood.

Days, one after another, passed,—nay, weeks in succession. He fed now on cabbage-trees, then on frogs and snakes. All that fell in his way was welcome and savoury. Yet he became daily more emaciated, until at length he could scarcely crawl. Forty days had elapsed, by his own reckoning, when he at last reached the banks of the river. His clothes in tatters, his once bright axe dimmed with rust, his face begrimmed with beard, his hair matted, and his feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered with parchment, there he laid himself down to die. Amid the perturbed dreams of his fevered fancy, he thought he heard the noise of oars far away on the silent river. He listened, but the sounds died away on his ear. It was indeed a dream, the last glimmer of expiring hope, and now the light of life was about to be quenched for ever. But again, the sound of oars awoke him from his lethargy. He listened so eagerly, that the hum of a fly could not have escaped his ear. They were indeed the measured beats of oars, and now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of human voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke the tumultuous pulses of returning hope. On his knees did the eye of God see that poor man by the broad still stream that glittered in the sunbeams, and human eyes soon saw him too, for round that headland covered with tangled brushwood boldly advances the little boat, propelled by its lusty rowers. The Lost One raises his feeble voice on high;—it was a loud shrill scream of joy and fear. The rowers pause, and look around. Another, but feebler scream, and they observe him. It comes,—his heart flutters, his sight is dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for breath. It comes,—it has run upon the beach, and the Lost One is found.

This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an actual occurrence, which might be embellished, no doubt, but which is better in the plain garb of truth. The notes by which I recorded it were written, in the cabin of the once lost live-oaker, about four years after the painful incident occurred. His amiable wife, and loving children, were present at the recital, and never shall I forget the tears that flowed from them as they listened to it, albeit it had long been more familiar to them than a tale thrice told. Sincerely do I wish, good reader, that neither you nor I may ever elicit such sympathy, by having undergone such sufferings, although no doubt such sympathy would be a rich recompense for them.

It only remains for me to say, that the distance between the cabin and the live-oak hummock to which the woodsman was bound, scarcely exceeded 8 miles, while the part of the river at which he was found, was 38 miles from his house. Calculating his daily wanderings at 10 miles, we may believe that they amounted in all to 400. He must, therefore, have rambled in a circuitous direction, which people generally do in such circumstances. Nothing but the great strength of his constitution, and the merciful aid of his Maker, could have supported him for so long a time.

THE PILEATED WOODPECKER.

Picus pileatus, Linn.
PLATE CXI. Male, Female and Young Males.

It would be difficult for me to say in what part of our extensive country I have not met with this hardy inhabitant of the forest. Even now, when several species of our birds are becoming rare, destroyed as they are, either to gratify the palate of the epicure, or to adorn the cabinet of the naturalist, the Pileated Woodpecker is every where to be found in the wild woods, although scarce and shy in the peopled districts.

Wherever it occurs it is a permanent resident, and, like its relative the Ivory-billed Woodpecker, it remains pretty constantly in the place which it has chosen after leaving its parents. It is at all times a shy bird, so that one can seldom approach it, unless under cover of a tree, or when he happens accidentally to surprise it while engaged in its daily avocations. When seen in a large field newly brought into tillage, and yet covered with girdled trees, it removes from one to another, cackling out its laughter-like notes, as if it found delight in leading you a wild-goose chase in pursuit of it. When followed it always alights on the tallest branches or trunks of trees, removes to the side farthest off, from which it every moment peeps, as it watches your progress in silence; and so well does it seem to know the distance at which a shot can reach it, that it seldom permits so near an approach. Often when you think the next step will take you near enough to fire with certainty, the wary bird flies off before you can reach it. Even in the wildest parts of Eastern Florida, where I have at times followed it, to assure myself that the birds I saw were of the same species as that found in our distant Atlantic States, its vigilance was not in the least abated. For miles have I chased it from one cabbage-tree to another, without ever getting within shooting distance, until at last I was forced to resort to stratagem, and seeming to abandon the chase, took a circuitous route, concealed myself in its course, and waited until it came up, when, it being now on the side of the tree next to me, I had no difficulty in bringing it down. I shall never forget, that, while in the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, I spent several days in the woods endeavouring to procure one, for the same purpose of proving its identity with others elsewhere seen.

Their natural wildness never leaves them, even although they may have been reared from the nest. I will give you an instance of this, as related to me by my generous friend the Reverend John Bachman of Charleston, who also speaks of the cruelty of the species. "A pair of Pileated Woodpeckers had a nest in an old elm tree, in a swamp which they occupied that year; the next spring early, two Blue Birds took possession of it, and there had young. Before these were half grown, the Woodpeckers returned to the place, and, despite of the cries and reiterated attacks of the Blue Birds, the others took the young, not very gently, as you may imagine, and carried them away to some distance. Next the nest itself was disposed of, the hole cleaned and enlarged, and there they raised a brood. The nest, it is true, was originally their own. The tree was large, but so situated, that, from the branches of another I could reach the nest. The hole was about 18 inches deep, and I could touch the bottom with my hand. The eggs, which were laid on fragments of chips, expressly left by the birds, were six, large, white and translucent. Before the Woodpeckers began to sit, I robbed them of their eggs, to see if they would lay a second time. They waited a few days as if undecided, when on a sudden I heard the female at work again in the tree; she once more deepened the hole, made it broader at bottom, and recommenced laying. This time she laid five eggs. I suffered her to bring out her young, both sexes alternately incubating, each visiting the other at intervals, peeping into the hole to see that all was right and well there, and flying off afterwards in search of food.

When the young were sufficiently grown to be taken out with safety, which I ascertained by seeing them occasionally peeping out of the hole, I carried them home, to judge of their habits in confinement, and attempted to raise them. I found it exceedingly difficult to entice them to open their bill in order to feed them. They were sullen and cross, nay, three died in a few days; but the others, having been fed on grasshoppers forcibly introduced into their mouths, were raised. In a short time they began picking up the grasshoppers thrown into their cage, and were fully fed with corn-meal, which they preferred eating dry. Their whole employment consisted in attempting to escape from their prison, regularly demolishing one every two days, although made of pine boards of tolerable thickness. I at last had one constructed with oak boards at the back and sides, and rails of the same in front. This was too much for them, and their only comfort was in passing and holding their bills through the hard bars. In the morning after receiving water, which they drank freely, they invariably upset the cup or saucer, and although this was large and flattish, they regularly turned it quite over. After this they attacked the trough which contained their food, and soon broke it to pieces, and when perchance I happened to approach them with my hand, they made passes at it with their powerful bills with great force. I kept them in this manner until winter. They were at all times uncleanly and unsociable birds. On opening the door of my study one morning, one of them dashed off by me, alighted on an apple-tree near the house, climbed some distance, and kept watching me from one side and then the other, as if to ask what my intentions were. I walked into my study:—the other was hammering at my books. They had broken one of the bars of the cage, and must have been at liberty for some hours, judging by the mischief they had done. Fatigued of my pets, I opened the door, and this last one hearing the voice of his brother, flew towards him and alighted on the same tree. They remained about half an hour, as if consulting each other, after which, taking to their wings together, they flew off in a southern direction, and with much more ease than could have been expected from birds so long kept in captivity. The ground was covered with snow, and I never more saw them. No birds of this species ever bred since in the hole spoken of in this instance, and I consider it as much wilder than the Ivory-billed Woodpecker."

While in the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, of which I have repeatedly spoken, I was surprised to see how differently this bird worked on the bark of different trees, when searching for its food. On the hemlock and spruce, for example, of which the bark is difficult to be detached, it used the bill sideways, hitting the bark in an oblique direction, and proceeding in close parallel lines, so that when, after a while, a piece of the bark was loosened and broken off by a side stroke, the surface of the trunk appeared as if closely grooved by a carpenter using a gouge. In this manner the Pileated Woodpecker often, in that country, strips the entire trunks of the largest trees. On the contrary, when it attacked any other sort of timber, it pelted at the bark in a straightforward manner, detaching a large piece by a few strokes, and leaving the trunks smooth, no injury having been inflicted upon it by the bill.

This bird, when surprised, is subject to very singular and astonishing fits of terror. While in Louisiana, I have several times crept up to one occupied in searching for food, on the rotten parts of a low stump only a few inches from the ground, when, having got so near the tree as almost to touch it, I have taken my cap and suddenly struck the stump, as if with the intention of securing the bird; on which the latter instantly seemed to lose all power or presence of mind, and fell to the ground as if dead. On such occasions, if not immediately secured, it soon recovers, and flies off with more than its usual speed. When surprised when feeding on a tree, they now and then attempt to save themselves by turning round the trunk or branches, and do not fly away unless two persons be present, well knowing, it would seem, that flying is not always a sure means of escape. If wounded without falling, it mounts at once to the highest fork of the tree, where it squats and remains in silence. It is then very difficult to kill it, and sometimes, when shot dead, it clings so firmly to the bark that it may remain hanging for hours. When winged and brought to the ground, it cries loudly on the approach of its enemy, and essays to escape by every means in its power, often inflicting a severe wound if incautiously seized.

The Pileated Woodpecker is fond of Indian corn, chestnuts, acorns, fruits of every kind, particularly wild grapes, and insects of all descriptions. The maize it attacks while yet in its milky state, laying it bare, like the Redheads or Squirrels. For this reason, it often draws upon itself the vengeance of the farmer, who, however, is always disposed, without provocation, to kill the "Woodcock," or "Logcock" as it is commonly named by our country people.

The flight of this well known bird is powerful, and, on occasion, greatly protracted, resembling in all respects that of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker. Its notes are loud and clear, and the rolling sound produced by its hammerings, may be heard at the distance of a quarter of a mile. Its flesh is tough, of a bluish tint, and smells so strongly of the worms and insects on which it generally feeds, as to be extremely unpalatable. It almost always breeds in the interior of the forests, and frequently on trees placed in deep swamps over the water, appearing to give a preference to the southern side of the tree, on which I have generally found its hole, to which it retreats during winter or in rainy weather, and which is sometimes bored perpendicularly, although frequently not, as I have seen some excavated much in the form of that of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker. Its usual depth is from twelve to eighteen inches, its breadth from two and a half to three, and at the bottom sometimes five or six. It rears, I believe, only one brood in a season. The young follow their parents for a long time after coming abroad, receive food from them, and remain with them until the return of spring. The old birds, as well as the young, are fond of retiring at night to their holes, to which they return more especially in winter. My young friend, Thomas Lincoln, Esq. of the State of Maine, knew of one that seldom removed far from its retreat during the whole of the inclement season.

The observation of many years has convinced me, that Woodpeckers of all sorts have the bill longer when just fledged than at any future period of their life, and that through use it becomes not only shorter, but also much harder, stronger, and sharper. When the Woodpecker first leaves the nest, its bill may easily be bent; six months after, it resists the force of the fingers; and when the bird is twelve months old, the organ has acquired its permanent bony hardness. On measuring the bill of a young bird of this species not long able to fly, and that of an adult bird, I found the former seven-eighths of an inch longer than the latter. This difference I have represented in the plate. It is also curious to observe, that the young birds of this family, which have the bill tender, either search for larvæ in the most decayed or rotten stumps and trunks of trees, or hunt the deserted old fields, in search of blackberries and other fruits, as if sensible of their inaptitude for attacking the bark of sound trees or the wood itself.

Picus pileatus, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 173.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 225.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 44.

Pileated Woodpecker, Picus pileatus, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 27. Pl. 29. Fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 567.

Adult Male. Plate CXI. Fig. 1.

Bill long, straight, strong, polyhedral, tapering, compressed and slightly truncated by being worn at the tip; mandibles of equal length, both nearly straight in their dorsal outline; their sides convex. Tongue worm-shaped, capable of reaching four inches beyond the bill, horny near the tip for about one-eighth of an inch, and barbed. Nostrils basal, oval, partly covered by recumbent bristly feathers. Head large. Neck rather long, slender. Body robust. Feet rather short, robust; tarsus strong scutellate before, scaly on the sides; two toes before and two behind, the inner hind toe shortest; claws strong, arched, very acute.

Plumage compact, glossy. Feathers of the head elongated, loose, and erectile. Wings large, the third and fourth quills longest. Tail long, cuneate, of twelve tapering stiff feathers, worn to a point by being rubbed against the bark of trees.

Bill and feet deep blue. Iris yellow. The general colour of the plumage is deep black, glossed with purplish-blue. The whole upper part of the head of a shining deep carmine; a broad band of black runs backwards from the eye, and is continued, narrow to the forehead; between this band and the bright red of the upper part of the head is a narrow line of white; at the base of the bill commences, at first yellowish, a band of white, which crosses the cheek, expands on the side of the neck, where it is joined by the white of the throat, and terminates under the wing; there is also a broad band of red from the base of the lower mandible. Under wing-coverts white, as are the proximal portions of the quills.

Length 18 inches; extent of wings 28; bill along the back 1¾, along the edges 3.

Adult Female. Plate CXI. Fig. 2.

The female differs little in external appearance from the male. The fore part and sides of the head over the eye are dusky, and the bright red of the upper part of the head is confined to the vertex and occiput, while the red band, from the base of the lower mandible, is substituted by one of a brownish colour. In other respects it resembles the male.

Young Males. Plate CXI. Fig. 3, 4.

The young males fully fledged, differ little from the old males in the tints and distribution of their colours; but they are represented in the plate for the purpose of shewing the original pointed form and greater length of the bill.

The Racoon Grape.

Vitis æstivalis, Mich. Flor. Amer. vol. ii. p. 230.—Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 169.—Pentandria Monogynia, Linn. Vites, Juss.

The Racoon Grape is characterized by its broadly-cordate leaves, which have three or five lobes, its oblong clusters, and the small size of the bluish-black fruit. It is one of the finest of our vines, in regard to the luxuriance of its growth, its tortuous stem ascending the tallest trees to their summit, while its branches spread out so as to entwine the whole top. I have seen stems that measured eighteen inches in diameter, and the branches often extended from one tree to another, so as to render it difficult to pull down a plant after its stem has been cut. Its flowers perfume the woods. The grapes are small, hard, and very acrid, until severely bitten by frost. In autumn and winter, racoons, bears, opossums, and many species of birds, feed upon them.

THE DOWNY WOODPECKER.

Picus pubescens, Linn.
PLATE CXII. Male and Female.

The Downy Woodpecker, which is best known in all parts of the United States by the name of Sap-sucker, is perhaps not surpassed by any of its tribe in hardiness, industry, or vivacity. If you watch its motions while in the woods, the orchard, or the garden, you will find it ever at work. It perforates the bark of trees with uncommon regularity and care; and, in my opinion, greatly assists their growth and health, and renders them also more productive. Few of the farmers, however, agree with me in this respect; but those who have had experience in the growing of fruit-trees, and have attended to the effects produced by the boring of this Woodpecker, will testify to the accuracy of my statement.

This species is met with, during summer, in the depth of the forest, as well as in the orchard or the garden. In winter it frequently visits the wood-pile of the farmer, close to his house, or resorts to his corn-crib, where, however, it does little damage. I have found it pretty generally distributed from the lower parts of Louisiana to Labrador, and as far to the westward as I have travelled. It seems, in fact, to accommodate itself to circumstances, and to live contented anywhere.

About the middle of April it begins to form its nest, shewing little care as to the kind of tree it selects for the purpose, although it generally chooses a sound one, sometimes, however, taking one that is partially decayed. The pair work together for several days before the hole is completed, sometimes perhaps a whole week, as they dig it to the depth of a foot or sixteen inches. The direction is sometimes perpendicularly downwards from the commencement, sometimes transverse to the tree for four or five inches, and then longitudinal. The hole is rendered smooth and conveniently large throughout, the entrance being perfectly round, and just large enough to admit one bird at a time. The eggs, commonly six in number, pure white, and translucent, are deposited on the bare wood. In the Southern and Middle States, two broods are raised in the season; farther north seldom more than one. The young follow their parents through the woods, in company with Nuthatches and Creepers, and seem at all times lively and happy. Their shrill rolling notes are heard at a considerable distance, as well as those which they use when calling to each other. Their food, during summer, consists of insects and their larvæ; but, at the approach of autumn, they feed on fruits of various kinds, especially small grapes, and the berries of the poke-weed. The extensile portion of the tongue of this species, as well as of Picus varius, P. villosus, and P. querulus, is cylindrical or vermiform, while the extremity, or tongue itself, is linear, flat above, convex beneath, with projecting edges which are serrated backwards, the tip pointed.

The flight of the Downy Woodpecker, like that of the other species, is performed by glidings and undulations, between each of which it utters a single click note; and, although usually short, is capable, on occasion, of being protracted. The bird is by no means shy or suspicious, and scarcely pays any attention to man, even when standing close to the tree on which it is at work. Towards winter many individuals migrate southward, and spend their time in the immediate neighbourhood of the planter's dwelling.

I have observed that during their stay in the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas, their breast and belly are so soiled by the carbonaceous matter adhering to the trees, in consequence of the burning of the grass at that season, that one might be apt to take a specimen in that state, as belonging to a different species.

Picus pubescens, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 175.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 46.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 576.

Downy Woodpecker, Picus pubescens, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. i. p. 153. pl. 9. fig. 4.

Adult Male. Plate CXII. Fig. 1.

Bill longish, straight, strong, tapering, compressed, slightly truncated and cuneate at the tip; mandibles of equal length, both nearly straight in their dorsal outline, their sides convex; nostrils basal, oval, covered by recumbent bristly feathers. Head of moderate size, neck of ordinary length, body robust. Feet rather short, strong; tarsus strong, scutellate before; two toes before and two behind, the inner hind toe shortest; claws strong, arched, very acute.

Plumage soft, with rather disunited barbs, slightly glossed; wings large, the third and fourth quills longest; tail longish, cuneate, of ten tapering stiff feathers, worn to a point.

Bill bluish-black; iris dark red; feet bluish-green; claws light blue, black at the end. The top of the head is black, as are a broad band behind the eye, another below the cheek, as well as the shoulders, wings, and tail; there is a bright red narrow band on the occiput. A band over the eye, and meeting on the hind neck; another from the base of the upper mandible, passing under the eye, and down the neck; six bars on the wings, and the greater part of the middle of the back, together with the three lateral tail-feathers on each side, white, the latter marked with black spots. The lower parts in general are dull white.

Length 6¾ inches, extent of wings 12; bill along the ridge 10⁄12; tarsus ¾.

Adult Female. Plate CXII. Fig. 2.

In the female, the red band on the head is wanting, the place occupied by it in the male being white. The lower parts are brownish-white.

The Ramping Trumpet-flower.

Bignonia capreolata. See [vol. i. p. 334].

This species is met with only in the Southern Districts. It is rather rare in Louisiana, but abounds in Georgia, Alabama, and the Floridas. The flowers are destitute of odour. Humming-birds delight to search for food in them, as well as in those of other species of the genus.

THE BLUE BIRD.

Sylvia Sialis, Lath.
PLATE CXIII. Male, Female, and Young.

This lovely bird is found in all parts of the United States, where it is generally a permanent resident. It adds to the delight imparted by spring, and enlivens the dull days of winter. Full of innocent vivacity, warbling its ever pleasing notes, and familiar as any bird can be in its natural freedom, it is one of the most agreeable of our feathered favourites. The pure azure of its mantle, and the beautiful glow of its breast, render it conspicuous, as it flits through the orchards and gardens, crosses the fields or meadows, or hops along by the road-side. Recollecting the little-box made for it, as it sits on the roof of the house, the barn, or the fence-stake, it returns to it even during the winter, and its visits are always welcomed by those who know it best.

When March returns, the male commences his courtship, manifesting as much tenderness and affection towards his chosen one, as the dove itself. Martins and House-wrens! be prepared to encounter his anger, or keep at a respectful distance. Even the wily cat he will torment with querulous chirpings, whenever he sees her in the path from which he wishes to pick up an insect for his mate.

The Blue Bird breeds in the Floridas as early as January, and pairs at Charleston in that month, in Pennsylvania about the middle of April, and in the State of Maine in June. It forms its nest in the box made expressly for the purpose, or in any convenient hole or cavity it can find, often taking possession of those abandoned by the Woodpecker. The eggs are from four to six, of a pale blue colour. Two and often three broods are raised in the year. While the female sits on the second set of eggs, the male takes charge of the first brood, and so on to the end.

The food of this species consists of coleoptera, caterpillars, spiders, and insects of various kinds, in procuring which it frequently alights against the bark of trees. They are also fond of ripe fruits, such as figs, persimons, and grapes, and during the autumnal months they pounce on grasshoppers from the tops of the great mullein, so frequent in the old fields. They are extremely fond of newly ploughed land, on which, especially during winter and early spring, they are often seen in search of the insects turned out of their burrows by the plough.

The song of the Blue Bird is a soft agreeable warble, often repeated during the love-season, when it seldom sings without a gentle quivering of the wings. When the period of migration arrives, its voice consists merely of a tender and plaintive note, perhaps denoting the reluctance with which it contemplates the approach of winter. In November most of the individuals that have resided during the summer in the Northern and Middle Districts, are seen high in the air moving southward along with their families, or alighting to seek for food and enjoy repose. But many are seen in winter, whenever a few days of fine weather occur, so fond are they of their old haunts, and so easily can birds possessing powers of flight like theirs, move from one place to another. Their return takes place early in February or March, when they appear in parties of eight or ten of both sexes. When they alight at this season, the joyous carols of the males are heard from the tops of the early-blooming sassafras and maple.

During winter, they are extremely abundant in all the Southern States, and more especially in the Floridas, where I found hundreds of them on all the plantations that I visited. The species becomes rare in Maine, still more so in Nova Scotia, and in Newfoundland and Labrador none were seen by our exploring party.

My excellent and learned friend Dr Richard Harlan of Philadelphia, told me that one day, while in the neighbourhood of that city, sitting in the piazza of a friend's house, he observed that a pair of Blue Birds had taken possession of a hole cut out expressly for them in the end of the cornice above him. They had young, and were very solicitous for their safety, insomuch that it was no uncommon thing to see the male especially fly at a person who happened to pass by. A hen with her brood in the yard came within a few yards of the piazza. The wrath of the Blue Bird rose to such a pitch that, notwithstanding its great disparity of strength, it flew at the hen with violence, and continued to assail her, until she was at length actually forced to retreat and seek refuge under a distant shrub, when the little fellow returned exultingly to his nest, and there carolled his victory with great animation. At times, however, matters take a very different course, and you may recollect the combats of a Purple Martin and a Blue Bird, of which I gave you an account in my first volume.

This species has often reminded me of the Robin Redbreast of Europe, to which it bears a considerable resemblance in form and habits. Like the Blue Bird the Redbreast has large eyes, in which the power of its passions are at times seen to be expressed. Like it also, he alights on the lower branches of a tree, where, standing in the same position, he peeps sidewise at the objects beneath and around, until spying a grub or an insect, he launches lightly towards it, picks it up, and gazes around intent on discovering more, then takes a few hops with a downward inclination of the body, stops, erects himself, and should not another insect be near, returns to the branch, and tunes his throat anew. Perhaps it may have been on account of having observed something of this similarity of habits, that the first settlers in Massachusetts named our bird the Blue Robin, a name which it still retains in that state.

Were I now engaged in forming an arrangement of the birds of our country, I might conceive it proper to assign the Blue Bird a place among the Thrushes.

Motacilla Sialis, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 336.

Sylvia Sialis, Lath. Index Ornith. vol. ii. p. 523.

Saxicola Sialis, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 89.

Erythaca (Sialia) Wilsonii, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.-Amer. part ii. p. 210.

Blue Bird, Sylvia Sialis, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. i. p. 56. pl. iii. fig. 5. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 444.

Adult Male. Plate CXIII. Fig. 1.

Bill of ordinary length, nearly straight, broader than deep at the base, compressed towards the end; upper mandible with the dorsal line convex, the tip declinate, the edges sharp. Nostrils basal, oval. Head rather large, neck short, body rather full. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus compressed, covered anteriorly with a few long scutella, acute behind, scarcely longer than the middle toe; toes scutellate above, the two lateral ones nearly equal; claws arched, slender, compressed, that of the hind toe much larger.

Plumage soft and blended, slightly glossed. Wings of ordinary length, broad, the first quill longest, the second scarcely shorter, the secondary quills truncato-emarginate. Tail rather long, broad, nearly even, of twelve broad, rounded feathers. Short bristle-pointed feathers at the base of the mandible.

Bill and feet black, the soles yellow, iris yellowish-brown. The general colour of the upper parts is bright azure-blue, that of the lower yellowish-brown, the belly white. Shafts of the quills and tail feathers dusky.

Length 7 inches, extent of wing 10; bill along the ridge ½, along the edge ¾; tarsus 8⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXIII. Fig. 2.

The female has the upper part of a tint approaching to leaden, the foreneck and sides yellowish-brown, but duller than in the male, the belly white.

Length 6½ inches.

Young Bird. Plate CXIII. Fig. 3.

When fully fledged, the young have the upper part of the head, the back of the neck, and a portion of the back broccoli-brown; the rest of the upper part much as in the Female. The lower parts are light grey, the feathers of the breast and sides margined with brown.

THE GREAT MULLEIN.

Verbascum Thapsus, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. i. p. 1001. Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. i. p. 142. Smith, Engl. Flor. vol. i. p. 512.—Pentandria Monogynia, Linn. Solaneæ, Juss.

This plant, which is well known in Europe, is equally so in America; but whether it has been accidentally or otherwise introduced into the latter country, I cannot say. At present there is hardly an old field or abandoned piece of ground on the borders of the roads that is not overgrown with it. In the Middle and Southern Districts, it frequently attains a height of five or six feet. The flowers are used in infusion for catarrhs, and a decoction of the leaves is employed in chronic rheumatism.

THE WHITE-CROWNED SPARROW.

Fringilla leucophrys, Bonap.
PLATE CXIV. Male and Female.

It is to the wild regions of Labrador that you must go, kind reader, if you wish to form a personal acquaintance with the White-crowned Sparrow. There in every secluded glen opening upon the boisterous Gulf of St Lawrence, while amazed you glance over the wilderness that extends around you, so dreary and desolate that the blood almost congeals in your veins, you meet with this interesting bird. Your body is sinking under the fatigue occasioned by your wading through beds of moss, as extraordinary for their depth, as for the brilliancy of their tints, and by the difficulties which you have encountered in forcing your way through the tangled creeping pines, so dwarfish and so stubborn, that you often find it easier to trample down their branches than to separate them so as to allow you a passage. In such a place, when you are far away from all that is dear to you, how cheering is it to hear the mellow notes of a bird, that seems as if it had been sent expressly for the purpose of relieving your mind from the heavy melancholy that bears it down! The sounds are so sweet, so refreshing, so soothing, so hope inspiring, that as they come upon the soul in all their gentleness and joy, the tears begin to flow from your eyes, the burden on your mind becomes lighter, your heart expands, and you experience a pure delight, produced by the invitation thus made to offer your humblest and most sincere thanks to that all-wondrous Being, who has caused you to be there no doubt for the purpose of becoming better acquainted with the operations of his mighty power.

Thus it was with me, when, some time after I had been landed on the dreary coast of Labrador, I for the first time heard the song of the White-crowned Sparrow. I could not refrain from indulging in the thought that, notwithstanding the many difficulties attending my attempts—my mission I must call it—to study God's works in this wild region, I was highly favoured. At every step, new objects presented themselves, and whenever I rested, I enjoyed a delight never before experienced. Humbly and fervently did I pray for a continuation of those blessings, through which I now hoped to see my undertaking completed, and again to join my ever-dear family.

I first became acquainted with the White-crowned Sparrow at Henderson, in the autumn of 1817. I then thought it the handsomest bird of its kind, and my opinion still is that none other known to me as a visitor or inhabitant of the United States, exceeds it in beauty. I procured five individuals, three of which were in full plumage and proved to be males. The sex of the other two could not be ascertained; but I have since become convinced that these birds lose the white stripes on the head in the winter season, when they might be supposed to be of a different species. During spring and summer the male and the female are of equal beauty, the former being only a little larger than the latter. The young which I procured in Labrador, shewed the white stripes on the head as they were fully fledged, and I think they retain those marks in autumn longer than the old birds, of which the feathers have become much worn at that season. In the winter of 1833, I procured at Charleston in South Carolina, one in its brown livery.

One day, while near American Harbour, in Labrador, I observed a pair of these birds frequently resorting to a small hummock of firs, where I concluded they must have had a nest. After searching in vain, I intimated my suspicion to my young friends, when we all crept through the tangled branches, and examined the place, but without success. Determined, however, to obtain our object, we returned with hatchets, cut down every tree to its roots, removed each from the spot, pulled up all the mosses between them, and completely cleared the place; yet no nest did we find. Our disappointment was the greater that we saw the male bird frequently flying about with food in its bill, no doubt intended for its mate. In a short while, the pair came near us, and both were shot. In the female we found an egg, which was pure white, but with the shell yet soft and thin. On the 6th July, while my son was creeping among some low bushes, to get a shot at some Red-throated Divers, he accidentally started a female from her nest. It made much complaint. The nest was placed in the moss, near the foot of a low fir, and was formed externally of beautiful dry green moss, matted in bunches like the coarse hair of some quadruped, internally of very fine dry grass, arranged with great neatness, to the thickness of nearly half an inch, with a full lining of delicate fibrous roots of a rich transparent yellow. It was 5 inches in diameter externally, 2 in depth, 2¼ in diameter within, although rather oblong, and 1¾ deep. In one nest we found a single feather of the Willow Grous. The eggs, five in number, average ⅞ of an inch in length, are proportionally broad, of a light sea-green colour, mottled toward the larger end with brownish spots and blotches, a few spots of a lighter tint being dispersed over the whole. This description differs greatly from that of the nest and eggs of this species given by others, who, I apprehend, have mistaken for them those of the Fox-tailed Sparrow, or the Anthus Spinoletta. We found many nests, which were all placed on the ground, or among the moss, and were all constructed alike. They deposit their eggs from the beginning to the end of June. In the beginning of August, I saw many young that were able to fly, and by the 12th of that month the birds had already commenced their southward migration. The young follow their parents until nearly full grown.

The food of this species, while in Labrador, consists of small coleopterous insects, grass seeds, and a variety of berries, as well as some minute shell-fish, for which they frequently search the margins of ponds or the sea-shore. At the approach of autumn, they pursue insects on the wing, to a short distance, and doubtless secure some in that manner.

The song of the White-crowned Finch consists of six or seven notes, the first of which is loud, clear, and musical, although of a plaintive nature; the next broader, less firm, and seeming merely a second to the first; the rest form a cadence diminishing in power to the last note, which sounds as if the final effort of the musician. These notes are repeated at short intervals during the whole day, even on those dismal days produced by the thick fogs of the country where it breeds, and where this species is of all the most abundant. The White-throated Finch was also very plentiful, and we found it breeding in the same localities.

The flight of this interesting bird is usually low, swift, and greatly protracted. It is performed without any jerk of the tail. They migrate mostly by day—I say mostly, because while crossing a great arm of the sea, like the Gulf of St Lawrence, they perhaps may not always be able to accomplish their transit in one day.

I have met with this bird in almost every portion of the United States during early spring and autumn, but always either single or in very small groups. I have shot some near New Orleans in April, at Cincinnati, and near New York in May. They reach the Magdeleine Islands, Newfoundland, and the coast of Labrador, about the first of June. Those which I have seen on their passage through the United States were perfectly silent, and usually frequented low bushes and grape vines, the fruit of which they eagerly eat, but never entering the woods. In every instance I found them as gentle and unsuspicious as whilst at Labrador.

In the plate are to be seen two of these birds, drawn many years ago, one of them a male in full summer plumage, the other a female in the winter dress. I have no doubt that this species retires far south in Mexico, to spend the winter. It is nearly allied to the White-throated and Fox-tailed Sparrows, and in its winter plumage it may perhaps prove to be the Fringilla ambigua of my friend Nuttall.

Fringilla leucophrys, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 107.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 479.

Emberiza leucophrys, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 874.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 413.

White-crowned Bunting, Emberiza leucophrys, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 49. pl. 31. fig. 4. Male.

Adult male. Plate CXIV. Fig. 1.

Bill very short, robust, conical, acute; upper mandible scarcely broader than the lower, both almost straight in their outline, rounded on the sides, with the edges inflected and sharp; the gap line very slightly deflected at the base, and not extending to beneath the eye. Nostrils basal, roundish, partially concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body full. Legs of moderate length, rather strong; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe rather large.

Plumage soft and rather blended above, loose beneath. Wings short and curved, rounded, the third quill longest, the second and fourth almost as long. Tail rather long, nearly even, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill reddish-orange, tipped with brown. Iris reddish-brown. Feet pale brown. The head is marked with three stripes of white, and four of deep black. Back and wing-coverts dark reddish-brown, with pale grey margins, the posterior part of the back and upper tail-coverts lighter brown. Quills and tail dark brown, margined with pale; the tip of the smaller coverts white, as are those of some of the primary coverts, which, with the secondary quills, have chestnut-brown edges. Throat and belly white; sides of the neck and the breast dull purplish-grey; the flanks and under tail-coverts pale brownish-grey.

Length 7½ inches; extent of wings 10½; bill along the ridge 4½⁄12, along the edge 7⁄12; tarsus 10⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXIV. Fig. 2.

In its summer dress, the female resembles the male at that season; but in winter the white lines on the head are less pure, the dark lines are reddish-brown, but the tints of the other parts are nearly similar, these circumstances being the same in the male.

Length 7¼ inches.

The Summer Grape.

Vitis æstivalis, var. Sinuata, Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 169.

This variety has large cordate leaves, which are less deeply lobed, and with large marginal teeth. It occurs in all the barren lands of the Western Country, particularly in those of Kentucky, Tennessee, and Illinois. Although it seldom attains much strength of stem, it spreads broadly on the bushes, and forms beautiful festoons. The grapes are juicy and agreeable to the taste. They are fully ripe by the middle of August, and remain hanging until destroyed by the frost. When wild pigeons happen to be abundant where it grows, they speedily devour the fruit.

THE WOOD PEWEE.

Muscicapa virens, Linn.
PLATE CXV. Male.

The great similarity as to form, size, tone of voice, and general colouring, that exists between the Wood Pewee, Traill's Flycatcher, the Muscicapa acadica of Gmelin, and a smaller species, which I found abundant in Labrador, and which has been beautifully figured and described in the Fauna Boreali-Americana of my friends Swainson and Richardson, under the name of Tyrannula Richardsonii, renders it difficult to indicate their distinctive characters. The student finds it difficult to recognise them; and indeed, unless familiar with their habits, it is not easy for any one to distinguish them at first sight, nor can the observer be sure of the species, without paying very close attention to their notes, and the various peculiarities of their manners. Even my learned friend Nuttall has supposed that my Muscicapa Traillii, and Gmelin's M. acadica, are the same, and has expressed his doubts as to the differences between the latter and the smaller species mentioned above, of which I intend, at a future period, to give you some account; although, almost at the same time, he says that he heard a Dark-coloured Flycatcher, apparently larger than that represented in the plate, in the pine forest of South Carolina, which was unknown to him, but which I have established to be the M. Traillii. If doubts on the subject exist in the mind of such an observer as Nuttall, who has examined the species both in the living and dead state, in the very places which these birds frequent, how difficult must it be for a "closet naturalist" to ascertain the true distinctions of these birds, when, having no better samples of the species than some dried skins, perhaps mangled, and certainly distorted, with shrivelled bills and withered feet.

It is in the darkest and most gloomy retreats of the forest that the Wood Pewee is generally to be found, during the season which it spends with us. You may find it, however, lurking for a while in the shade of an overgrown orchard; or, as autumn advances, you may see it gleaning the benumbed insects over the slimy pools, or gliding on the outskirts of the woods, when, for the last time, the piping notes of the Bullfrog are heard mingling with its own plaintive notes. In all these places, it exhibits the simplicity and freedom of its natural habits, dashing after the insects on which it principally feeds, with a remarkable degree of inattention to surrounding objects. Its sallies have also the appearance of being careless, although at times protracted, when it seems to seize several insects in succession, the more so perhaps that it has no rival to contend with in such situations. Sometimes towards autumn, it sweeps so closely over the pools that it is enabled to seize the insects as they float on the water; while, at other times, and as if in surprise, it rises to the tops of the forest trees, and snaps the insect which is just launching forth on some extensive journey, with all the freedom of flight that the bird itself possesses.

The weary traveller, who at this season wanders from his path in search of water to quench his thirst, or to repose for a while in the shade, is sure to be saluted with the melancholy song of this little creature, which, perched erect on a withered twig, its wings quivering as if it had been seized with a momentary chill, pours forth its rather low, mellow notes with such sweetness as is sure to engage the attention. Few other birds are near; and, should the more musical song of a Wood-thrush come on his ear, he may conceive himself in a retreat where no danger is likely to assail him during his repose.

This species, which is considerably more abundant than the M. fusca, is rather late in entering the Middle States, seldom reaching Pennsylvania until the 10th of May; yet it pushes its migrations quite beyond the limits of the United States. On the one hand, many of them spend the winter months in the most Southern States, such as Louisiana and the pine barrens of Florida, feeding on different berries, as well as insects; while, on the other, I have met with them in September, in the British province of New Brunswick, and observed their retrograde movements through Maine and Massachusetts. I have also seen some near Halifax, but neither in Labrador nor Newfoundland did I find an individual.

In autumn, when its notes are almost the only ones heard, it may often be seen approaching the roads and pathways, or even flitting among the tall and beautiful elms in the vicinity, or in the midst of our eastern cities. There you may observe the old birds teaching the young how to procure their food. The various groups, imperceptibly as it were, and in the most peaceable manner, now remove southward by day; and, at this season, their notes are heard at a very late hour, as in early spring. They may be expressed by the syllables pē-wēe, pettowēe, pēe-wēe, prolonged like the last sighs of a despondent lover, or rather like what you might imagine such sighs to be, it being, I believe, rare actually to hear them.

This species, in common with the Great Crested Flycatcher, and the Least Wood Pewee, is possessed of a peculiarity of vision, which enables it to see and pursue its prey with certainty, when it is so dark that you cannot perceive the bird, and are rendered aware of its occupation only by means of the clicking of its bill.

The nest of the Wood Pewee is as delicate in its form and structure, as the bird is in the choice of the materials which it uses in its construction. In almost every case, I have found it well fastened to the upper part of a horizontal branch, without any apparent preference being given to particular trees. Were it not that the bird generally discloses its situation, it would be difficult to discover it, for it is shallow, well saddled to the branch, and connected with it by an extension of the lichens forming its outer coat, in such a manner as to induce a person seeing it to suppose it merely a swelling of the branch. These lichens are glued together apparently by the saliva of the bird, and are neatly lined with very fine grasses, the bark of vines, and now and then a few horse-hairs. The eggs are four or five, of a light yellowish hue, dotted and blotched with reddish at the larger end. It raises two broods in a season in Virginia and Pennsylvania, but rarely more than one in the Northern States. By the middle of August the young are abroad; and it is then that the birds seem more inclined to remove from the interior of the forest.

Although less pugnacious than the larger Flycatchers, it is yet very apt to take offence when any other bird approaches its stand, or appears near its nest.

In its ordinary flight the Wood Pewee passes through the gloom of the forest, at a small elevation, in a horizontal direction, moving the wings rapidly, and sweeping suddenly to the right or left, or darting upwards, after its prey, with the most perfect ease. During the love season, it often flies, with a vibratory motion of the wings, so very slowly that one might suppose it about to poise itself in the air. On such occasions its notes are guttural, and are continued for several seconds as a low twitter.

Muscicapa virens, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 327.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 68.

Wood Pewee, Muscicapa rapax, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 81. pl. 13. fig. 5.—Nuttall, Manual, p. 285.

Adult Male. Plate CXV.

Bill of ordinary length, straight, depressed at the base; upper mandible with the sides somewhat convex, the edges sharp, the tip slightly declinate, and having a small notch on each side; nostrils small, rounded, nearly concealed. The head is rather large, but the whole form is light. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus slender, compressed, anteriorly scutellate, acute behind; toes free, small, the two side ones about equal; claws slender, slightly arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, blended, tufty; the feathers of the head capable of being raised into a longish tuft or crest; basirostral bristles distinct; wings of ordinary length; the second quill longest, first shorter than third, and longer than sixth; tail rather long, distinctly emarginate, or forked, of twelve broad, obliquely pointed feathers.

Bill dusky above, pale yellowish-brown beneath. Iris brown. Feet light brown. The general colour of the upper parts is brownish-olive; the upper part of the head much darker, inclining to brownish-black; a pale greyish ring encircles the eye; two narrow bands of the same colour cross the wing, one formed by the tips of the lesser coverts, the other by those of the greater secondary coverts; the secondary quills are margined externally with paler; the throat and breast are ash-grey, tinged with green, the rest of the lower parts pale greenish yellow.

Length 6½ inches, extent of wings 11; bill along the ridge 7⁄12, along the edge ¾; tarsus 8⁄12.

The Swamp Honeysuckle.

Azalea viscosa, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. i. p. 831. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 153. Pentandria Monogynia, Linn. Rhododendra, Juss.

The leaves of this species of Azalea are oblongo-obovate, acute, smooth on both sides; the flowers white, sweet-scented, with a very short calyx. It grows abundantly in almost every district of the United States, in such localities as are suited to it, namely, low damp meadows, swamps, and shady woods.

THE FORCE OF THE WATERS.

The men who are employed in cutting down the trees, and conveying the logs to the saw-mills or the places for shipping, are, in the State of Maine, called "Lumberers." Their labours may be said to be continual. Before winter has commenced, and while the ground is yet uncovered with a great depth of snow, they leave their homes to proceed to the interior of the pine forests, which in that part of the country are truly magnificent, and betake themselves to certain places already well known to them. Their provisions, axes, saws, and other necessary articles, together with provender for their cattle, are conveyed by oxen in heavy sledges. Almost at the commencement of their march, they are obliged to enter the woods, and they have frequently to cut a way for themselves, for considerable spaces, as the ground is often covered with the decaying trunks of immense trees, which have fallen either from age, or in consequence of accidental burnings. These trunks, and the undergrowth which lies entangled in their tops, render many places almost impassable even to men on foot. Over miry ponds they are sometimes forced to form causeways, this being, under all circumstances, the easiest mode of reaching the opposite side. Then, reader, is the time for witnessing the exertions of their fine large cattle. No rods do their drivers use to pain their flanks; no oaths or imprecations are ever heard to fall from the lips of these most industrious and temperate men, for in them, as indeed in most of the inhabitants of our Eastern States, education and habit have tempered the passions and reduced the moral constitution to a state of harmony. Nay, the sobriety that exists in many of the villages of Maine, I acknowledge I have often considered as carried to excess, for on asking for brandy, rum or whisky, not a drop could I obtain, and it is probable there was an equal lack of spirituous liquors of every other kind. Now and then I saw some good old wines, but they were always drunk in careful moderation. But to return to the management of the oxen. Why, reader, the lumberers speak to them as if they were rational beings. Few words seem to suffice, and their whole strength is applied to the labour, as if in gratitude to those who treat them with so much gentleness and humanity.

While present on more than one occasion at what Americans call "ploughing matches," which they have annually in many of the States, I have been highly gratified, and in particular at one, of which I still have a strong recollection, and which took place a few miles from the fair and hospitable city of Boston. There I saw fifty or more ploughs drawn by as many pairs of oxen, which performed their work with so much accuracy and regularity, without the infliction of whip or rod, but merely guided by the verbal mandates of the ploughmen, that I was perfectly astonished.

After surmounting all obstacles, the lumberers with their stock arrive at the spot which they have had in view, and immediately commence building a camp. The trees around soon fall under the blows of their axes, and before many days have elapsed, a low habitation is reared and fitted within for the accommodation of their cattle, while their provender is secured on a kind of loft covered with broad shingles or boards. Then their own cabin is put up; rough bedsteads, manufactured on the spot, are fixed in the corners; a chimney, composed of a frame of sticks plastered with mud, leads away the smoke; the skins of bears or deer, with some blankets, form their bedding, and around the walls are hung their changes of home-spun clothing, guns, and various necessaries of life. Many prefer spending the night on the sweet-scented hay and corn-blades of their cattle, which are laid on the ground. All arranged within, the lumberers set their "dead-falls," large "steel-traps," and "spring-guns," in suitable places around their camp, to procure some of the bears that ever prowl around such establishments.

Now the heavy clouds of November, driven by the northern blasts, pour down the snow in feathery flakes. The winter has fairly set in, and seldom do the sun's gladdening rays fall on the wood-cutter's hut. In warm flannels his body is enveloped, the skin of a racoon covers his head and brow, his moose-skin leggins reach the girdle that secures them around his waist, while on broad moccasins, or snow-shoes, he stands from the earliest dawn until night, hacking away at the majestic pines that for a century past have embellished the forest. The fall of these valuable trees no longer resounds on the ground; and, as they tumble here and there, nothing is heard but the rustling and crackling of their branches, their heavy trunks sinking into the deep snows. Thousands of large pines thus cut down every winter afford room for the younger trees, which spring up profusely to supply the wants of man.

Weeks and weeks have elapsed; the earth's pure white covering has become thickly and firmly crusted by the increasing intensity of the cold, the fallen trees have all been sawn into measured logs, and the long repose of the oxen has fitted them for hauling them to the nearest frozen streams. The ice gradually becomes covered with the accumulating mass of timber, and, their task completed, the lumberers wait impatiently for the breaking up of the winter.

At this period, they pass the time in hunting the moose, the deer, and the bear, for the benefit of their wives and children; and as these men are most excellent woodsmen, great havoc is made among the game. Many skins of sables, martins, and musk-rats they have procured during the intervals of their labour, or under night. The snows are now giving way, as the rains descend in torrents, and the lumberers collect their utensils, harness their cattle, and prepare for their return. This they accomplish in safety.

From being lumberers they now become millers, and with pleasure each applies the grating file to his saws. Many logs have already reached the dams on the swollen waters of the rushing streams, and the task commences, which is carried on through the summer, of cutting them up into boards.

The great heats of the dog-days have parched the ground; every creek has become a shallow, except here and there, where in a deep hole the salmon and the trout have found a retreat; the sharp slimy angles of multitudes of rocks project, as if to afford resting places to the wood-ducks and herons that breed on the borders of these streams. Thousands of "saw logs" remain in every pool, beneath and above each rapid or fall. The miller's dam has been emptied of its timber, and he must now resort to some expedient to procure a fresh supply.

It was my good fortune to witness the method employed for the purpose of collecting the logs that had not reached their destination, and I had the more pleasure that it was seen in company with my little family. I wish for your sake, reader, that I could describe in an adequate manner the scene which I viewed; but, although not so well qualified as I could wish, rely upon it, that the desire which I feel to gratify you, will induce me to use all my endeavours to give you an idea of it.

It was the month of September. At the upper extremity of Dennisville, which is itself a pretty village, are the saw-mills and ponds of the hospitable Judge Lincoln and other persons. The creek that conveys the logs to these ponds, and which bears the name of the village, is interrupted in its course by many rapids and narrow embanked gorges. One of the latter is situated about half a mile above the mill-dams, and is so rocky and rugged in its bottom and sides, as to preclude the possibility of the trees passing along it at low water, while, as I conceived, it would have given no slight labour to an army of woodsmen or millers, to move the thousands of large logs that had accumulated in it. They lay piled in confused heaps to a great height along an extent of several hundred yards, and were in some places so close as to have formed a kind of dam. Above the gorge there is a large natural reservoir, in which the head waters of the creek settle, while only a small portion of them ripples through the gorge below, during the latter weeks of summer and in early autumn, when the streams are at their lowest.

At the neck of this basin, the lumberers raised a temporary barrier with the refuse of their sawn logs. The boards were planted nearly upright and supported at their tops by a strong tree extended from side to side of the creek, which might there be about forty feet in breadth. It was prevented from giving way under the pressure of the rising waters, by having strong abutments of wood laid against its centre, while the ends of these abutments were secured by wedges, which could be knocked off when necessary.

The temporary dam was now finished. Little or no water escaped through the barrier, and that in the creek above it rose in the course of three weeks to its top, which was about ten feet high, forming a sheet that extended upwards fully a mile from the dam. My family was invited early one morning, to go and witness the extraordinary effect which would be produced by the breaking down of the barrier, and we all accompanied the lumberers to the place. Two of the men, on reaching it, threw off their jackets, tied handkerchiefs round their heads, and fastened to their bodies a long rope, the end of which was held by three or four others, who stood ready to drag their companions ashore, in case of danger or accident. The two operators, each bearing an axe, walked along the abutments, and at a given signal, knocked out the wedges. A second blow from each sent off the abutments themselves, and the men, leaping with extreme dexterity from one cross log to another, sprung to the shore with almost the quickness of thought.

Scarcely had they effected their escape from the frightful peril that threatened them, when the mass of waters burst forth with a horrible uproar. All eyes were bent towards the huge heaps of logs in the gorge below. The tumultuous burst of the waters instantly swept away every object that opposed their progress, and rushed in foaming waves among the timber that every where blocked up the passage. Presently a slow, heavy motion was perceived in the mass of logs; one might have imagined that some mighty monster lay convulsively writhing beneath them, struggling with a fearful energy to extricate himself from the crushing weight. As the waters rose, this movement increased; the mass of timber extended in all directions, appearing to become more and more entangled each moment; the logs bounced against each other, thrusting aside, demersing, or raising into the air those with which they came in contact:—it seemed as if they were waging a war of destruction, such as ancient authors describe the efforts of the Titans, the foamings of whose wrath might to the eye of the painter have been represented by the angry curlings of the waters, while the tremulous and rapid motions of the logs, which at times reared themselves almost perpendicularly, might by the poet have been taken for the shakings of the confounded and discomfited giants.

Now the rushing element filled up the gorge to its brim. The logs, once under way, rolled, reared, tossed and tumbled amid the foam, as they were carried along. Many of the smaller trees broke across, from others great splinters were sent up, and all were in some degree seamed and scarred. Then in tumultuous majesty swept along the mingled wreck, the current being now increased to such a pitch, that the logs as they were dashed against the rocky shores, resounded like the report of distant artillery, or the angry rumblings of the thunder. Onward it rolls, the emblem of wreck and ruin, destruction and chaotic strife. It seemed to me as if I witnessed the rout of a vast army, surprised, overwhelmed, and overthrown. The roar of the cannon, the groans of the dying, and the shouts of the avengers, were thundering through my brain; and amid the frightful confusion of the scene, there came over my spirit a melancholy feeling, which had not entirely vanished at the end of many days.

In a few hours, almost all the timber that had lain heaped in the rocky gorge, was floating in the great pond of the millers; and as we walked homewards, we talked of the Force of the Waters.

THE FERRUGINOUS THRUSH.

Turdus rufus, Linn.
PLATE CXVI. Male, Female, and Nest.

Reader, look attentively at the plate before you, and say if such a scene as that which I have attempted to portray, is not calculated to excite the compassion of any one who is an admirer of woodland melody, or who sympathizes with the courageous spirit which the male bird shews, as he defends his nest, and exerts all his powers to extricate his beloved mate from the coils of the vile snake which has already nearly deprived her of life. Another male of the same species, answering the call of despair from his "fellow creature," comes swiftly downwards to rescue the sufferers. With open bill he is already prepared to strike a vengeful blow at the reptile, his bright eye glancing hatred at his foe. See a third grappling with the snake, and with all its might tearing the skin from its body! Should this alliance of noble spirits prove victorious, will it not remind you that innocence, although beset with difficulties, may, with the aid of friendship, extricate herself with honour?

The birds in the case represented were greatly the sufferers: their nest was upset, their eggs lost, and the life of the female in imminent danger. But the snake was finally conquered, and a jubilee held over its carcass by a crowd of thrushes and other birds, until the woods resounded with their notes of exultation. I was happy in contributing my share to the general joy, for, on taking the almost expiring bird into my hand for a few minutes, she recovered in some degree, and I restored her to her anxious mate.

The Brown Thrush, or Thrasher, by which names the bird is generally known, may be said to be a constant resident in the United States, as immense numbers are found all the year round in Louisiana, the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas. Indeed some spend the winter in Virginia and Maryland. During spring and summer they are met with in all our Eastern States. They also enter the British provinces, and are sometimes seen in Nova Scotia; but I observed none farther north. It is the most numerous species found in the Union, excepting the Robin or Migratory Thrush. Those which breed in the Middle and Eastern Districts return to the south about the beginning of October, having been absent fully six months from that genial region, where more than half of the whole number remain at all seasons. They migrate by day, and singly, never congregating, notwithstanding their abundance. They fly low, or skip from one bush to another, their longest flight seldom exceeding the breadth of a field or river. They seem to move rather heavily, on account of the shortness of their wings, the concavity of which usually produces a rustling sound, and they travel very silently.

No sooner has the bird reached its destined abode, than whenever a fair morning occurs, it mounts the topmost twig of a detached tree, and pours forth its loud, richly varied, and highly melodious song. It scarcely possesses the faculty of imitation, but is a steady performer; and, although it sings for hours at a time, seldom, if ever, commits errors while repeating the beautiful lessons set to it by Nature, all of which it studies for months during spring and summer. Ah! reader, that I could repeat to you its several cadences, all so full of sweetness and melody, that one might imagine each last trill, as it dies on the ear, the careful lullaby of some blessed mother chanting her babe to repose;—that I could imitate its loudest notes, surpassed only by those of that unrivalled vocalist, the Mocking Bird! But, alas! it is impossible for me to convey to you the charms of the full song of the Brown Thrush; you must go to its own woods and there listen to it. In the southern districts, it now and then enlivens the calm of autumnal days by its song, but it is generally silent after the breeding season.

The actions of this species during the period of courtship are very curious, the male often strutting before the female with his tail trailing on the ground, moving gracefully round her, in the manner of some pigeons, and while perched and singing in her presence, vibrating his body with vehemence. In Louisiana, the Brown Thrush builds its nest as early as the beginning of March; in the Middle Districts rarely before the middle of May; while in Maine, it seldom has it finished before June. It is placed without much care in a briar bush, a sumach, or the thickest parts of a low tree, never in the interior of the forest, but most commonly in the bramble patches which are every where to be met with along the fences or the abandoned old fields. Sometimes it is laid flat on the ground. Although the bird is abundant in the barrens of Kentucky, in which and in similar places it seems to delight, it has seldom been known to breed there. In the Southern States the nest is frequently found close to the house of the planter, along with that of the Mocking Bird. To the eastward, where the denseness of the population renders the bird more shy, the nest is placed with more care. But wherever it is situated, you find it large, composed externally of dry twigs, briars, or other small sticks, imbedded in and mixed with dried leaves, coarse grass, and other such materials, thickly lined with fibrous roots, horse hair, and sometimes rags and feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a pale dull buff colour, thickly sprinkled with dots of brown. Two broods are usually raised in the Southern States, but rarely more than one in the Middle and Northern Districts.

They breed well in aviaries, and are quite tractable in a closer state of confinement. The young are raised in the same manner, and with the same food, as those of the Mocking Bird. In cages it sings well, and has much of the movements of the latter bird, being full of activity, petulant, and occasionally apt to peck in resentment at the hand which happens to approach it. The young begin their musical studies in autumn, repeating passages with as much zeal as ever did Paganini. By the following spring their full powers of song are developed.

My friend Bachman, who has raised many of these birds, has favoured me with the following particulars respecting them:—"Though good-humoured towards the person who feeds them, they are always savage towards all other kinds of birds. I placed three sparrows in the cage of a Thrush one evening, and found them killed, as well as nearly stripped of their feathers, the next morning. So perfectly gentle did this bird become, that when I opened its cage, it would follow me about the yard and the garden. The instant it saw me take a spade or a hoe, it would follow at my heels, and, as I turned up the earth, would pick up every insect or worm thus exposed to its view. I kept it for three years, and its affection for me at last cost it its life. It usually slept on the back of my chair, in my study, and one night the door being accidentally left open, it was killed by a cat. I once knew a few of these birds remain the whole of a mild winter in the State of New York, in a wild state."

The Brown or Ferruginous Thrush is the strongest of the genus in the United States, neither the Mocking Bird, nor the Robin being able to cope with it. Like the former, it will chase the cat or the dog, and greatly tease the racoon or the fox. It follows the Falco Cooperii and the Goshawk, bidding them defiance, and few snakes come off with success when they attack its nest. It is remarkable also, that, although these birds have frequent and severe conflicts among themselves, yet when the least alarm is given by an individual, a whole party of them instantly rush forth to assist in chasing off the common enemy. When two nests happen to be placed near each other, the males are seen to fight furiously, and are joined by the females. On such occasions, the males approach each other with much caution, spreading out, and often jerking up, down, or to either side, their long fan-like tail, generally betaking themselves to the ground, and uttering a note of defiance, until one of them, perceiving some advantage afforded by its position or some other circumstance, rushes to the charge. The attack once fairly made, the fight seldom ends until one has beaten the other, after which the vanquished rarely attempts to retaliate, and peace is made between the parties. They are fond of bathing and of dusting themselves in the sand of the roads. They bathe in small puddles during the heat of the sun, and then remove to the sandy paths, where they roll themselves, dry their plumage, and free it of insects. When disturbed on these occasions, they merely run off and hide themselves under the nearest bushes, to return as soon as the intruder has retired.

During the period of incubation, the male is heard from the top of a neighbouring tree, singing for hours at a time. It ascends to this pinnacle by leaping from branch to branch, and selects several trees for the purpose, none of them more than a hundred yards from the nest. Its song over, it dives towards its favourite thicket, seldom descending by the assistance of the branches. Both male and female sit on the eggs. Their mutual attachment, and their courage in defending their nest, are well known to children living in the country. They resent the intrusion even of man, assaulting him, and emitting a strong guttural note resembling tchai, tchai, accompanied by a plaintive weō, and continued until the enemy retires. Should he carry off their treasure, he is sure to be followed a great way, perhaps half a mile, both birds continually crossing his path, and bestowing on him the reproaches he so richly deserves.

The food of this Thrush, which is also known by the name of French Mocking Bird, consists of insects, worms, berries, and fruits of all sorts. It is fond of figs, and wherever ripe pears are, there also may it be found. In winter, they resort to the berries of the dogwood, the sumach, and holly, and ascend to the tops of the tallest trees in search of grapes. At this season, they are easily caught in traps, and many are exposed for sale in the southern markets, although few of the old birds live long in captivity. Some planters complain of their propensity to scratch the ground for the purpose of picking up the newly planted corn; but I am of opinion that the scratching has reference exclusively to worms or beetles, their strong legs and feet being well adapted for this purpose; and, generally speaking, they are great favourites, as they commit few depredations on the crops.

This species, as well as the Robin and some others of this genus, suffer greatly during the autumnal moults, and when in cages at this season, become almost naked of feathers. The young acquire the full beauty of their plumage during the first winter.

Turdus rufus, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 293.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 338.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 75.

Ferruginous Thrush, Turdus rufus, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 83. pl. 14. fig. 1.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 328.

Orpheus rufus, Fox-coloured Mock-Bird, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Amer. part ii. p. 189.

Adult Male. Plate CXVI. Fig. 1. 1.

Bill rather long and slender, slightly arched, compressed, acute; upper mandible slightly arched in its dorsal line and acute edges, the tip declinate; lower mandible nearly straight along the back. Nostrils basal, oblong, half-closed by a membrane. The general form is rather slender and elegant, like that of the Mocking Bird. Feet longish, rather strong; tarsus compressed, anteriorly covered with a few long scutella, sharp behind; toes scutellate above, free; claws compressed, arched, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings of moderate length, rounded, the first primary very short, the fourth and fifth longest. Tail very long, of twelve straight rounded feathers.

Bill black, the base of the lower mandible light blue. Iris yellow. Feet dusky-brown. The general colour of the plumage above is a bright reddish-brown, the quills dusky on their inner webs, and the wings crossed with two white bars margined anteriorly with black, being on the tips of the smaller and secondary coverts. The lower parts are yellowish-white, the breast and sides marked with triangular dark-brown spots, the lower tail-coverts pale brownish-red.

Length 11½ inches, extent of wings 13; bill along the back 1, along the edge 1 3⁄12; tarsus 1 4⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXVI. Fig. 2. 2.

The female resembles the male, the bars on the wings being narrower, and the spots on the breast lighter. The dimensions are nearly the same.

The Black Jack Oak.

Quercus nigra, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iv. p. 442. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 629.

Quercus ferruginea, Mich. Arbr. Forest. vol. i. p. 92. pl. 18. Monœcia polyandria, Linn. Amentaceæ, Juss.

Leaves coriaceous, dilated at the end and three-lobed, when young mucronate, smooth above, covered with a rust-like powder beneath, the cupule turbinate, its scales obtuse and scarious, the acorn shortly ovate. This tree forms the principal growth of the open barrens of Kentucky, and is also met with in all our Southern Districts. It is of small height, and extremely crooked in its growth, so as to be of little service, excepting as fire-wood; but it bears abundantly, producing fine mast for hogs.

The Black Snake.

This Snake is possessed of great activity, climbs with ease over bushes and along the trunks of trees, and glides so swiftly over the ground as easily to elude pursuit. It feeds on birds, eggs, frogs, and small quadrupeds, and evinces great antipathy towards all other species of Serpent, with most of which, although destitute of poison fangs, it fights on the least provocation. It occurs abundantly from Louisiana to Connecticut, but I have not observed it in Maine or the British provinces.

THE MISSISSIPPI KITE.

Falco plumbeus, Gmel.
PLATE CXVII. Male and Female.

When, after many a severe conflict, the southern breezes, in alliance with the sun, have, as if through a generous effort, driven back for a season to their desolate abode the chill blasts of the north; when warmth and plenty are insured for a while to our happy lands; when clouds of anxious Swallows, returning from the far south, are guiding millions of Warblers to their summer residence; when numberless insects, cramped in their hanging shells, are impatiently waiting for the full expansion of their wings; when the vernal flowers, so welcome to all, swell out their bursting leaflets, and the rich-leaved Magnolia opens its pure blossoms to the Humming Bird;—then look up, and you will see the Mississippi Kite, as he comes sailing over the scene. He glances towards the earth with his fiery eye; sweeps along, now with the gentle breeze, now against it; seizes here and there the high-flying giddy bug, and allays his hunger without fatigue to wing or talon. Suddenly he spies some creeping thing that changes, like the chameleon, from vivid green to dull-brown, to escape his notice; It is the red-throated panting lizard that has made its way to the highest branch of a tree in quest of food. Casting upwards a sidelong look of fear, it remains motionless, so well does it know the prowess of the bird of prey: but its caution is vain; it has been perceived, its fate is sealed, and the next moment it is swept away.

The Mississippi Kite thus extends its migrations as high as the city of Memphis, on the noble stream whose name it bears, and along our eastern shores to the Carolinas, where it now and then breeds, feeding the while on lizards, small snakes, and beetles, and sometimes, as if for want of better employ, teaching the Carrion Crows and Buzzards to fly. At other times, congregating to the number of twenty or more, these birds are seen sweeping around some tree, catching the large locusts which abound in those countries at an early part of the season, and reminding one of the Chimney Swallows, which are so often seen performing similar evolutions, when endeavouring to snap off the little dried twigs of which their nests are composed.

Early in May, the thick-leaved Bay-Tree (Magnolia grandiflora), affords in its high tops a place of safety, in which the Hawk of the South may raise its young. These are out by the end of July, and are fed by the parent birds until well practised in the art of procuring subsistence. About the middle of August, they all wing their way southward.

The affection which the old birds display towards their young, and the methods which they occasionally employ to insure the safety of the latter, are so remarkable, that, before I proceed to describe their general habits, I shall relate a case in which I was concerned.

Early one morning, whilst I was admiring the beauties of nature, as the vegetable world lay embalmed in dew, I heard the cry of a bird that I mistook for that of a Pewee Flycatcher. It was prolonged, I thought, as if uttered in distress. After looking for the bird a long time in vain, an object which I had at first supposed to be something that had accidentally lodged in a branch, attracted my attention, as I thought I perceived it moving. It did move distinctly, and the cry that had ceased from the time when I reached the spot where I stood, was repeated, evidently coming from the object in view. I now took it for a young one of the Chuck-Will's-Widow, as it sat lengthwise on the branch. I shot at it, but perhaps did not hit it, as it only opened and closed its wings, as if surprised. At the report of the gun, the old bird came, holding food in her claws. She perceived me, but alighted, and fed her young with great kindness. I shot at both, and again missed, or at least did not succeed, which might have happened from my having only small shot in my gun. The mother flew in silence, sailed over head just long enough to afford me time to reload, returned, and to my great surprise gently lifted her young, and sailing with it to another tree, about thirty yards distant, deposited it there. My feelings at that moment I cannot express. I wished I had not discovered the poor bird; for who could have witnessed, without emotion, so striking an example of that affection which none but a mother can feel; so daring an act, performed in the midst of smoke, in the presence of a dreaded and dangerous enemy. I followed, however, and brought both to the ground at one shot, so keen is the desire of possession!

The young had the head of a fawn-colour, but I took little more notice of it, depositing the two birds under a log, whence I intended to remove them on my return, for the purpose of drawing and describing them. I then proceeded on my excursion to a lake a few miles distant. On coming back, what was my mortification, when I found that some quadruped had devoured both! My punishment was merited.

The Mississippi Kite arrives in Lower Louisiana about the middle of April in small parties of five or six, and confines itself to the borders of deep woods, or to those near plantations, not far from the shores of the rivers, lakes, or bayous. It never moves into the interior of the country, and in this respect resembles the Falco furcatus. Plantations lately cleared, and yet covered with tall dying girted trees, placed near a creek or bayou, seemed to suit it best.

Its flight is graceful, vigorous, protracted, and often extended to a great height, the Forked-tailed Hawk being the only species that can compete with it. At times it floats in the air, as if motionless, or sails in broad regular circles, when, suddenly closing its wings, it slides along to some distance, and renews its curves. Now it sweeps in deep and long undulations, with the swiftness of an arrow, passing almost within touching distance of a branch on which it has observed a small lizard, or an insect it longs for, but from which it again ascends disappointed. Now it is seen to move in hurried zig-zags, as if pursued by a dangerous enemy, sometimes seeming to turn over and over like a Tumbling Pigeon. Again it is observed flying round the trunk of a tree to secure large insects, sweeping with astonishing velocity. While travelling, it moves in the desultory manner followed by Swallows; but at other times it is seen soaring at a great elevation among the large flocks of Carrion Crows and Turkey Buzzards, joined by the Forked-tailed Hawk, dashing at the former, and giving them chase, as if in play, until these cowardly scavengers sweep downwards, abandoning this to them disagreeable sport to the Hawks, who now continue to gambol undisturbed. When in pursuit of a large insect or a small reptile, it turns its body sidewise, throws out its legs, expands its talons, and generally seizes its prey in an instant. It feeds while on wing, apparently with as much ease and comfort, as when alighted on the branch of a tall tree. It never alights on the earth; at least I have never seen it do so, except when wounded, and then it appears extremely awkward. It never attacks birds or quadrupeds of any kind, with the view of destroying them for food, although it will chase a fox to a considerable distance, screaming loudly all the while, and soon forces a Crow to retreat to the woods.

The nest of this species is always placed in the upper branches of the tallest trees. I thought it gave the preference to those tall and splendid magnolias and white oaks, which adorn our Southern States. The nest resembles that of the dilapidated tenement of the Common American Crow, and is formed of sticks slightly put together, along with branches of Spanish moss (Usnea), pieces of vine bark, and dried leaves. The eggs are two or three, almost globular, of a light greenish tint, blotched thickly over with deep chocolate-brown and black. Only one brood is raised in the season, and I think the female sits more than half the time necessary for incubation. The young I also think obtain nearly the full plumage of the old bird before they depart from us, as I have examined these birds early in August, when the migration was already begun, without observing much difference in their general colour, except only in the want of firmness in the tint of the young ones.

Once, early in the month of May, I found a nest of this bird placed on a fine tall white oak near a creek, and observed that the female was sitting with unceasing assiduity. The male I saw bring her food frequently. Not being able to ascend the tree, I hired a Negro, who had been a sailor for some years, to climb it and bring down the eggs or young. This he did by first mounting another tree, the branches of which crossed the lower ones of the oak. No sooner had he reached the trunk of the tree on which the nest was placed, than the male was seen hovering about and over it in evident displeasure, screaming and sweeping towards the intruder the higher he advanced. When he attained the branch on which the nest was, the female left her charge, and the pair, infuriated at his daring, flew with such velocity, and passed so close to him, that I expected every moment to see him struck by them. The black tar, however, proceeded quietly, reached the nest, and took out the eggs, apprising me that there were three. I requested him to bring them down with care, and to throw off the nest, which he did. The poor birds, seeing their tenement cast down to the ground, continued sweeping around us so low and so long, that I could not resist the temptation thus offered of shooting them.

The Mississippi Kite is by no means a shy bird, and one may generally depend on getting near it when alighted; but to follow it while on wing were useless, its flight being usually so elevated, and its sweeps over a field or wood so rapid and varied, that you might spend many hours in vain in attempting to get up with it. Even when alighted, it perches so high, that I have sometimes shot at it, without producing any other effect than that of causing it to open its wings and close them again, as if utterly ignorant of the danger to which it had been exposed, while it seemed to look down upon me quite unconcerned. When wounded, it comes to the ground with great force, and seldom attempts to escape, choosing rather to defend itself, which it does to the last, by throwing itself on its back, erecting the feathers of its head, screaming loudly in the manner of the Pigeon Hawk, disgorging the contents of its stomach, stretching out its talons, and biting or clenching with great vigour. It is extremely muscular, the flesh tough and rigid.

These birds at times search for food so far from the spot where their nest has been placed, that I have on several occasions been obliged to follow their course over the woods, as if in search of a wild bee's hive, before I could discover it. There is scarcely any perceptible difference between the sexes as to size, and in colour they are precisely similar, only the female has less of the ferruginous colour on her primaries than the male. The stomach is thin, rugous, and of a deep orange colour.

Falco plumbeus, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 283.—Lath. Index Ornith. vol. i. p. 49.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 90.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 92.

Mississippi Kite, Falco Mississippiensis, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 80. fig. 1. Male.

Adult Male. Plate CXVII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, as broad as deep at the base, the sides convex, the dorsal outline convex from the base; upper mandible cerate, the edges sharp, with an obtuse lobe towards the curvate, the tip trigonal, deflected, very acute; lower mandible inflected at the edges, rounded at the end. Nostrils round, lateral, basal, with a central papilla. Head rather large, the general form robust. Legs of moderate length, strong; tarsus stout, covered anteriorly with scutella, rounded behind; toes scutellate above, scaly on the sides, scabrous and tuberculate beneath; middle and outer toe connected at the base by a small membrane; claws roundish, curved, very acute.

Plumage compact, imbricated; feathers of the head narrow, pointed, and rather loose; tibial feathers elongated. Wings long and pointed, the third quill longest. Tail long, straight, retuse.

Bill black, as are the cere, lore, and a narrow band round the eye. Iris blood-red. Feet purplish, the scutella deep red; claws black. The head, the neck all round, and the under parts in general bluish-white. The back and wing-coverts are of a dark leaden colour, the ends of the secondary coverts white. The primaries black, margined externally with bright bay; the tail also deep black, as is the rump.

Length 14 inches, extent of wings 36; bill along the ridge 11⁄12, along the edge 11⁄12; tarsus 1¾.

Adult Female. Plate CXVII. Fig. 2.

The female differs little from the male in colour, and is not much larger.

Length 15 inches.

THE WARBLING FLYCATCHER OR VIREO.

Vireo gilvus, Bonap.
PLATE CXVIII. Male and Female.

While at the little village, now the city, of Camden, in New Jersey, where I had gone for the purpose of watching the passage of certain Warblers on their way north early in the month of May, I took lodgings in a street ornamented with a long avenue of tall Lombardy poplars, one of which almost touched my window. On it too I had the pleasure shortly afterwards of finding the nest of this interesting little bird. Never before had I seen it placed so low, and never before had I an opportunity of examining it, or of observing the particular habits of the species with so much advantage. The nest, although formed nearly in the same manner as several others, which I have since obtained by cutting them down with rifle balls, from the top twigs of the tall trees to which they were attached, instead of being fastened in the fork of a twig, was fixed to the body of the tree, and that of a branch coming off at a very acute angle. The birds were engaged in constructing it during eight days, working chiefly in the morning and evening. Previous to their selecting the spot, I frequently saw them examining the tree, warbling together as if congratulating each other on their good fortune in finding so snug a place. One morning I observed both of them at work; they had already attached some slender blades of grass to the knots on the branch and the bark of the trunk, and had given them a circular disposition. They continued working downwards and outwards, until the structure exhibited the form of their delicate tenement. Before the end of the second day, bits of hornets' nests and particles of corn-husks had been attached to it by pushing them between the rows of grass, and fixing them with silky substances. On the third day, the birds were absent, nor could I hear them anywhere in the neighbourhood, and thinking that a cat might have caught them from the edge of the roof, I despaired of seeing them again. On the fourth morning, however, their notes attracted my attention before I rose, and I had the pleasure of finding them at their labours. The materials which they now used consisted chiefly of extremely slender grasses, which the birds worked in a circular form within the frame which they had previously made. The little creatures were absent nearly an hour at a time, and returned together bringing the grass, which I concluded they found at a considerable distance. Going into the street to see in what direction they went, I watched them for some time, and followed them as they flew from tree to tree towards the river. There they stopped, and looked as if carefully watching me, on which I retired to a small distance, when they resumed their journey, and led me quite out of the village, to a large meadow, where stood an old hay stack. They alighted on it, and in a few minutes each had selected a blade of grass. Returning by the same route, they moved so slowly from one tree to another, that my patience was severely tried. Two other days were consumed in travelling for the same kind of grass. On the seventh I saw only the female at work, using wool and horse hair. The eighth was almost entirely spent by both in smoothing the inside. They would enter the nest, sit in it, turn round, and press the lining, I should suppose a hundred times or more in the course of an hour. The male had ceased to warble, and both birds exhibited great concern. They went off and returned so often that I actually became quite tired of this lesson in the art of nest-building, and perhaps I should not have looked at them more that day, had not the cat belonging to the house made her appearance just over my head, on the roof, within a few feet of the nest, and at times so very near the affrighted and innocent creatures, that my interest was at once renewed. I gave chase to grimalkin, and saved the Flycatchers at least for that season.

In the course of five days, an equal number of eggs was laid. They were small, of a rather narrow oval form, white, thinly spotted with reddish-black at the larger end. The birds sat alternately, though not with regularity as to time, and on the twelfth day of incubation the young came out. I observed that the male would bring insects to the female, and that after chopping and macerating them with her beak, she placed them in the mouth of her young with a care and delicacy which were not less curious than pleasing to me. Three or four days after, the male fed them also, and I thought that I saw them grow every time I turned from my drawing to peep at them.

On the fifteenth day, about eight in the morning, the little birds all stood on the border of the nest, and were fed as usual. They continued there the remainder of the day, and about sunset re-entered the nest. The old birds I had frequently observed roosted within about a foot above them. On the sixteenth day after their exclusion from the egg, they took to wing, and ascended the branches of the tree, with surprising ease and firmness. They were fed another day after, on the same tree, and roosted close together in a row on a small twig, the parents just above them. The next morning they flew across the street, and betook themselves to a fine peach-orchard several hundred yards from my lodging. Never had Huber watched the operations of his bees with more intentness than I had employed on this occasion, and I bade them adieu at last with great regret.

The principal food of this species consists of small black caterpillars, which that season infested all the poplars in the street. They searched for them in the manner of the Red-eyed Flycatcher and Blue-eyed Yellow Warbler, moving sidewise along the twigs, like the latter, now and then balancing themselves on the wing opposite their prey, and snapping it in the manner of the Muscicapa Ruticilla, sometimes alighting sidewise on the tree, seldom sallying forth in pursuit of insects more than a few yards, and always preferring to remain among the branches. I never saw either of the old birds disgorge pellets, as I have seen Pewees do.

I observed that they now and then stood in a stiffened attitude, balancing their body from side to side on the joint of the tarsus and toes, as on a hinge, but could not discover the import of this singular action. During the love days of the pair mentioned above, the male would spread its little wings and tail, and strut in short circles round the female, pouring out a low warble so sweet and mellow that I can compare it only to the sounds of a good musical box. The female received these attentions without coyness, and I have often thought that these birds had been attached to each other before that season.

No name could have been imposed upon this species with more propriety than that of the Warbling Flycatcher. The male sings from morning to night, so sweetly, so tenderly, with so much mellowness and softness of tone, and yet with notes so low, that one might think he sings only for his beloved, without the least desire to attract the attention of rivals. In this he differs greatly from most other birds. Even its chiding notes—tschĕ, tschĕ, were low and unobtruding. The nestlings uttered a lisping sound, not unlike that of a young mouse. The only time I saw the old birds ruffled, was on discovering a brown lizard ascending their tree. They attacked it courageously, indeed furiously, and although I did not see them strike it, compelled it to leave the place.

The flight of the Warbling Flycatcher is performed by gentle glidings, and seldom extends to a greater length than a hundred yards at a time. I never saw it on the ground.

It was never observed by me in Louisiana or Kentucky, nor does it pass along the maritime districts of Georgia or the Carolinas; but from Virginia to Maine it is not uncommon, although I saw none farther north. It arrives in the Jerseys and Pennsylvania about the first of May, some years perhaps a little earlier, and proceeds farther east as the season advances. I do not think that it raises more than one brood each season, although I have observed it as late as the 15th of October in the Middle Districts, where I believe the greater number of these birds spend the summer. Not one could I see during the winter in the Floridas, where, however, the White-eyed and Red-eyed Flycatchers were frequently heard in full song.

Vireo gilvus, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 70.

Warbling Flycatcher, Muscicapa melodia, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. v. p. 85. pl. 42. fig. 2.

Warbling Vireo, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 309.

Adult Male. Plate CXVIII.

Bill rather short, depressed at the base, subtriangular, compressed toward the tip, acute; upper mandible with the sides convex, notched towards the end, and deflected at the tip. Nostrils basal, lateral, oblong. Head rather large, neck short, body ovate. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, sharp behind; toes slender, free; claws small, slightly arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings of ordinary length, the second and third primaries longest, first and fifth about equal. Tail of ordinary length, slightly emarginate. Basirostral bristles rather short.

Bill lead-colour above, flesh-colour beneath. Iris dark hazel. Feet lead-colour. The general colour of the plumage above is pale olive-green, tinged with ash on the neck and shoulders. A white line over the eye; space beneath it and the under parts generally of the same colour, the sides tinged with pale greenish-yellow. Quills and their coverts dark-brown, margined with pale olive-green. Tail similarly edged.

Length 5¼ inches, extent of wings 8½; bill along the ridge 4⁄12, along the edge 6⁄12; tarsus 8⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXVIII. Fig. 2.

The Female, which is slightly smaller, resembles the male in colouring.

The Swamp Magnolia.

Magnolia glauca, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 1256.—Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 381.—Mich. Arbr. Forest. de l'Amer. Septentr. vol. iii. p. 78. pl. 2.—Polyandria Polygynia, Linn. Magnoliæ, Juss.

The Swamp Magnolia is abundant in all marshy places from Louisiana to Connecticut, growing in groves in and around the swamps. It seldom exceeds twenty feet in height, and is more usually eight or ten. The flowers have an agreeable odour, but are of short duration, although the tree continues blooming for several months. It is not unfrequent to find it, in the Southern States, in flower during autumn. The species is characterized by its ovate leaves, which are glaucous beneath, and its obovate petals, narrowed at the base. It bears different names in the different States, such as Swamp Laurel, Swamp Sassafras, Sweet Bay, White Bay, &c.

THE YELLOW-THROATED FLYCATCHER, OR VIREO.

Vireo flavifrons, Vieill.
PLATE CXIX. Male.

While the small White-eyed Vireo rambles among the low bushes and brambles of the fields of all parts of the United States, the Yellow-throated species takes possession of the forest, and gleans with equal ease among the branches of the tallest trees, to which it seems to give a marked preference during the spring and summer. It is fond of the quietest solitudes, and in its habits is nearly allied to the Red-eyed Vireo. Like it also, it is a slow, careful, and industrious bird, never imitating the petulant, infantile, and original (if I may so speak) freaks of its gay relative, the White-eyed. It is more silent than either of the species above mentioned, although its notes have a strong resemblance to those of the Red-eyed. These notes are more measured and plaintive than those of any of its tribe, sometimes consisting of sounds resembling the syllables prēe-ā, preē-ā, rising and falling in sweet modulation. One might imagine them the notes of a bird lost in the woods, and they make a strong impression on the mind of the listener. Now and then the sight of his mate seems to animate the male, when he repeats the same syllables eight or ten times in succession. When sitting pensively on a twig, as if waiting for an invitation to sing, it utters a kind of whining sound, and in autumn, as well as during its retrograde march towards the south, it becomes quite silent.

When searching for food, it ascends the branches of trees by regular short hops, examining with care every leaf and bud in its way, never leaving a branch for another until it is quite assured that nothing remains on it. When flying to some distance, its motions, although quick, are irregular, and it passes among the boughs at a moderate height.

This species is at all times extremely rare in Louisiana, where I have seen it only during early spring or late in the autumn. My friend BACHMAN, has never observed it in South Carolina. Indeed, it is only from Pennsylvania eastward that it is met with in any quantity. During summer it feeds entirely on insects, devouring with equal pleasure caterpillars, small moths, wasps, and wild bees. The summer over, it ranges among the low bushes in search of berries, accompanied by its young, and at that time enters the orchards and gardens even of our villages and cities. It arrives in Pennsylvania and New Jersey about the end of April, and in Massachusetts and Maine about a month later.

The nest of the Yellow-throated Vireo is truly a beautiful fabric. It sometimes extends to five or six inches in depth, and as it is always placed at the extremity of small twigs, it is very conspicuous. It is attached to these twigs with much care by slender threads of vines, or those of other trees at its upper edges, mixed with the silk of different caterpillars, and enclosed with lichens, so neatly attached by means of saliva, that the whole outer surface seems formed of them, while the inner bed, which is about two and a half inches in diameter, by an inch and a half in depth, is lined with delicate grasses, between which and the bottom coarser materials, are employed to fill the space, such as bits of hornets' nests, dry leaves, and wool. The eggs, which are four or five in number, are of an elongated form, white, spotted with reddish-brown or black. The young are out about the beginning of July. In Maine it raises one brood only, but farther south not unfrequently two.

Vireo flavifrons, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 70.

Yellow-throated Flycatcher, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 117. pl. 7. fig. 3.

Yellow-throated Vireo, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 302.

Adult Male. Plate CXIX.

Bill of moderate length, broad and depressed at the base, compressed towards the tip, acute; upper mandible with the sides convex, the edges sharp, the tip deflected; lower mandible straight, the back rounded, the edges sharp, the tip acute. Nostrils basal, lateral, oblong. Head rather large, neck short, body robust. Feet of ordinary length; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, sharp behind; toes slender, free; claws slightly arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Wings of ordinary length, the second and third primaries longest. Tail of ordinary length, emarginate. Basirostral bristles short.

Bill brownish-black above, the greater part of the lower mandible pale blue, the tip dusky. Iris dark brown. Feet lead-colour. The upper parts of a deep greenish-olive, the quills and coverts deep brown, the latter tipped with white, the primaries and some of the secondaries edged with the same, as are the tail-feathers. Throat, fore-neck, and anterior part of the breast, with a short line over the eye, rich lemon-yellow; posterior half of the breast, the abdomen, and the lower tail-coverts, white.

Length 5¾ inches, extent of wings 9½; bill along the ridge 5⁄12, along the edge 8⁄12; tarsus ¾.

The Female resembles the male in external appearance.

The Swamp Snowball.

Hydrangea quercifolia, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 634. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 309.—Decandria Digynia, Linn. Saxifragæ, Juss.

This plant is found on the broken sandy banks bordering small water-courses, and is abundant in such situations in the uplands of Louisiana. It seldom grows beyond the size of a bush. The blossoms are lasting, and although without odour, are pleasing to the eye, on account of their pure white colour when first expanded; they dry on the stalks, retaining their form, and remaining until winter. The species is characterized by its oblong, deeply sinuate leaves, which are downy beneath, and its radiated loosely thyrsiform cymes.

THE PEWEE FLYCATCHER.

Muscicapa fusca, Bonap.
PLATE CXX. Male and Female.

Connected with the biography of this bird are so many incidents relative to my own, that could I with propriety deviate from my proposed method, the present volume would contain less of the habits of birds than of those of the youthful days of an American woodsman. While young, I had a plantation that lay on the sloping declivities of a creek, the name of which I have already given, but as it will ever be dear to my recollection, you will, I hope, allow me to repeat it—the Perkioming. I was extremely fond of rambling along its rocky banks, for it would have been difficult to do so either without meeting with a sweet flower, spreading open its beauties to the sun, or observing the watchful King's-fisher perched on some projecting stone over the clear water of the stream. Nay, now and then, the Fish Hawk itself, followed by a White-headed Eagle, would make his appearance, and by his graceful aerial motions, raise my thoughts far above them into the heavens, silently leading me to the admiration of the sublime Creator of all. These impressive, and always delightful, reveries often accompanied my steps to the entrance of a small cave scooped out of the solid rock by the hand of nature. It was, I then thought, quite large enough for my study. My paper and pencils, with now and then a volume of Edgeworth's natural and fascinating Tales or Lafontaine's Fables, afforded me ample pleasures. It was in that place, kind reader, that I first saw with advantage the force of parental affection in birds. There it was that I studied the habits of the Pewee; and there I was taught most forcibly that to destroy the nest of a bird, or to deprive it of its eggs or young, is an act of great cruelty.

I had observed the nest of this plain-coloured Flycatcher fastened, as it were, to the rock immediately over the arched entrance of this calm retreat. I had peeped into it: although empty, it was yet clean, as if the absent owner intended to revisit it with the return of spring. The buds were already much swelled, and some of the trees were ornamented with blossoms, yet the ground was still partially covered with snow, and the air retained the piercing chill of winter. I chanced one morning early to go to my retreat. The sun's glowing rays gave a rich colouring to every object around. As I entered the cave, a rustling sound over my head attracted my attention, and, on turning, I saw two birds fly off, and alight on a tree close by:—the Pewees had arrived! I felt delighted, and fearing that my sudden appearance might disturb the gentle pair, I walked off, not, however, without frequently looking at them. I concluded that they must have just come, for they seemed fatigued:—their plaintive note was not heard, their crests were not erected, and the vibration of the tail, so very conspicuous in this species, appeared to be wanting in power. Insects were yet few, and the return of the birds looked to me as prompted more by their affection to the place, than by any other motive. No sooner had I gone a few steps than the Pewees, with one accord glided down from their perches and entered the cave. I did not return to it any more that day, and as I saw none about it, or in the neighbourhood, I supposed that they must have spent the day within it. I concluded also that these birds must have reached this haven, either during the night, or at the very dawn of that morn. Hundreds of observations have since proved to me that this species always migrates by night.

Filled with the thoughts of the little pilgrims, I went early next morning to their retreat, yet not early enough to surprise them in it. Long before I reached the spot, my ears were agreeably saluted by their well-known note, and I saw them darting about through the air, giving chase to some insects close over the water. They were full of gaiety, frequently flew into and out of the cave, and while alighted on a favourite tree near it, seemed engaged in the most interesting converse. The light fluttering or tremulous motions of their wings, the jetting of their tail, the erection of their crest, and the neatness of their attitudes, all indicated that they were no longer fatigued, but on the contrary refreshed and happy. On my going into the cave, the male flew violently towards the entrance, snapped his bill sharply and repeatedly, accompanying this action with a tremulous rolling note, the import of which I soon guessed. Presently he flew into the cave and out of it again, with a swiftness scarcely credible: it was like the passing of a shadow.

Several days in succession I went to the spot, and saw with pleasure that as my visits increased in frequency, the birds became more familiarized to me, and, before a week had elapsed, the Pewees and myself were quite on terms of intimacy. It was now the 10th of April; the spring was forward that season, no more snow was to be seen, Redwings and Grakles were to be found here and there. The Pewees, I observed, began working at their old nest. Desirous of judging for myself, and anxious to enjoy the company of this friendly pair, I determined to spend the greater part of each day in the cave. My presence no longer alarmed either of them. They brought a few fresh materials, lined the nest anew, and rendered it warm by adding a few large soft feathers of the common goose, which they found strewn along the edge of the water in the creek. There was a remarkable and curious twittering in their note while both sat on the edge of the nest at those meetings, and which is never heard on any other occasion. It was the soft, tender expression, I thought, of the pleasure they both appeared to anticipate of the future. Their mutual caresses, simple as they might have seemed to another, and the delicate manner used by the male to please his mate, rivetted my eyes on these birds, and excited sensations which I can never forget.

The female one day spent the greater part of the time in her nest; she frequently changed her position; her mate exhibited much uneasiness, he would alight by her sometimes, sit by her side for a moment, and suddenly flying out, would return with an insect, which she took from his bill with apparent gratification. About three o'clock in the afternoon, I saw the uneasiness of the female increase; the male showed an unusual appearance of despondence, when, of a sudden, the female rose on her feet, looked sidewise under her, and flying out, followed by her attentive consort, left the cave, rose high in the air, performing evolutions more curious to me than any I had seen before. They flew about over the water, the female leading her mate, as it were, through her own meanderings. Leaving the Pewees to their avocations, I peeped into their nest, and saw there their first egg, so white and so transparent—for I believe, reader, that eggs soon lose this peculiar transparency after being laid—that to me the sight was more pleasant than if I had met with a diamond of the same size. The knowledge that in an enclosure so frail, life already existed, and that ere many weeks would elapse, a weak, delicate, and helpless creature, but perfect in all its parts, would burst the shell, and immediately call for the most tender care and attention of its anxious parents, filled my mind with as much wonder as when, looking towards the heavens, I searched, alas! in vain, for the true import of all that I saw.

In six days, six eggs were deposited; but I observed that as they increased in number, the bird remained a shorter time in the nest. The last she deposited in a few minutes after alighting. Perhaps, thought I, this is a law of nature, intended for keeping the eggs fresh to the last. Kind reader, what are your thoughts on the subject? About an hour after laying the last egg, the female Pewee returned, settled in her nest, and, after arranging the eggs, as I thought, several times under her body, expanded her wings a little, and fairly commenced the arduous task of incubation.

Day after day passed by. I gave strict orders that no one should go near the cave, much less enter it, or indeed destroy any bird's nest on the plantation. Whenever I visited the Pewees, one or other of them was on the nest, while its mate was either searching for food, or perched in the vicinity, filling the air with its loudest notes. I not unfrequently reached out my hand near the sitting bird; and so gentle had they both become, or rather so well acquainted were we, that neither moved on such occasions, even when my hand was quite close to it. Now and then the female would shrink back into the nest, but the male frequently snapped at my fingers, and once left the nest as if in great anger, flew round the cave a few times, emitting his querulous whining notes, and alighted again to resume his labours.

At this very time, a Pewee's nest was attached to one of the rafters of my mill, and there was another under a shed in the cattle-yard. Each pair, any one would have felt assured, had laid out the limits of its own domain, and it was seldom that one trespassed on the grounds of its neighbour. The Pewee of the cave generally fed or spent its time so far above the mill on the creek, that he of the mill never came in contact with it. The Pewee of the cattle-yard confined himself to the orchard, and never disturbed the rest. Yet I sometimes could hear distinctly the notes of the three at the same moment. I had at that period an idea that the whole of these birds were descended from the same stock. If not correct in this supposition, I had ample proof afterwards that the brood of young Pewees, raised in the cave, returned the following spring, and established themselves farther up on the creek, and among the outhouses in the neighbourhood.

On some other occasion, I will give you such instances of the return of birds, accompanied by their progeny, to the place of their nativity, that perhaps you will become convinced, as I am at this moment, that to this propensity every country owes the augmentation of new species, whether of birds or of quadrupeds, attracted by the many benefits met with, as countries become more open and better cultivated: but now I will, with your leave, return to the Pewees of the cave.

On the thirteenth day, the little ones were hatched. One egg was unproductive, and the female, on the second day after the birth of her brood, very deliberately pushed it out of the nest. On examining this egg I found it containing the embryo of a bird partly dried up, with its vertebræ quite fast to the shell, which had probably occasioned its death. Never have I since so closely witnessed the attention of birds to their young. Their entrance with insects was so frequently repeated, that I thought I saw the little ones grow as I gazed upon them. The old birds no longer looked upon me as an enemy, and would often come in close by me, as if I had been a post. I now took upon me to handle the young frequently; nay, several times I took the whole family out, and blew off the exuviæ of the feathers from the nest. I attached light threads to their legs: these they invariably removed, either with their bills, or with the assistance of their parents. I renewed them, however, until I found the little fellows habituated to them; and at last, when they were about to leave the nest, I fixed a light silver thread to the leg of each, loose enough not to hurt the part, but so fastened that no exertions of theirs could remove it.

Sixteen days had passed, when the brood took to wing; and the old birds, dividing the time with caution, began to arrange the nest anew. A second set of eggs were laid, and in the beginning of August a new brood made its appearance.

The young birds took much to the woods, as if feeling themselves more secure there than in the open fields; but before they departed, they all appeared strong, and minded not making long sorties into the open air, over the whole creek, and the fields around it. On the 8th of October, not a Pewee could I find on the plantation: my little companions had all set off on their travels. For weeks afterwards, however, I saw Pewees arriving from the north, and lingering a short time, as if to rest, when they also moved southward.

At the season when the Pewee returns to Pennsylvania, I had the satisfaction to observe those of the cave in and about it. There again, in the very same nest, two broods were raised. I found several Pewees' nests at some distance up the creek, particularly under a bridge, and several others in the adjoining meadows, attached to the inner part of sheds erected for the protection of hay and grain. Having caught several of these birds on the nest, I had the pleasure of finding that two of them had the little ring on the leg.

I was now obliged to go to France, where I remained two years. On my return, which happened early in August, I had the satisfaction of finding three young Pewees in the nest of the cave; but it was not the nest which I had left in it. The old one had been torn off from the roof, and the one which I found there was placed above where it stood. I observed at once that one of the parent birds was as shy as possible, while the other allowed me to approach within a few yards. This was the male bird, and I felt confident that the old female had paid the debt of nature. Having inquired of the miller's son, I found that he had killed the old Pewee and four young ones, to make bait for the purpose of catching fish. Then the male Pewee had brought another female to the cave! As long as the plantation of Mill Grove belonged to me, there continued to be a Pewee's nest in my favourite retreat; but after I had sold it, the cave was destroyed, as were nearly all the beautiful rocks along the shores of the creek, to build a new dam across the Perkioming.

This species is so peculiarly fond of attaching its nest to rocky caves, that, were it called the Rock Flycatcher, it would be appropriately named. Indeed I seldom have passed near such a place, particularly during the breeding season, without seeing the Pewee, or hearing its notes. I recollect that, while travelling in Virginia with a friend, he desired that I would go somewhat out of our intended route, to visit the renowned Rock Bridge of that State. My companion, who had passed over this natural bridge before, proposed a wager that he could lead me across it before I should be aware of its existence. It was early in April; and, from the descriptions of this place which I had read, I felt confident that the Pewee Flycatcher must be about it. I accepted the proposal of my friend and trotted on, intent on proving to myself that, by constantly attending to one subject, a person must sooner or later become acquainted with it. I listened to the notes of the different birds, which at intervals came to my ear, and at last had the satisfaction to distinguish those of the Pewee. I stopped my horse, to judge of the distance at which the bird might be, and a moment after told my friend that the bridge was short of a hundred yards from us, although it was impossible for us to see the spot itself. The surprise of my companion was great. "How do you know this?" he asked, "for," continued he, "you are correct."—"Simply," answered I, "because I hear the notes of the Pewee, and know that a cave, or a deep rocky creek, is at hand." We moved on; the Pewees rose from under the bridge in numbers; I pointed to the spot and won the wager.

This rule of observation I have almost always found to work, as arithmeticians say, both ways. Thus the nature of the woods or place in which the observer may be, whether high or low, moist or dry, sloping north or south, with whatever kind of vegetation, tall trees of particular species, or low shrubs, will generally disclose the nature of their inhabitants.

The flight of the Pewee Flycatcher is performed by a fluttering light motion, frequently interrupted by sailings. It is slow when the bird is proceeding to some distance, rather rapid when in pursuit of prey. It often mounts perpendicularly from its perch after an insect, and returns to some dry twig, from which it can see around to a considerable distance. It then swallows the insect whole, unless it happen to be large. It will at times pursue an insect to a considerable distance, and seldom without success. It alights with great firmness, immediately erects itself in the manner of hawks, glances all around, shakes its wings with a tremulous motion, and vibrates its tail upwards as if by a spring. Its tufty crest is generally erected, and its whole appearance is neat, if not elegant. The Pewee has its particular stands, from which it seldom rambles far. The top of a fence stake near the road is often selected by it, from which it sweeps off in all directions, returning at intervals, and thus remaining the greater part of the morning and evening. The corner of the roof of the barn suits it equally well, and if the weather requires it, it may be seen perched on the highest dead twig of a tall tree. During the heat of the day it reposes in the shade of the woods. In the autumn it will choose the stalk of the mullein for its stand, and sometimes the projecting angle of a rock jutting over a stream. It now and then alights on the ground for an instant, but this happens principally during winter, or while engaged during spring in collecting the materials of which its nest is composed, in our Southern States, where many spend their time at this season.

I have found this species abundant in the Floridas in winter, in full song, and as lively as ever, also in Louisiana and the Carolinas, particularly in the cotton fields. None, however, to my knowledge, breed south of Charlestown in South Carolina, and very few in the lower parts of that State. They leave Louisiana in February, and return to it in October. Occasionally during winter they feed on berries of different kinds, and are quite expert at discovering the insects impaled on thorns by the Loggerhead Shrike, and which they devour with avidity. I met with a few of these birds on the Magdeleine Islands, on the coast of Labrador, and in Newfoundland.

The nest of this species bears some resemblance to that of the Barn Swallow, the outside consisting of mud, with which are firmly impacted grasses or mosses of various kinds deposited in regular strata. It is lined with delicate fibrous roots, or shreds of vine bark, wool, horse-hair, and sometimes a few feathers. The greatest diameter across the open mouth is from five to six inches, and the depth from four to five. Both birds work alternately, bringing pellets of mud or damp earth, mixed with moss, the latter of which is mostly disposed on the outer parts, and in some instances the whole exterior looks as if entirely formed of it. The fabric is firmly attached to a rock, or a wall, the rafter of a house, &c. In the barrens of Kentucky I have found the nests fixed to the side of those curious places called sink-holes, and as much as twenty feet below the surface of the ground. I have observed that when the Pewees return in spring, they strengthen their tenement by adding to the external parts attached to the rock, as if to prevent it from falling, which after all it sometimes does when several years old. Instances of their taking possession of the nest of the Republican Swallow (Hirundo fulva) have been observed in the State of Maine. The eggs are from four to six, rather elongated, pure white, generally with a few reddish spots near the larger end.

In Virginia, and probably as far as New York, they not unfrequently raise two broods, sometimes three, in a season. My learned friend, Professor Nuttall, of Cambridge College, Massachusetts, thinks that the Pewee seldom raises more than one brood in the year in that State.

This species ejects the hard particles of the wings, legs, abdomen, and other parts of insects, in small pellets, in the manner of owls, goatsuckers and swallows.

Muscicapa fusca, Ch. Bonaparte's Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 68.

Pewit flycatcher, Muscicapa nunciola, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 78. Pl. 13. Fig. 4.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 278.

Adult Male. Plate CXX. Fig. 1.

Bill rather long, broad and depressed at the base, compressed towards the tip, acute; upper mandible with the dorsal line slightly arched, the sides convex, the edges sharp, the tip declinate; lower mandible straight, the back convex, the edges sharp. The general proportions are rather slender, the eyes large. Feet short, rather slender; tarsus shorter than the middle toe, compressed anteriorly scutellate, sharp behind; toes slender, free; claws small, weak, slightly arched, acute.

Plumage blended, soft, glossy; feathers of the head elongated and erectile. Basirostral bristles long. Wings of ordinary length, the third and fourth quills longest. Tail rather long, emarginate.

Bill and feet black. Iris brown. The general colour of the plumage is dull olive green, darker on the head; the quills and tail dusky, the larger coverts and inner secondaries edged with pale brown; the outer tail feathers whitish on their outer edge towards the base. The lower parts in general are brownish white, the sides dusky.

Length 7 inches, extent of wings 9½; bill along the ridge 6⁄12, along the edge 10⁄12; tarsus ¾.

Adult Female. Plate CXX. Fig. 2.

The Female resembles the Male, being only a little lighter on the sides of the neck.

The Cotton Plant.

Gossypium herbaceum, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. ii. p. 462.—Monadelphia Polyandria, Linn. Malvaceæ, Juss.

See [vol. i. p. 359].

THE SQUATTERS OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

Although every European traveller who has glided down the Mississippi, at the rate of ten miles an hour, has told his tale of the Squatters, yet none has given any other account of them than that they are "a sallow, sickly-looking sort of miserable beings," living in swamps, and subsisting on pig-nuts, Indian corn, and bear's flesh. It is obvious, however, that none but a person acquainted with their history, manners, and condition, can give any real information respecting them.

The individuals who become squatters, choose that sort of life of their own free will. They mostly remove from other parts of the United States, after finding that land has become too high in price, and they are persons who, having a family of strong and hardy children, are anxious to enable them to provide for themselves. They have heard from good authorities, that the country extending along the great streams of the West, is of all parts of the Union the richest in its soil, the growth of its timber, and the abundance of its game; that, besides, the Mississippi is the great road to and from all the markets in the world; and that every vessel borne by its waters, affords to settlers some chance of selling their commodities, or of exchanging them for others. To these recommendations is added another, of even greater weight with persons of the above denomination, namely, the prospect of being able to settle on land, and perhaps to hold it for a number of years, without purchase, rent or tax of any kind. How many thousands of individuals in all parts of the globe would gladly try their fortune with such prospects, I leave to you, reader, to determine.

As I am not disposed too highly to colour the picture which I am about to submit to your inspection, instead of pitching on individuals who have removed from our eastern boundaries, and of whom certainly there are a good number, I shall introduce to you the members of a family from Virginia, first giving you an idea of their condition in that country, previous to their migration to the west. The land which they and their ancestors have possessed for a hundred years, having been constantly forced to produce crops of one kind or other, is now completely worn out. It exhibits only a superficial layer of red clay, cut up by deep ravines, through which much of the soil has been conveyed to some more fortunate neighbour, residing in a yet rich and beautiful valley. Their strenuous efforts to render it productive have failed. They dispose of every thing too cumbrous or expensive for them to remove, retaining only a few horses, a servant or two, and such implements of husbandry and other articles as may be necessary on their journey, or useful when they arrive at the spot of their choice.

I think I see them at this moment harnessing their horses, and attaching them to their waggons, which are already filled with bedding, provisions, and the younger children, while on their outside are fastened spinning-wheels and looms, and a bucket filled with tar and tallow swings between the hind wheels. Several axes are secured to the bolster, and the feeding trough of the horses contains pots, kettles, and pans. The servant, now become a driver, rides the near saddled horse, the wife is mounted on another, the worthy husband shoulders his gun, and his sons, clad in plain substantial homespun, drive the cattle a-head, and lead the procession, followed by the hounds and other dogs. Their day's journey is short and not agreeable:—the cattle, stubborn or wild, frequently leave the road for the woods, giving the travellers much trouble; the harness of the horses here and there gives way, and needs immediate repair; a basket, which has accidentally dropped, must be gone after, for nothing that they have can be spared; the roads are bad, and now and then all hands are called to push on the waggon, or prevent it from upsetting. Yet by sun-set they have proceeded perhaps twenty miles. Rather fatigued, all assemble round the fire, which has been lighted, supper is prepared, and a camp being erected, there they pass the night.

Days and weeks, nay months, of unremitting toil, pass before they gain the end of their journey. They have crossed both the Carolinas, Georgia, and Alabama. They have been travelling from the beginning of May to that of September, and with heavy hearts they traverse the State of Mississippi. But now, arrived on the banks of the broad stream, they gaze in amazement on the dark deep woods around them. Boats of various kinds they see gliding downwards with the current, while others slowly ascend against it. A few inquiries are made at the nearest dwelling, and, assisted by the inhabitants with their boats and canoes, they at once cross the Mississippi, and select their place of habitation.

The exhalations arising from the swamps and morasses around them, have a powerful effect on these new settlers, but all are intent on preparing for the winter. A small patch of ground is cleared by the axe and the fire, a temporary cabin is erected, to each of the cattle is attached a jingling-bell before it is let loose into the neighbouring canebrake, and the horses remain about the house, where they find sufficient food at that season. The first trading boat that stops at their landing, enables them to provide themselves with some flour, fish-hooks, and ammunition, as well as other commodities. The looms are mounted, the spinning-wheels soon furnish some yarn, and in a few weeks the family throw off their ragged clothes, and array themselves in suits adapted to the climate. The father and sons meanwhile have sown turnips and other vegetables; and from some Kentucky flat boat, a supply of live poultry has been procured.

October tinges the leaves of the forest, the morning dews are heavy, the days hot, the nights chill, and the unacclimated family in a few days are attacked with ague. The lingering disease almost prostrates their whole faculties, and one seeing them at such a period might well call them sallow and sickly. Fortunately the unhealthy season soon passes over, and the hoarfrosts make their appearance. Gradually each individual recovers strength. The largest ash trees are felled; their trunks are cut, split, and corded in front of the building; a large fire is lighted under night on the edge of the water, and soon a steamer calls to purchase the wood, and thus add to their comforts during the winter.

This first fruit of their industry imparts new courage to them; their exertions multiply, and when spring returns, the place has a cheerful look. Venison, bear's-flesh, wild turkeys, ducks, and geese, with now and then some fish, have served to keep up their strength, and now their enlarged field is planted with corn, potatoes, and pumpkins. Their stock of cattle, too, has augmented; the steamer, which now stops there as if by preference, buys a calf or a pig, together with the whole of their wood. Their store of provisions is renewed, and brighter rays of hope enliven their spirits.

Who is he of the settlers on the Mississippi that cannot realise some profit? Truly none who is industrious. When the autumnal months return, all are better prepared to encounter the ague, which then prevails. Substantial food, suitable clothing, and abundant firing, repel its attacks; and before another twelvemonth has elapsed, the family is naturalized.

The sons have by this time discovered a swamp covered with excellent timber, and as they have seen many great rafts of saw logs, bound for the mills of New Orleans, floating past their dwelling, they resolve to try the success of a little enterprise. Their industry and prudence have already enhanced their credit. A few cross-saws are purchased, and some broad-wheeled "carry-logs" are made by themselves. Log after log is hauled to the bank of the river, and in a short time their first raft is made on the shore, and loaded with cord-wood. When the next freshet sets it afloat, it is secured by long grape-vines or cables, until the proper time being arrived, the husband and sons embark on it, and float down the mighty stream.

After encountering many difficulties, they arrive in safety at New Orleans where they dispose of their stock, the money obtained for which may be said to be all profit, supply themselves with such articles as may add to their convenience or comfort, and with light hearts, procure a passage on the upper deck of a steamer, at a very cheap rate, on account of the benefit of their labour in taking in wood or otherwise.

And now the vessel approaches their home. See the joyous mother and daughters as they stand on the bank! A store of vegetables lies around them, a large tub of fresh milk is at their feet, and in their hands are plates filled with rolls of butter. As the steamer stops, three broad straw-hats are waved from its upper deck; and soon, husband and wife, brothers and sisters, are in each other's embrace. The boat carries off the provisions, for which value has been left, and as the captain issues his orders for putting on the steam, the happy family enter their humble dwelling. The husband gives his bag of dollars to the wife, while the sons present some token of affection to their sisters. Surely, at such a moment, the Squatters are richly repaid for all their labours.

Every successive year has increased their savings. They now possess a large stock of horses, cows, and hogs, with abundance of provisions, and domestic comfort of every kind. The daughters have been married to the sons of neighbouring Squatters, and have gained sisters to themselves by the marriage of their brothers. The government secures to the family the lands, on which, twenty years before, they settled in poverty and sickness. Larger buildings are erected on piles, secure from the inundations; where a single cabin once stood, a neat village is now to be seen; warehouses, stores, and work-shops increase the importance of the place. The Squatters live respected, and in due time die regretted, by all who knew them.

Thus are the vast frontiers of our country peopled, and thus does cultivation, year after year, extend over the western wilds. Time will no doubt be, when the great valley of the Mississippi, still covered with primeval forests, interspersed with swamps, will smile with corn-fields and orchards, while crowded cities will rise at intervals along its banks, and enlightened nations will rejoice in the bounties of Providence.

THE SNOWY OWL.

Strix nyctea.
PLATE CXXI. Male and Female.

This beautiful bird is merely a winter visitor of the United States, where it is seldom seen before the month of November, and whence it retires as early as the beginning of February. It wanders at times along the sea coast, as far as Georgia. I have occasionally seen it in the lower parts of Kentucky, and in the State of Ohio. It is more frequently met with in Pennsylvania and the Jerseys; but in Massachusetts and Maine it is far more abundant than in any other parts of the Union.

The Snowy Owl hunts during the day, as well as in the dusk. Its flight is firm and protracted, although smooth and noiseless. It passes swiftly over its hunting ground, seizes its prey by instantaneously falling on it, and generally devours it on the spot. When the objects of its pursuit are on wing, such as ducks, grouse, or pigeons, it gains upon them by urging its speed, and strikes them somewhat in the manner of the Peregrine Falcon. It is fond of the neighbourhood of rivers and small streams, having in their course cataracts or shallow rapids, on the borders of which it seizes on fishes, in the manner of our wild cat. It also watches the traps set for musk-rats, and devours the animals caught in them. Its usual food, while it remains with us, consists of hares, squirrels, rats, and fishes, portions of all of which I have found in its stomach. In several fine specimens which I examined immediately after being killed, I found the stomach to be extremely thin, soft, and capable of great extension. In one of them I found the whole of a large house-rat, in pieces of considerable size, the head and the tail almost entire. This bird was very fat, and its intestines, which were thin, and so small as not to exceed a fourth of an inch in diameter, measured 4½ feet in length.

When skinned, the body of the Snowy Owl appears at first sight compact and very muscular, for the breast is large, as are the thighs and legs, these parts being covered with much flesh of a fine and delicate appearance, very much resembling that of a chicken, and not indelicate eating, but the thorax is very narrow for so large a bird. The keel of the breast-bone is fully an inch deep at its junction with the fourchette, which is wide. The heart and liver are large; the œsophagus is extremely wide, enabling the bird to swallow very large portions of its food at once. The skin may be drawn over the head without any difficulty, and from the body with ease. The male weighs 4 lb., the female 4¾ lb. avoirdupois.

The observations which I have made induce me to believe that the pure and rich light-yellowish whiteness of this species belongs to both sexes after a certain age. I have shot specimens which were, as I thought, so young as to be nearly of a uniform light-brown tint, and which puzzled me for several years, as I had at first conceived them to be of a different species. This, indeed, led me to think that, when young, these birds are brown. Others were more or less marked with broad transverse lines of deep brown or black; but I have seen specimens of both sexes perfectly free from spots, excepting on the occiput, where I have never missed them.

Some twenty years passed; and, during that time, scarcely was there a winter which did not bring several of these hardy natives of the north to the Falls of the Ohio at Louisville. At the break of day, one morning, when I lay hidden in a pile of floated logs, at the Falls of the Ohio, waiting for a shot at some wild geese, I had an opportunity of seeing this Owl secure fish in the following manner:—While watching for their prey on the borders of the "pots," they invariably lay flat on the rock, with the body placed lengthwise along the border of the hole, the head also laid down, but turned towards the water. One might have supposed the bird sound asleep, as it would remain in the same position until a good opportunity of securing a fish occurred, which I believe was never missed; for, as the latter unwittingly rose to the surface, near the edge, that instant the Owl thrust out the foot next the water, and, with the quickness of lightning, seized it, and drew it out. The Owl then removed to the distance of a few yards, devoured its prey, and returned to the same hole; or, if it had not perceived any more fish, flew only a few yards over the many pots there, marked a likely one, and alighted at a little distance from it. It then squatted, moved slowly towards the edge, and lay as before watching for an opportunity. Whenever a fish of any size was hooked, as I may say, the Owl struck the other foot also into it, and flew off with it to a considerable distance. In two instances of this kind, I saw the bird carry its prey across the Western or Indiana Shute, into the woods, as if to be quite out of harm's way. I never heard it utter a single note on such occasions, even when two birds joined in the repast, which was frequently the case, when the fish that had been caught was of a large size. At sun-rise, or shortly after, the Owls flew to the woods, and I did not see them until the next morning, when, after witnessing the same feats, I watched an opportunity, and killed both at one shot.

An old hunter, now residing in Maine, told me that one winter he lost so many musk-rats by the owls, that he resolved to destroy them. To effect this, without loss of ammunition, a great object to him, he placed musk-rats caught in the traps usually employed for the purpose, in a prominent spot, and in the centre of a larger trap. He said he seldom failed, and in this manner considerably "thinned the thieves," before the season was over. He found, however, more of the Great Grey Owl, Strix cinerea, than of the Snowy Owl. The latter he thought was much more cunning than the former.

In the course of a winter spent at Boston, I had some superb specimens of the Snowy Owl brought to me, one of which, a male, was alive, having only been touched in the wing. He stood upright, keeping his feathers close, but would not suffer me to approach him. His fine eyes watched every movement I made, and if I pretended to walk round him, the instant his head had turned as far as he could still see me, he would open his wings, and with large hops get to a corner of the room, when he would turn towards me, and again watch my approach. This bird had been procured on one of the sea-islands off Boston, by a gunner in my employ, who, after following it from one rock to another, with difficulty wounded it. In the course of the same winter, I saw one sailing high over the bay along with a number of gulls, which appeared to dislike his company, and chased it at a respectful distance, the owl seeming to pay no regard to them.

Several individuals have been procured near Charleston, in South Carolina, one on James' Island, another, now in the Charleston Museum, on Clarkson's plantation. A fine one was shot at Columbia, the seat of government for the State of that name, from the chimney of one of the largest houses in that town, and was beautifully preserved by Professor Gibbes of the Columbia College. I once met with one while walking with a friend near Louisville in Kentucky, in the middle of the day. It was perched on a broken stump of a tree in the centre of a large field; and, on seeing us, flew off, sailed round the field, and alighted again on the same spot. It evinced much impatience and apprehension, opening its wings several times as if intending to fly off; but, with some care, it was approached and shot. It proved to be a fine old female, the plumage of which was almost pure white. I have heard of individuals having been seen as far down the Mississippi as the town of Memphis. Some Indians assured me that they had shot one at the mouth of the Red River; and, while on the Arkansas River, I was frequently told of a large White Owl that had been seen there during winter.

So much has been said to me of its breeding in the northern parts of the State of Maine, that this may possibly be correct. In Nova Scotia they are abundant at the approach of winter; and Professor MacCulloch, of the University of Pictou, shewed me several beautiful specimens in his fine collection of North American Birds. Of its place and mode of breeding I know nothing; for, although every person to whom I spoke of this bird while in Labrador knew it, my party saw none there; and in Newfoundland we were equally unsuccessful in our search.

Strix nyctea, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 132.—Lath. Index Ornith. vol. i. p. 57.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 36.—Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.-Americ. vol. i. p. 88.

Snowy Owl, Strix nyctea, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iv. p. 53. pl. 32. fig. 1.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 116.

Adult Male. Plate CXXI. Fig. 1.

Bill short, compressed, curved, acute, with a small cere at the base; upper mandible with its dorsal outline curved from the base, the edges sharp, the point trigonal, very acute, deflected; lower mandible with the edges sharp and inflected, the tip obtuse. Nostrils roundish, in the fore part of the cere, concealed by the recumbent bristles. Head very large, although proportionally smaller than in most other owls, as are the eyes and external ears. Body short. Legs of ordinary length; tarsus feathered, as are the toes, on which, however, are two scutella; claws curved, slender, rounded, extremely sharp.

The plumage is soft but compact above, blended beneath, and in general remarkable for its bulk and elasticity. The feet are thickly clothed with long shaggy feathers, and the eyes are surrounded by circles of bristly feathers with disunited barbs. Wings ample, the third quill longest; the secondaries very broad and rounded. Tail of moderate length, slightly rounded, of twelve very broad rounded feathers.

Bill and claws black. Iris bright yellow. The general colour of the plumage is white, the face, forehead, nape, fore neck, anterior part of the breast, abdomen, and rump, with the upper and lower tail-coverts, unspotted; the upper part of the head and the back marked with lunated umber brown spots, and the breast, sides, and thigh-coverts, with transverse curved lines of the same. Wing-coverts, wings, and tail, barred with transverse oblong dark-brown spots.

Length 21 inches, extent of wings 53; bill along the ridge 1 8⁄12, along the edge 2; tarsus 1 6⁄12, middle toe with the claw 2½.

Adult Female. Plate CXXI. Fig. 2.

The female is similar in external appearance, but much larger.

Length 26 inches, extent of wings 65.

Individuals of either sex vary according to age, the spots gradually disappearing the older the birds become, so that not unfrequently specimens of a uniform white may be found.

THE BLUE GROSBEAK.

Fringilla cærulea, Bonap.
PLATE CXXII. Male, Female, and Young.

While the Cardinal Grosbeak enlivens the neighbourhood of our southern cities and villages, and frequents the lawn of the planter's habitation, the present species, shy and bashful, retires to the borders of the almost stagnant waters used as reservoirs for the purpose of irrigating the rice plantations. There, where the alligator, basking sluggishly on the miry pool, bellows forth its fearful cries, or in silence watches the timid deer, as it approaches to immerse its body in order to free it from the attacks of myriads of tormenting insects; where the watchful Heron stands erect, silent, and ready to strike its slippery prey, or leisurely and gracefully steps along the muddy margins; where baneful miasmata fill the sultry air, now imbued with a virus almost sufficient to prostrate all other beings save those whose nature enables them to remain in those damps;—there you meet with the Cærulean Grosbeak, timidly skipping from bush to bush, or over and amid the luxuriant rice, watchful even of the movements of the slave employed in cultivating the fertile soil. If the place is silent, and the weather calm, this cautious bird gradually ascends some high tree, from the top of which it pours forth its melting melodies, the female sitting the while on her eggs in her grassy nest, in some low sheltered bush hard by. Her mate now and then relieves her from her task, provides her with food while she sits, and again lulls her to repose by his song. One brood and again another are hatched, reared, and led forth to find for themselves the food so abundantly spread around them. Humbly and inconspicuously clad as the young birds are, most of them escape the talon of the watchful Hawk, or the fire of the mischief-loving gunner. The parents soon join them, and no sooner is their favourite rice gathered, than the whole fly off, and gradually wend their way to warmer climes.

Although this sweet songster spends the spring and summer in our Southern States, it must be considered as a rather scarce bird there. It seldom enters deep woods, but prefers such low grounds as I have described above, or the large and level abandoned fields covered with rank grasses and patches of low bushes. It arrives in the lower parts of Louisiana about the middle of March, the males appearing eight or ten days before the females, in small parties of five or six, when their common call-note, a single chuck, is frequently uttered to attract the females. They proceed through Alabama, Georgia, and the Carolinas, in all which districts they breed. Beyond this, however, few are to be met with. I never observed this species on the Mississippi farther up than the neighbourhood of Natchez; nor is it ever seen in Kentucky, or in any other part of the western country. Along the Atlantic coast, it is rarely found beyond the State of New Jersey.

It is remarkable that, although this bird seldom places its nest more than a few feet from the ground, it is fond of ascending to the tops of the tallest detached trees, to sing, during the spring and summer, rarely performing that pleasant duty among the low bushes which it usually inhabits.

One or two pairs of these birds generally take possession of a field, for the purpose of breeding, making choice of one little frequented by other birds. There, in the most secluded part, the Blue Grosbeak builds its nest, placing it in the upright fork of some small slender bush, or attaching it to the tall blades of a tuft of rank grass. It is composed of fine dried grasses, which are more carefully arranged towards the interior, and is lined with a few delicate fibrous roots, dried moss, or horse-hair. There are seldom more than four eggs, but two broods are raised in the season. When the first broods leave their parents, the young birds assemble in small flocks composed of a few families, and resort mostly to the rice fields, feeding on the grain when yet in its milky state, and until it is gathered. The parents join them with their second brood, and shortly after, or about the first days of September, they all depart southward.

In the summer of 1829, I accidentally met with a nest of these birds in the State of New Jersey, a few miles only from Philadelphia. I was attracted towards it by the cries of the birds, both of which were perched on a tall hickory tree, standing on a piece of barren ground, near a swamp well known on account of the visits it receives during the Woodcock season. I looked for the nest for some time in vain. The parents left the tree, flew about as if much alarmed and distressed, and at last alighted on the ground not far from me. Following them gradually, I saw them go up to one of their young, and on reaching the place, saw the nest in a low bush of the dogwood. In it were two young ones, dead, and covered with large insects. Presently I heard the chirp of a fourth, which I found within a few yards of the place. Concluding that the insects were the cause of all the distress I saw, I destroyed them, and replaced the young birds in the nest, where I left them. Visiting them repeatedly afterwards, I saw them grow apace, until at length they flew off, when I cut the twig, and drew it with the nest, as you now see it in the Plate.

My friend Bachman has favoured me with the following remarks, which I have pleasure in recommending to you. "Being desirous of procuring and raising the young of this bird, I made considerable exertions to find a nest. Having found four in the course of one spring, I observed that two of them had been robbed of their eggs before incubation commenced. The young of the third were destroyed by a snake, which I found in the act, and shot from the bush. Those of the fourth escaped until nearly fledged, when going towards them one morning to carry them away, and being within twenty steps of them, I heard them chirping loudly, as if anxious to be fed, when I saw a black snake a few yards before me, with its head raised high above ground, as if listening to their cries. It went in a straight line to the bush, as if following the sound, and before I came up to the place, it had swallowed one, and was trying to escape with another in its mouth. I carried the two remaining home, raised them with great ease, and kept them in an aviary for two years. They proved to be females. On taking them out of the nest, I had with me a trap cage, in which I tried to catch the old ones. They were both very shy, suspicious, and so cautious, that the female alone was inclined to enter it, and was secured. When left with her young, she noticed them not, and although I kept her for several years, she never attempted to build a nest. A full-plumaged male purchased in the market, and put in the aviary, mated on the following spring with one of the young females, took possession of the nest of a Cardinal Grosbeak, which they drove off, carefully repaired it, rendered it neat and comfortable, and laid two eggs, which unfortunately were destroyed by the rats. In the aviary these birds are generally silent, and during rain appeared delighted. They clung to the bars, driving all other birds away, as if determined to enjoy the whole pleasure themselves."

The food of this species consists principally of different sorts of seeds. They are fond of those of rice and grass of all kinds during spring and summer. Towards autumn, they now and then throw themselves into the fields of Guinea corn, the seeds of which they easily break with their strong bills. I never saw them eat fruits or berries.

The song of the Blue Grosbeak is prolonged or rapidly renewed, and resembles that of the Rice Bird (Fringilla oryzivora), but it seldom sings after the breeding season. Its flight is prolonged, undulating, and rapid, resembling that of the Rose-breasted species. They hop on the ground, where they pick up gravel to mix with their food, and frequently bathe. They are confined to the maritime districts, seldom going more than forty or fifty miles inland.

Individuals are now and then exposed for sale in the markets of the southern cities, where, on account of the difficulty experienced in catching them, they sell for about a dollar the pair.

The young, which has heretofore been represented as the female, does not attain its full plumage until the third year, and in the mean time varies but little from the one represented in the plate. In the course of the second autumn, it shews spots of blue irregularly placed on its back, and the following spring acquires its full beauty. The male and female represented in the same plate are both adult, and in their perfect spring plumage. They retain their colours unimpaired during winter, while in confinement, which is therefore probably the case in the countries to which they resort at that season.

Fringilla cærulea, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 114.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 529.

Loxia cærulea, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 306.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 374.

Blue Grosbeak, Loxia cærulea, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 78. Pl. 24. fig. 6.

Adult Male. Plate CXXII. Fig. 1.

Bill rather short, robust, bulging a little at the base, conical, acute; upper mandible with its dorsal outline very slightly convex, as is the lower, both rounded on the sides, the edges acute and straight to near the base, where they are a little deflected. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, partially concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body robust. Legs of moderate size; tarsus of the same length as the middle toe, covered anteriorly with a few scutella, the upper long, posteriorly sharp edged; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft, rather compact above, blended beneath. Wings of moderate length, third and fourth primaries longest. Tail rather long, emarginate.

Bill pale greyish-blue beneath and on the edges of the upper mandible, the rest of which is dusky. Iris brown. Feet dusky. The general colour of the plumage is deep purplish-blue. Lore, chin, and a line round the base of the mandibles, black. Quills and larger coverts brownish-black, the primaries edged with blue, the secondary quills, secondary coverts and first row of smaller coverts light reddish-brown. Tail feathers brownish-black, edged with blue, as are the under tail coverts.

Length 7½ inches, extent of wings 11; bill along the ridge 7⁄12, along the edge 10⁄12; tarsus 1.

Adult Female. Plate CXXII. Fig. 2.

Bill as in the male, but paler. Feet brown. Head and hind part of the back, as in the male; the back, sides of the neck, and forepart of the breast greyish-brown, tinged with dull blue. The rest of the under parts yellowish-grey. The wings are nearly as in the male, but lighter, and the black at the base of the bill is wanting. The dimensions are somewhat less than those of the male.

Young Bird fully fledged. Plate CXXII. Fig. 3.

Bill yellowish-grey, dusky above. Feet brown. The general colour is light greenish-brown, the upper part of the head, the back, smaller wing coverts and upper tail coverts tinged with dusky. The wings and tail are as in the female.

The Dog Wood.

Cornus florida, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. i. p. 661. Pursh, Flor. Amer. vol. i. p. 108.—Tetrandria Monogynia, Linn. Caprifolia, Juss.

See [vol. i. pages 45], and [376].

THE BLACK AND YELLOW WARBLER.

Sylvia maculosa, Lath.
PLATE CXXIII. Male and Female.

Few of our Warblers have a more varied plumage, or are more animated in their motions, than this beautiful little bird. In Louisiana it is met with now and then as early as the middle of March, but there its occurrence appears to be merely accidental, as is indeed the case in Kentucky, Ohio, or any portion of the Middle States, through which a few are to be seen on their passage to more northern regions. In autumn I have seen them in great numbers near the Pocano Mountains, accompanied by their young, proceeding southward, as I thought, along the direction of that range. While in Maine, on my way to Labrador, in the month of May, I observed them to be very abundant by the roads, in the fields, the low woods, and even the orchards and gardens. In fact, so numerous were those interesting birds, that you might have fancied that an army of them had assembled to take possession of the country. Scarce a leaf was yet expanded, large icicles hung along the rocky shores, and I could not but feel surprised at the hardihood of the little adventurers. At night they roosted in numbers in the small evergreen trees, and by day they were to be seen flitting about wherever the sun shone. If the morning was cold, you might catch them with the hand, and several specimens, procured in that manner by children, were brought to me. This happened in the neighbourhood of Eastport. By the end of a fortnight, the greater part of them had pushed farther north. I met them wherever I landed in the neighbouring islands, and along the shores of the Bay of Fundy, as well as in the Straits of Cansso, the Magdeleine Isles, and Labrador. I have no doubt that the extraordinary congregation which I saw near Eastport, was caused by the foresight of the tiny travellers, aware that they could not at so early a period proceed farther without imminent danger. Many of these birds, however, remain and breed in the State of Maine, and in the British Provinces.

The Black and Yellow Warbler has a clear and sweetly modulated song, surpassing that of many other birds of its tribe. It sings in the interior of the low woods, to which it seems at all times to give a decided preference. Its motions are extremely graceful; its tail is constantly spread as it flits along the branches, or even while it is on the ground, to which it frequently betakes itself, and its wings are usually held in a drooping position, so as to display all the beauty of its plumage. It feeds on insects and their larvæ. Now and then it may be seen balancing itself in the air, opposite a cluster of leaves, among which it darts to secure its prey, and not unfrequently it emerges a few feet from among the foliage of a tree or bush, to seize a fluttering insect. In catching its prey, it does not produce the clicking sound, caused by the sudden meeting of the mandibles, so remarkable in some other species.

The nest, which is placed deep among the branches of low fir trees, is supported by horizontal twigs, and is constructed of moss and lichens, lined with fibrous roots, and a great quantity of feathers. In one, found in Labrador, in the beginning of July, there were five small eggs, rather more elongated than is usual in the genus. They were white, sprinkled with reddish dots near the larger end. The female, on being disturbed, spread out her wings and tail, fluttered along the branches in the agony of despair, lingered trembling about the spot, and returned to the nest while we were only a few yards distant from it.

During the first days of August, I saw many of the young following their parents, and perceived that some were already on their way southward. While in the Bay of St George, Newfoundland, I again saw these birds daily, although they became scarcer the longer we remained in the country. I also traced their retrograde flight into Nova Scotia, but on landing in the United States lost sight of them.

The young of this species is represented in Plate L., and described at [page 260] of the first volume of the present work.

Sylvia maculosa, Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 536.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 78.

Black, and, Yellow Warbler, Sylvia magnolia, Wils. Americ. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 63. Pl. 23. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 370.

Adult Male. Plate CXXIII. Fig. 1.

Bill shortish, nearly straight, subulato-conical, acute, nearly as deep as broad at the base, the edges acute, the gap-line a little deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, lateral, elliptical, half closed by a membrane. Head of ordinary size, neck short, body slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly by a few long scutella; toes scutellate above, the inner free, the hind toe of moderate size; claws slender, compressed, arched, acute.

Plumage soft, blended. Wings rather short, second and third quills longest, first shorter than the fourth, which is almost as long as the third. Tail rather long, slightly emarginate, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill black. Iris brownish-black. Feet dusky, the toes yellow beneath. Upper part of the head ash-grey. A band from the forehead to the eye, passing under it, and becoming broader behind the eye, hind neck, anterior part of the back, and upper tail-coverts, black. A short white line over and behind the eye, and a speck of the same under it. Wing-coverts and quills deep brown, edged with light grey, the first row of small coverts and the secondary coverts broadly tipped with white, forming two bars across the wing. Tail brownish-black, the feathers, excepting the two middle, having an oblong white mark on the inner web beyond the middle, forming a broad bar across the tail. The throat bright yellow, the rest of the lower parts of the same colour, fading behind into white, the middle of the neck, the breast, and sides, marked with large oblong longitudinal spots of brownish-black. Rump greyish-yellow.

During winter the black band crossing the cheek, passes over the hind neck, and joins the black of the back.

Length 5 inches, extent of wings 7½; bill along the ridge 4⁄12, along the edge 6⁄12; tarsus ¾, middle toe 7⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXIII. Fig. 2.

The Female is similar to the male, but somewhat paler beneath.

For the description of the Young fully fledged, see [vol. i. p. 260].

The Flowering Raspberry.

Rubus odoratus, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 1085. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 348.—Icosandria Polygynia, Linn. Rosaceæ, Juss.

This species of rasp has the stems hispid; the leaves three or five-lobed, acute; the flowers in lateral and terminal corymbs, with divaricate stalks and appendiculate calyces. It is abundant in the Middle and Eastern, but rare in the Southern and Western Districts. It forms part of the rich undergrowth of our woods, and also grows in old fields with other species of the genus. The flowers are rose-coloured and showy, but destitute of odour, and the fruit is delicious and highly fragrant, from which circumstance the species derives its name.

THE GREEN BLACK-CAPPED FLYCATCHER.

Muscicapa Wilsonii.
PLATE CXXIV. Male and Female.

This species passes rapidly through the United States on its way to the Northern Districts, where it breeds and spends the summer. Wilson saw only a few specimens, which he met with in the lower parts of Delaware and New Jersey, and supposed it to be an inhabitant of the Southern States, where, however, it is never found in the summer months. It is not rare in the State of Maine, and becomes more abundant the farther north we proceed. I found it in Labrador and all the intermediate districts. It reaches that country early in June, and returns southward by the middle of August.

It has all the habits of a true Flycatcher, feeding on small insects, which it catches entirely on the wing, snapping its bill with a smart clicking sound. It frequents the borders of the lakes, and such streams as are fringed with low bushes, from which it is seen every moment sallying forth, pursuing its insect prey for many yards at a time, and again throwing itself into its favourite thickets.

The nest is placed on the extremity of a small horizontal branch, amongst the thick foliage of dwarf firs, not more than from three to five feet from the ground, and in the centre of the thickets of these trees so common in Labrador. The materials of which it is composed are bits of dry moss and delicate pine twigs, agglutinated together and to the branches or leaves around it, and beneath which it is suspended, with a lining of extremely fine and transparent fibres. The greatest diameter does not exceed 3½ inches, and the depth is not more than 1½. The eggs are four, dull white, sprinkled with reddish and brown dots towards the larger end, where the markings form a circle, leaving the extremity plain.

The parents shew much uneasiness at the approach of any intruder, skipping about and around among the twigs and in the air, snapping their bill, and uttering a plaintive note. They raise only one brood in the season. The young males shew their black cap as soon as they are fully fledged, and before their departure to the south. The head of the young females is at first of the same tint as the back, but I could not ascertain if they acquire their full colour the first autumn.

I found these birds abundant in Newfoundland, but perceived that they had already begun to migrate, on the 20th of August; they were moving from bush to bush, and seldom flew farther than thirty or forty yards at a time; yet when crossing the arms of the Gulf of St Lawrence, they are obliged to fly forty miles or more without alighting. The little Winter Wren must perform the same task, it being found in the same countries, to which some individuals travel from the United States. I observed the Green Black-capped Flycatcher in considerable numbers, in the northern parts of Maine, in October 1832, and concluded that the individuals seen must have come from a great distance.

Muscicapa Wilsonii.

Sylvia Wilsonii, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 86.

Green Black-capt Flycatcher, Muscicapa Pusilla, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 103. pl. 26. fig. 4.

Green Black-capt Warbler, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 408.

Adult Male. Plate CXXIV. Fig. 1.

Bill short, straight, conical, depressed at the base, compressed towards the end, the tip acute; upper mandible slightly convex in its dorsal line, the sides convex, the edges sharp; lower mandible straight along the back, the sides convex. Nostrils basal, oval, half covered by the bristly feathers of the forehead. Head of ordinary size, neck short, body compact, rather slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus compressed, covered anteriorly with a few long scutella, sharp behind, longer than the middle toe; toes free, scutellate above; claws arched, slender, much compressed, acute.

Plumage soft and blended, slightly glossed; short but distinct bristles at the base of the upper mandible. Wings short, the second quill longest. Tail rather long, even, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill light-brown. Iris hazel. Feet flesh-coloured. Back, rump, and upper tail-coverts olive-green; crown black, bordered on the forehead and over the eyes with a broad band of bright yellow. Wings and tail dusky, the feathers margined with green, the tips of the first row of small coverts and of the secondary coverts pale greenish-grey. The sides of the neck greenish-grey, the lower parts in general bright yellow.

Length 4½ inches, extent of wings 6¾; bill along the ridge 3⁄12, along the edge 5⁄12; tarsus 8⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXIV. Fig. 2.

The female has the colours in general somewhat paler, and is without the black patch on the head, it being substituted by a light yellowish-grey colour.

The Snake's Head.

Chelone glabra, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iii. p. 225. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 427.—Didynamia Angiospermia, Linn. Scrophularinæ, Juss.

This plant grows on the banks of rivers and swamps, in the Middle and Southern States. It is herbaceous and perennial, with opposite lanceolate-oblong, acuminate, serrate leaves, and dense terminal spikes of pale red flowers, not remarkable for beauty.

THE BROWN-HEADED NUTHATCH.

Sitta pusilla, Lath.
PLATE CXXV. Male and Female.

Actively and most diligently employed is this little rover ever found in our pine woodlands of the Southern Districts, where it resides all the year, and beyond which it seldom extends, few being ever seen to the eastward of Maryland. Those large tracts of sandy soil that occupy the greater portion of the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas, appear to suit its habits best. It is rather rare in Louisiana, and none go so far as Kentucky. It is the smallest species of Nuthatch as yet found in the United States. Its notes are several octaves above those of the White-bellied Nuthatch, more shrill, and at least one and a half above those of its northern cousin, the Red-bellied.

Although fond of pine-trees and pine-barrens, it does not confine itself to these, but may not unfrequently be seen pursuing its avocations on lower trees and on fences, mounting, descending, turning in every imaginable position, and with a quickness of motion so much greater than that of most other birds as to render it extremely difficult to shoot at. It examines every hole and cranny of the bark of trees, as well as their leaves and twigs, on which it finds abundance of food at all seasons. During the breeding period they move in pairs, and are constantly chattering. Their notes resemble the syllables deut, deut, dend, dend, and although not musical are not disagreeable, particularly when heard in the woods in which they usually reside, and where at that season a mournful silence intimates the wildness of the place.

When the young have left the nest they continue together, and move from tree to tree with the activity of their parents, who join them when the succeeding broods are able to find food for themselves. Towards winter they associate with the smaller species of Woodpeckers, the Brown Creeper, and the Southern Black-headed Tit. These birds pursue their avocations with so much cheerfulness that the woods echo to their notes. I have seen a congregation of these Nuthatches, amounting to fifty or more, thus perambulating the Floridas in the months of November and December. In those districts they pair in the beginning of February, and have eggs about the middle of that month, while in South Carolina they breed about a month later.

The nest is usually excavated by the birds themselves, in the dead portion of a low stump or sapling, sometimes only a few feet from the ground, but not unfrequently so high as thirty or forty feet. The little creatures work in concert, with great earnestness, for several days, until the hole, which is round, and not larger at its entrance than the body of the bird, is dug ten or twelve inches deep, and widening at the bottom. The eggs are laid on the bare wood; they are from four to six, white, with reddish dots, and scarcely larger than those of the Humming Bird. They frequently raise three broods in the season, but more commonly two.

Extremely careless at the presence of man, who indeed seldom molests them, they often peep at him when at the distance of only a few feet; yet when apprehensive of danger, they instantly fly off or ascend the tree, and are out of sight in an instant.

Their flight is similar to that of the other species, and like them they frequently utter their notes while on the wing. Now and then they are seen on the ground, where they hop and turn over the dead leaves in search of their food, which consists entirely of insects and their larvæ.

The young of this species do not acquire the brown colour of the head until the approach of spring, when no difference is observable between the sexes.

Sitta pusilla, Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 263.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 97.

Brown-headed Nuthatch, Sitta pusilla, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 105. pl. 15. fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 584.

Adult Male. Plate CXXV. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, strong, subconical, compressed, the tip abrupt and wedge-shaped; upper mandible slightly convex in the dorsal outline, the sides sloping, the edges acute; dorsal outline of lower mandible straight. Nostrils basal, lateral, oblong. General form short and robust. Feet rather short and strong; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, behind sharp; toes free, scutellate above, the hind toe strong; claws arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe large.

Plumage soft and blended; wings of ordinary length, the second, third, and fourth quills longest. Tail short, even, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill brownish-black above, and on the tips of the lower mandible, the base of which is light greyish-blue. Iris hazel. Feet dusky brown. The general colour of the plumage above is dull leaden grey; the two middle tail-feathers of the same tint; the rest black, the margin of the outermost and the ends of it, and of the three next on each side, white, the tips grey. Upper part of the head and hind-neck light reddish-brown, with a white spot on the hind-neck. The under parts in general are dull white.

Length 4 inches, extent of wings 8; bill along the back 5⁄12, along the edge 7⁄12; tarsus 8⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXV. Fig. 2.

The female has the tints paler, but in other respects resembles the male.

THE SQUATTERS OF LABRADOR.

Go where you will, if a shilling can there be procured, you may expect to meet with individuals in search of it.

In the course of last summer, I met with several persons as well as families, whom I could not compare to any thing else than what in America we understand by the appellation of Squatters. The methods they employed to accumulate property form the subject of the observations which I now lay before you.

Our schooner lay at anchor in a beautiful basin on the coast of Labrador, surrounded by uncouth granitic rocks, partially covered with stunted vegetation. While searching for birds and other objects I chanced one morning to direct my eye towards the pinnacle of a small island, separated from the mainland by a very narrow channel, and presently commenced inspecting it with my telescope. There I saw a man on his knees, with clasped hands, and face inclined heavenwards. Before him was a small monument of unhewn stones, supporting a wooden cross. In a word, reader, the person whom I thus unexpectedly discovered, was engaged in prayer. Such an incident in that desolate land was affecting, for there one seldom finds traces of human beings, and the aid of the Almighty, although necessary everywhere, seems there peculiarly required to enable them to procure the means of subsistence. My curiosity having been raised, I betook myself to my boat, landed on the rock, and scrambled to the place, where I found the man still on his knees. When his devotions were concluded, he bowed to me, and addressed me in very indifferent French. I asked him why he had chosen so dreary a spot for his prayers. "Because," answered he, "the sea lies before me, and from it I receive my spring and summer sustenance. When winter approaches, I pray fronting the mountains on the Main, as at that period the karaboos come towards the shore, and I kill them, feed on their flesh, and form my bedding of their skins." I thought the answer reasonable, and as I longed to know more of him, followed him to his hut. It was low and very small, formed of stones plastered with mud to a considerable thickness, The roof was composed of a sort of thatching made of weeds and moss. A large Dutch stove filled nearly one-half of the place, a small port-hole, then stuffed with old rags, served at times instead of a window; the bed was a pile of deer skins; a bowl, a jug, and an iron pot were placed on a rude shelf; three old and rusty muskets, their locks fastened by thongs, stood in a corner; and his buck shot, powder, and flints, were tied up in bags of skin. Eight Esquimaux dogs yelled and leaped about us. The strong smell that emanated from them, together with the smoke and filth of the apartment, rendered my stay in it extremely disagreeable.

Being a native of France, the good man shewed much politeness, and invited me to take some refreshment, when, without waiting for my assent, he took up his bowl and went off I knew not whither. No sooner had he and his strange dogs disappeared, than I went out also, to breathe the pure air, and gaze on the wild and majestic scenery around. I was struck with the extraordinary luxuriance of the plants and grasses that had sprung up on the scanty soil on the little valley which the Squatter had chosen for his home. Their stalks and broad blades reached my waist. June had come, and the flies, musquitoes, and other insects filled the air, and were as troublesome to me as if I had been in a Florida swamp.

The Squatter returned, but he was chop-fallen;—nay I thought his visage had assumed a cadaverous hue. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he told me that his barrel of rum had been stolen by the "eggers," or some fishermen! He said that he had been in the habit of hiding it in the bushes, to prevent its being carried away by those merciless thieves, who must have watched him in some of his frequent walks to the spot. "Now," said he, "I can expect none until next spring, and God knows what will become of me in the winter!"

Pierre Jean Baptiste Michaux had resided in that part of the world for upwards of ten years. He had run away from the fishing smack that had brought him from his fair native land, and expected to become rich some day by the sale of the furs, seal skins, eider down, and other articles which he collected yearly, and sold to the traders who regularly visited his dreary abode. He was of moderate stature, firmly framed, and as active as a wild cat. He told me that excepting the loss of his rum, he had never experienced any other cause of sorrow, and that he felt as "happy as a lord."

Before parting with this fortunate mortal, I inquired how his dogs managed to find sufficient food. "Why, Sir, during spring and summer they ramble along the shores, where they meet with abundance of dead fish, and in winter they eat the flesh of the seals which I kill late in autumn, when these animals return from the north. As to myself, every thing eatable is good, and when hard pushed, I assure you I can relish the fare of my dogs just as much as they do themselves."

Proceeding along the rugged indentations of the bay with my companions, I reached the settlement of another person, who, like the first, had come to Labrador with the view of making his fortune. We found him after many difficulties; but as our boats turned a long point jutting out into the bay, we were pleased to see several small schooners at anchor, and one lying near a sort of wharf. Several neat-looking houses enlivened the view, and on landing, we were kindly greeted with a polite welcome from a man who proved to be the owner of the establishment. For the rude simplicity of him of the rum-cask, we found here the manners and dress of a man of the world. A handsome fur cap covered his dark brow, his clothes were similar to our own, and his demeanour was that of a gentleman. On my giving my name to him, he shook me heartily by the hand, and on introducing each of my companions to him, he extended the like courtesy to them also. Then, to my astonishment, he addressed me as follows:—"My dear Sir, I have been expecting you these three weeks, having read in the papers your intention to visit Labrador, and some fishermen told me of your arrival at Little Natasguan. Gentlemen, walk in."

Having followed him to his neat and comfortable mansion, he introduced us to his wife and children. Of the latter there were six, all robust and rosy. The lady, although a native of the country, was of French extraction, handsome, and sufficiently accomplished to make an excellent companion to a gentleman. A smart girl brought us a luncheon, consisting of bread, cheese, and good port wine, to which, having rowed fourteen or fifteen miles that morning, we helped ourselves in a manner that seemed satisfactory to all parties. Our host gave us newspapers from different parts of the world, and shewed us his small but choice collection of books. He inquired after the health of the amiable Captain Bayfield of the Royal Navy, and the officers under him, and hoped they would give him a call.

Having refreshed ourselves, we walked out with him, when he pointed to a very small garden, where a few vegetables sprouted out, anxious to see the sun. Gazing on the desolate country around, I asked him how he had thus secluded himself from the world. For it he had no relish, and although he had received a liberal education, and had mixed with society, he never intended to return to it. "The country around," said he, "is all my own, much farther than you can see. No fees, no lawyers, no taxes are here. I do pretty much as I choose. My means are ample, through my own industry. These vessels come here for seal-skins, seal-oil, and salmon, and give me in return all the necessaries, and indeed comforts, of the life I love to follow; and what else could the world afford me!" I spoke of the education of his children. "My wife and I teach them all that is useful for them to know, and is not that enough? My girls will marry their countrymen, my sons the daughters of my neighbours, and I hope all of them will live and die in the country!" I said no more, but by way of compensation for the trouble I had given him, purchased from his eldest child a beautiful fox's skin.

Few birds, he said, came around him in summer, but in winter thousands of ptarmigans were killed, as well as great numbers of gulls. He had a great dislike to all fishermen and eggers, and I really believe was always glad to see the departure even of the hardy navigators who annually visited him for the sake of his salmon, seal-skins, and oil. He had more than forty Esquimaux dogs; and, as I was caressing one of them, he said, "Tell my brother-in-law at Bras-d'Or, that we are all well here, and that, after visiting my wife's father, I will give him a call!"

Now, reader, his wife's father resided at the distance of seventy miles down the coast, and, like himself, was a recluse. He of Bras d'Or was at double that distance; but, when the snows of winter have thickly covered the country, the whole family, in sledges drawn by dogs, travel with ease, and pay their visits, or leave their cards. This good gentleman had already resided there more than twenty years. Should he ever read this article, I desire him to believe that I shall always be grateful to him and his wife for their hospitable welcome.

When our schooner, the Ripley, arrived at Bras d'Or, I paid a visit to Mr —, the brother-in-law, who lived in a house imported from Quebec, which fronted the strait of Belle Isle, and overlooked a small island, over which the eye reached the coast of Newfoundland, whenever it was the wind's pleasure to drive away the fogs that usually lay over both coasts. The gentleman and his wife, we were told, were both out on a walk, but would return in a very short time, which they in fact did, when we followed them into the house, which was yet unfinished. The usual immense Dutch stove formed a principal feature of the interior. The lady had once visited the metropolis of Canada, and seemed desirous of acting the part of a blue-stocking. Understanding that I knew something of the fine arts, she pointed to several of the vile prints hung on the bare walls, which she said were elegant Italian pictures, and continued her encomiums upon them, assuring me that she had purchased them from an Italian, who had come there with a trunk full of them. She had paid a shilling Sterling for each, frame included! I could give no answer to the good lady on this subject, but I felt glad to find that she possessed a feeling heart. One of her children had caught a siskin, and was tormenting the poor bird, when she rose from her seat, took the little fluttering thing from the boy, kissed it, and gently launched it into the air. This made me quite forget the tattle about the fine arts.

Some excellent milk was poured out for us in clean glasses. It was a pleasing sight, for not a cow had we yet seen in the country. The lady turned the conversation on music, and asked if I played on any instrument. I answered that I did, but very indifferently. Her forte, she said, was music, of which she was indeed immoderately fond. Her instrument had been sent to Europe to be repaired, but would return that season, when the whole of her children would again perform many beautiful airs, for in fact any body could use it with ease, as when she or the children felt fatigued, the servant played on it for them. Rather surprised at the extraordinary powers of this family of musicians, I asked what sort of an instrument it was, when she described it as follows:—"Gentlemen, my instrument is large, longer than broad, and stands on four legs, like a table. At one end is a crooked handle, by turning which round, either fast or slow, I do assure you we make most excellent music." The lips of my young friends and companions instantly curled, but a glance from me as instantly recomposed their features. Telling the fair one that it must be a hand-organ she used, she laughingly said, "Ah, that is it; it is a hand-organ, but I had forgot the name, and for the life of me could not recollect it."

The husband had gone out to work, and was in the harbour caulking an old schooner. He dined with me on board the Ripley, and proved to be also an excellent fellow. Like his brother-in-law, he had seen much of the world, having sailed nearly round it; and, although no scholar, like him, too, he was disgusted with it. He held his land on the same footing as his neighbours, caught seals without number, lived comfortably and happily, visited his father-in-law and the scholar, by the aid of his dogs, of which he kept a great pack, bartered or sold his commodities, as his relations did, and cared about nothing else in the world. Whenever the weather was fair, he walked with his dame over the moss-covered rocks of the neighbourhood; and, during winter, killed ptarmigans and karaboos, while his eldest son attended to the traps, and skinned the animals caught in them. He had the only horse that was to be found in that part of the country, as well as several cows; but, above all, he was kind to every one, and every one spoke well of him. The only disagreeable thing about his plantation or settlement, was a heap of fifteen hundred carcasses of skinned seals, which, at the time when we visited the place, in the month of August, notwithstanding the coolness of the atmosphere, sent forth a stench that, according to the ideas of some naturalists, might have sufficed to attract all the Vultures in the United States.

During our stay at Bras d'Or, the kind-hearted and good Mrs — daily sent us fresh milk and butter, for which we were denied the pleasure of making any return.

THE WHITE-HEADED EAGLE.

Falco leucocephalus, Linn.
PLATE CXXVI. Young.

Although I have already given a long account of the adult of this species, in the first volume of my biographies, I have thought it necessary, not only to figure the young, but also to offer you some of the observations relative to the habits of this handsome and powerful bird, which I have collected in the course of my long rambles. These I select from among the many recorded in my journals, giving the preference to those which seem most likely to interest you.

St John's River, East Florida, 7th February 1832.—I observed four nests of the White-headed Eagle this day, while the United States' schooner Spark lay at anchor not far from the shore. They were at no great distance from each other, and all placed on tall live pine-trees. Our commander, Lieutenant Piercey of our Navy, having at that time little to do, as he lay waiting the flood-tide, a boat was manned, and several of us went on shore. On approaching the nearest nest, we saw two young birds standing erect on its edge, while their parents were perched on the branches above them. As we went nearer, the old ones flew off silently, while the young did not seem to pay the least attention to us, this being a part of the woods where probably no white man had ever before put his foot, and the Eaglets having as yet had no experience of the barbarity of the race. The captain took the first shot: one of the birds was severely wounded, and tumbled half way from the nest towards the ground, when it recovered, flapped its wings, and suddenly sailed away until we lost sight of it as it flew into the woods. I marked its course, however. One of the sailors was told to shoot the other, which had not moved from its position; he missed it; and as I saw it make movements indicative of its surprise and fear, I fired, but wounded it so slightly in one pinion, that it was enabled to fly off in an irregular manner towards the river. This I judged was the first attempt it had ever made to fly. I followed its course with my eye, and after in vain waiting a long time for a shot at the old birds, I went in search of it, while the rest of the party pursued the other. After some time I reached our boat, and at the same instant was surprised to see the wounded bird perched on a low stump within half gun shot. I fired, and the bird fell, but before I reached the spot, it flew off again and tumbled into the river, where, in this to it new and wonderful element, it flapped its wings, and made way so fast, that I took to the water and brought it ashore, my faithful Newfoundland dog Plato being on board, quite lamed by having brought me birds some days before from banks of racoon oysters. After all, it was necessary to knock the bird on the head, which done I returned to the party, none of whom had yet found their prey, they having disagreed as to the course it had taken. Being somewhat of a woodsman, I pointed towards the place where I thought the bird must be, and after a few hundred yards walking among palmettoes, Spanish bayonets, sword-grass, and other disagreeable undergrowth, we discovered the poor bird gasping in its last agonies. On examining their bodies we found both well supplied with shot, and I became more assured than ever of the hardiness of the species.

On the same river, 8th February.—We visited another nest, on which, by the aid of a telescope, we saw three young ones in the posture described above. The bird first shot fell back in the nest and there remained: it was struck by a bullet. The next was so severely wounded that it clung outside the nest, until fired at a second time, when it fell. The third was killed, as it was preparing to fly off. Our axes being dull, the tree large, and a fair breeze springing up, we returned to the Spark, where in a few hours these young birds were skinned, cooked, and eaten, by those who had been "in at the death." They proved good eating, the flesh resembling veal in taste and tenderness. One of us only did not taste of the dish, simply I believe from prejudice. The contents of the stomachs of these young Eagles were large fragments of cat-fish heads and bones of quadrupeds and birds. We frequently saw old birds of the species sail down to the surface of the water, and rise holding in their talons heads of cat-fishes which abounded on the water and were rejected, as the inhabitants assured us, by the alligators, who content themselves with the best part, the tail, leaving the heads to such animals as can dissect them and escape the dangerous sharp bony guards placed near the gills, and which the fish has the power of firmly fixing at right angles as if they were a pair of small bayonets. Should this really be a general habit of the alligator, it indicates his faculty of gaining knowledge by experience, or of having it naturally implanted. I could easily distinguish the sex of all the young Eagles of this species which we procured. The females were not only larger, but almost black, whilst the males were much lighter and of less weight.

Some weeks afterwards, when young Eagles would have been thought a dainty even by our most prejudiced companions—for you must not suppose, reader, that every student of nature meets with "pigs ready roasted" in our woods—we saw an old White-headed Eagle perched on a tall tree at the edge of the river. While admiring its posture, by means of a telescope, and marking its eye keenly bent towards the water, it suddenly dropped like a stone from its perch, almost immersed its body into the stream, and rose with a large trout, with which it scrambled to the shore. Our captain, his first lieutenant, my assistant, and your humble servant, were present on this occasion, and saw it very composedly eat the fish, after shaking the water from its plumage. I must add that never before had I seen this bird plunge into the water, although I had several times seen it scrambling after small fishes in shallows and gravel banks.

February 29th.—I saw some Fish-Hawks defend themselves, and chase away from their nests the Bald Eagle. The former were incubating, and the latter, as well as some Turkey Buzzards, were anxiously trying to rob the nest, wherever they found the Fisher Bird absent from its tenement. The Fish-hawks at last collected from different parts of the river, and I felt great pleasure in seeing these brave birds actually drive away their cowardly enemies. The Fish-Hawk had only eggs in that country when the young of the Eagle were large and fully able to fly.

Bay of Fundy, 10th May 1833.—While admiring the extraordinary boldness of the rocky shores of this perhaps most wonderful of all bays, and trying to discover in what manner the stupendous natural fortifications are connected with the formidable tides that dash against them, I observed Crows, Ravens, and the White-headed Eagle, leisurely feeding on mussels and sea-eggs. The rocks were clad towards their summits with melancholy firs, of which each broken branch told of a tempest; slimy sea-weeds hung sluggishly over the waters; and, as each successive wave retired, banks of shells were exposed to view, closely impacted, and conveying to my mind the idea of gigantic honeycombs.

Labrador, July 1833.—The White-headed Eagle is unknown in this country, although many Fish-Hawks are found here, and I saw several of their nests, placed on the low fir trees.

Boston, Massachusetts, 21st November 1832.—This morning I received the following letter from my learned friend Jacob Bigelow, Esq. M.D.—"Dear Sir, about sixteen years since, a large eagle, Falco leucocephalus, belonging to the Linnean Society of this city, was sentenced to contribute to a cabinet of natural history. A variety of experiments was made with a view to destroy him without injuring his plumage, and a number of mineral poisons were successively given him in large doses, but without effect. At length a drachm of corrosive sublimate of mercury was inclosed in a small fish, and given him to eat. After swallowing the whole of this, he continued to appearance perfectly well, and free from inconvenience. The next day an equal quantity of white arsenic was given him, without any greater effect; so that in the end the refractory bird was obliged to be put to death by mechanical means. The experiments were made by Dr Hayward and myself, in presence of other members of the Society. Very truly, your obedient servant, Jacob Bigelow."

I have now no doubt that in a state of confinement, this species sometimes requires a long series of years before it attains the full adult plumage, by which it is so distinctly characterized. There is now one living in the suburbs of Philadelphia, which was eight years in coming to this state of maturity. Almost every person who saw it, while yet in its brown dress, called it either a new species or a Golden Eagle! Nay some said that it must be "the pretended Bird of Washington!" My constant and most worthy friend, Dr Richard Harlan, took me to see it. I felt assured as to the species, and told him that its head and bill would become white, and that its size, which was rather larger than common, was not such as to indicate a different species. I offered a wager of one thousand dollars in support of my assertions, but the Doctor wisely declined meeting me on this ground. Four years afterwards, when this bird was eight years of age, it moulted, and the head and tail assumed a pure white colour. Dr Harlan, in one of his letters, dated 26th April 1831, says, "I wish I could walk with you this moment to M'Arran's garden, to shew you how white the head of the eagle, which we talked of betting about, has at last become, as well as his tail; but he must have been at least nine or ten years old first." This very eagle happened to have each of his middle claws of a whitish colour, and his owner would fain have persuaded me that it was a new bird, on the assertion, as he said, of a well-known ornithologist residing in Philadelphia, who has since published a description of it under a new and very curious name. The proprietor of this famed bird valued it at one hundred dollars, I at one!

While at the lovely village of Columbia, in South Carolina, Dr Robert W. Gibbes, a man of taste and talent, as well as one who loves the science of birds for its own sake, kept one of these Eagles for some time in his aviary, and, being desirous of granting it more liberty, cut across all the primary quills of one of its wings, and turned it loose in his yard. No sooner was the bird at liberty, than it deliberately pulled out the stump of each mutilated quill, in consequence of which the wing was soon furnished anew. The Doctor told me that his first intention was to draw them out himself, but this he found so difficult that he gave it up. Do birds possess a power of contracting the sheaths of their feathers so powerfully as to prevent their being pulled without great force?

Since my earliest acquaintance with birds, I have felt assured of the ignoble spirit of the White-headed Eagle, and the following fact strengthens the impression. William W. Kunhardt, Esq. of Charleston, S. C., kept one of these birds (a full-grown male) for many months. He one day put a game-cock into its cage, to see how the prisoner would conduct himself. The gallant cock at once set to, and beat the eagle in the "handsomest manner," his opponent giving in at each blow, without paying the least regard to the established rules of combat. Other cocks of the common race proved equally formidable to the degraded robber of the Fish-Hawk.

The White-headed Eagle seldom utters its piercing cry without throwing its head backward until it nearly touches the feathers of the back. It then opens its bill, and its tongue is seen to move as it emits its notes, of which five or six are delivered in rapid succession. Although loud and disagreeable when heard at hand, they have a kind of melancholy softness when listened to at a great distance. When these birds are irritated, and on the wing, they often thrust forth their talons, opening and closing them, as if threatening to tear the object of their anger in pieces.

The synonyms and necessary references having been already given in the first volume ([page 169]), it is unnecessary to repeat them here. Wilson figured and described the young of the White-headed Eagle under the name of the Sea Eagle, Falco ossifragus, although not without expressing doubts.

Falco leucocephalus, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 26.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 72.

Aquila leucocephala, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Boreali-Americana, part ii. p. 15.

Sea Eagle, Falco ossifragus, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. vii. p. 16. pl. 55. fig. 2.

The Young Bird fully fledged is represented in Plate CXXVI.

In this state it differs greatly in its colours from the F. ossifragus or young of the F. albicilla of Europe, with which it was confounded by Wilson.

The bill is black above, bluish-grey towards the end of the lower mandible, the cere, the base of the lower mandible, and the soft margins of the bill at the angle, yellow tinged with green. The narrow elongated feathers of the head and neck are dark-brown tipped with dull white, and the general colour of the plumage above is dull hair-brown; the lower parts having the feathers deep brown, broadly margined with greyish-white. The quills are deep brown, and the tail-feathers are brownish white, minutely mottled with dark brown, and having their extremities of that colour. The iris is yellowish-brown, the feet greenish-yellow, the claws black.

The Adult birds have been described in vol. i. of the present work, [p. 169].

THE ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK.

Fringilla ludoviciana, Bonap.
PLATE CXXVII. Male, Female, and Young.

One year, in the month of August, I was trudging along the shores of the Mohawk River, when night overtook me. Being little acquainted with that part of the country, I resolved to camp where I was, the evening was calm and beautiful, the sky sparkled with stars, which were reflected by the smooth waters, and the deep shade of the rocks and trees of the opposite shore fell on the bosom of the stream, while gently from afar came on the ear the muttering sound of the cataract. My little fire was soon lighted under a rock, and, spreading out my scanty stock of provisions, I reclined on my grassy couch. As I looked around on the fading features of the beautiful landscape, my heart turned towards my distant home, where my friends were doubtless wishing me, as I wished them, a happy night and peaceful slumbers. Then were heard the barkings of the watch-dog, and I tapped my faithful companion to prevent his answering them. The thoughts of my worldly mission then came over my mind, and having thanked the Creator of all for his never failing mercy, I closed my eyes, and was passing away into the world of dreaming existence, when suddenly there burst on my soul the serenade of the Rose-breasted bird, so rich, so mellow, so loud in the stillness of the night, that sleep fled from my eyelids. Never did I enjoy music more: it thrilled through my heart, and surrounded me with an atmosphere of bliss. One might easily have imagined that even the Owl, charmed by such delightful music, remained reverently silent. Long after the sounds ceased did I enjoy them, and when all had again become still, I stretched out my wearied limbs, and gave myself up to the luxury of repose. In the morning I awoke vigorous as ever, and prepared to continue my journey.

I have frequently observed this beautiful species, early in the month of March, in the lower parts of Louisiana, making its way eastward; and when residing at Henderson in Kentucky, and in Cincinnati in Ohio, I have noticed the same circumstance. At this early period, it passes at a considerable height in the air, and now and then alights on the tops of the tallest trees of the forest, as if to rest a while. While on wing it utters a clear note, but when perched it remains silent, in an upright and rather stiff attitude. It is then easily approached. I have followed it in its migrations into Pennsylvania, New York, and other Eastern States, through the British provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, as far as Newfoundland, where many breed, but I saw none in Labrador. It is never seen in the maritime parts of Georgia, or those of the Carolinas, but some have been procured in the mountainous portions of those States. I have found them rather plentiful in the early part of May, along the steep banks of the Schuylkil River, twenty or thirty miles from Philadelphia, and observed, that at that season they fed mostly on the buds of the trees, their tender blossoms, and upon insects, which they catch on wing, making short sallies for the purpose. I saw several in the Great Pine Forest of that State; but they were more abundant in New York, especially along the banks of the beautiful river called the Mohawk. They are equally abundant along the shores of Lakes Ontario and Erie, although I believe that the greater number go as far as New Brunswick to breed. While on an excursion to the islands at the entrance of the Bay of Fundy, in the beginning of May, my son shot several which were in full song. These islands are about thirty miles distant from the mainland.

The most western place in which I found the nest of this species was within a few miles of Cincinnati on the Ohio. It was placed in the upright forks of a low bush, and differed so much in its composition from those which I have seen in the Eastern States, that it greatly resembled the nest of the Blue Grosbeak already described. The young, three in number, were ready to fly. The parents fed them on the soft grains of wheat which they procured in a neighbouring field, and often searched for insects in the crannies of the bark of trees, on which they alighted sidewise, in the manner of sparrows. This was in the end of July. Generally, however, the nest of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak is placed on the top branches of an alder bush, near water, and usually on the borders of meadows or alluvial grounds. It is composed of the dried twigs of trees, mixed with a few leaves and the bark of vines, and is lined with fibrous roots and horse hair. The eggs are seldom more than four, and I believe only one brood is raised in the season. Both sexes incubate. I have found the nest and eggs, on the 20th of May, on the borders of Cayuga Lake in the State of New York.

The flight of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak is strong, even, and as graceful as it is sustained. When travelling southward, at the approach of autumn, or about the 1st of September, it passes high over the forest trees, in the manner of the King Bird and the Robin, alighting toward sunset on a tall tree, from which it in a few minutes dives into some close thicket, where it remains during the night. The birds travel singly at this season, as well as during spring.

I am indebted to my friend John Bachman, for the following information respecting this interesting Grosbeak: "One spring, I shot at a beautiful male bird of this species, in the State of New York. It was wounded in one foot only, and although I could not perceive any other injury afterwards, it fell from the tree to the ground, and before it recovered itself I secured it. Not having a cage at hand, I let it fly in the room which I had made my study. Before an hour had elapsed, it appeared as if disposed to eat; it refused corn and wheat, but fed heartily on bread dipped in milk. The next day it was nearly quite gentle, and began to examine the foot injured by the shot which was much swollen and quite black. It began to bite off its foot at the wounded part, and soon succeeded in cutting it quite across. It healed in a few days, and the bird used the mutilated leg almost as well as the other, perching and resting upon it. It required indeed some care to observe that the patient had been injured. I procured a cage for it, to which it immediately became reconciled. It ate all kinds of food, but preferred Indian corn meal and hempseed. It appeared fonder of insects than birds of that genus are supposed to be, and ate grasshoppers and crickets with peculiar relish. It would at times sit for hours watching the flies, as these passed about it, and snatched at and often secured such wasps as now and then approached the pieces of fruit thrown into the cage. Very often, of fine moonshiny nights, it would tune its pipe, and sing sweetly, but not loudly, remaining quietly perched and in the same position. Whilst singing during the day, it was in the habit of opening its wings, and gently raising them, somewhat in the manner of the Mocking Bird. I found it very difficult to preserve this bird during winter, and was obliged for that purpose to place it in a room heated by a stove to summer temperature. It was a lively and very gentle companion of my study for nearly three years; it died of cold the third winter. It frequently escaped from the cage, but never exhibited the least desire to leave me, for it invariably returned to some portion of the house at the approach of night. Its song continued about six weeks during summer, and about two in the autumn; at all other periods it simply uttered a faint chuck, and seemed to possess many of the ordinary habits of the Blue Grosbeak."

The food of this beautiful bird consists of seeds of the cereal plants, of grasses, and those of different kinds of berries, along with insects. The young are three years in obtaining their full dress, and undergo their changes very slowly. I have placed several of these birds of both sexes, and of different ages, on a branch of the ground hemlock, the berries of which they attack for their seeds.

Loxia ludoviciana, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 306.—Lath. Index Ornith. vol. i. p. 379.

Fringilla ludoviciana, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 113.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 527.

Rose-breasted Grosbeak, Loxia rosea, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 135. pl. 17. fig. 1. Male.—Ch. Bonaparte, Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. pl. 14. fig. 2. Female.

Coccothrastes ludoviciana, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.-Amer. vol. ii. p. 271.

Adult Male. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 1, 1.

Bill short, robust, bulging at the base, conical, acute; upper mandible with its dorsal outline a little convex, the sides rounded, the edges sharp; lower mandible with its dorsal outline also a little convex, the sides rounded, the edges inflected; the gap-line is deflected at the base, then straight to the end. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, partly concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, general form robust. Legs of moderate length, rather strong; tarsus anteriorly covered with a few scutella, the upper long, posteriorly sharp; toes scutellate above, free, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, arched, compressed, acute, that of the hind toe not much larger.

Plumage soft and blended, but firm and elastic. Wings of moderate length, broad, the second, third, and fourth quills longest, the secondaries rounded. Tail longish, slightly emarginate, of twelve rounded feathers.

Bill white. Iris hazel. Feet greyish-blue. The head all round, including the upper part of the neck, the hind neck, the back, wings, and tail, glossy black; the first row of coverts, the tips of the secondary coverts, the basal half of the primary quills, and the inner webs towards the end of the three lateral tail-feathers, white, as is the rump, that part, however, being spotted with black. Lower neck and middle of the breast of a bright carmine tint; lower wing coverts white, tinged with carmine.

Length 7¾ inches, extent of wings 13; bill along the back 7½⁄12, along the edge 9⁄12; tarsus 11⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 2.

The female differs greatly from the male in external appearance. The bill brown above, paler beneath; iris hazel; feet as in the male. The general colour of the plumage above is olivaceous brown, spotted with brownish-black, the central part of each feather being of the latter colour. On the head is a central longitudinal band of pale yellowish-grey, spotted with dark brown, then on each side, a dark brown band, and above the eye a white one; a brown band from the bill to the eye and beyond it, and under this a whitish band. There are two white bands on the wings as in the male, but narrower and duller. The quills and tail are brown. The lower parts light brownish-yellow, fading behind into white; the fore neck, breast, and sides, marked with small longitudinal spots or streaks of dark-brown. The lower wing-coverts very slightly tinged with rose-colour.

Young Male in autumn. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 3.

After the first moult, the young male resembles the female, but already shews the rosy tints both on the breast, and on the under wing-coverts.

Young in first plumage. Plate CXXVII. Fig. 4.

In this state also the young resemble the female.

The Ground Hemlock.

Taxus canadensis, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iv. p. 856. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 647.—Diœcia Monadelphia. Coniferæ, Juss.

The Ground Hemlock, or Canadian Yew, is abundant on the declivities of the mountains from Maryland to Maine. It is a low tree, or rather bush, often almost prostrate, and frequently hanging from the rocks. The leaves are linear, distichous, revolute at the margin. The berries, which are oblong or globular, and of a pale red colour, are eatable.

THE CAT BIRD.

Turdus felivox, Vieill.
PLATE CXXVIII. Male and Female.

Some individuals of this species spend the winter in the southern portions of East Florida, where I have found them during the months of December and January; but the greater number retire beyond the limits of the United States about the middle of October. They are very rarely seen in the State of Louisiana, nor have I known any to breed in that portion of the country. They pass in abundance through Georgia and the Carolinas early in September, feeding then on the berries of the Sweet Gum, those of the Poke and Sumach, the seeds of grasses, &c. On their return in spring, they reach the neighbourhood of Charleston, about the 20th of March, when they feed on insects found along the lanes and garden-walks; but none are heard to sing, or are found to breed there. They are abundant during summer in the whole of the western country, and are plentifully dispersed from Virginia to the middle portions of Massachusetts, beyond which, proceeding eastward, I saw none. They are in fact unknown in the State of Maine, as well as in the British provinces.

Their migration is performed mostly during night, when they move slowly from bush to bush, scarcely ever extending their flight beyond the breadth of the rivers which they meet with. In a place where not an individual is to be seen in an afternoon, in the months of April or May, a considerable number may be found the following morning. They seem to give a preference to the Middle States during the summer season. Pennsylvania is particularly favoured by them; and it would be difficult to walk through an orchard or garden, along a field, or the borders of a wood, without being saluted by their plaintive notes. They breed in these places with much carelessness, placing their nests in any bush, tree, or briar that seems adapted for the purpose, and seeming to think it unnecessary to conceal them from man, who indeed ought to protect such amiable birds, but who sometimes destroys them in revenge for the trifling depredations which they commit on the fruits of the garden.

No sooner has the Cat Bird made its appearance in the country of its choice, than its song is heard from the topmost branches of the trees around, in the dawn of the morning. This song is a compound of many of the gentler trills and sweeter modulations of our various woodland choristers, delivered with apparent caution, and with all the attention and softness necessary to enable the performer to please the ear of his mate. Each cadence passes on without faltering; and if you are acquainted with the song of the birds he so sweetly imitates, you are sure to recognise the manner of the different species. When the warmth of his loving bosom engages him to make choice of the notes of our best songsters, he brings forth sounds as mellow and as powerful as those of the Thrasher and Mocking Bird. These medleys, when heard in the calm and balmy hours of retiring day, always seem to possess a double power, and he must have a dull ear indeed, and little relish for the simple melodies of nature, who can listen to them without delight.

The manners of this species are lively, and at intervals border on the grotesque. It is extremely sensitive, and will follow an intruder to a considerable distance, wailing and mewing as it passes from one tree to another, its tail now jerked and thrown from side to side, its wings drooping, and its breast deeply inclined. On such occasions, it would fain peck at your hand; but these exhibitions of irritated feeling seldom take place after the young are sufficiently grown to be able to take care of themselves. In some instances, I have known this bird to recognise at once its friend from its foe, and to suffer the former even to handle the treasure deposited in its nest, with all the marked assurance of the knowledge it possessed of its safety; when, on the contrary, the latter had to bear all its anger. The sight of a dog seldom irritates it, while a single glance at the wily cat excites the most painful paroxysms of alarm. It never neglects to attack a snake with fury, although it often happens that it becomes the sufferer for its temerity.

The vulgar name which this species bears, has probably rendered it more conspicuous than it would otherwise be, and has also served to bring it into some degree of contempt with persons not the best judges of the benefits it confers on the husbandman in early spring, when, with industrious care, it cleanses his fruit-trees of thousands of larvæ and insects, which, in a single day, would destroy, while yet in the bud, far more of his fruit than the Cat Bird would eat in a whole season. But alas, selfishness, the usual attendant of ignorance, not only heaps maledictions on the harmless bird, but dooms it to destruction. The naughty boys pelt the poor thrush with stones, and destroy its nest whenever an opportunity presents; the farmer shoots it to save a pear; and the gardener to save a raspberry; some hate it, not knowing why: in a word, excepting the poor, nearly extirpated crow, I know no bird more generally despised and tormented than this charming songster.

The attachment which the Cat Bird shews towards its eggs or young is affecting. It even possesses a humanity, or rather a generosity and gentleness, worthy of beings more elevated in the scale of nature. It has been known to nurse, feed, and raise the young of other species, for which no room could be afforded in their nests. It will sit on its eggs after the nest has been displaced, or even after it has been carried from one bush to another.

Like all our other Thrushes, this is very fond of bathing and rolling itself in the dust or sand of the roads or fields. Several are frequently seen together on the borders of small ponds or clear rivulets, immersed up to their body, splashing the water about them until completely wetted; then, ascending to the tops of the nearest bushes, they plume themselves with apparent care, notwithstanding which they are at times so infested with a minute species of louse as to be destroyed by it. This is also the case with the Mocking Bird and the Ferruginous Thrush, many individuals of which I have known to be killed by these parasitic animals.

Although the Cat Bird is a pleasant songster, it is seldom kept in a cage, and I believe all attempts at breeding it in aviaries have failed. Its food consists of fruits and berries of all descriptions, worms, wasps, and various other insects. Its flight is low, often rapid, and somewhat protracted, generally performed by glidings, accompanied with sudden jerks of the tail. It moves on the ground with alertness and grace, not unfrequently going before a person the whole length of the garden-walk.

The nest of the Cat Bird is large, composed externally of dry twigs and briars, mixed with withered leaves, weeds, and grass, and lined with black fibrous roots, neatly arranged in a circular form. The eggs are from four to six, of a plain glossy greenish-blue, without spots. Two and sometimes three broods are raised in the season.

I have placed a pair of these birds on a branch of the Blackberry Bush, on the fruit of which they feed. The young attain their full plumage before they depart in autumn.

Turdus Felivox, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 75.

Muscicapa carolinensis, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 328.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 483.

Orpheus felivox, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.-Amer. part ii. p. 192.

Cat Bird, Turdus lividus, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 90. pl. 20. fig. 3.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 332.

Adult Male. Plate CXXVIII. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, rather weak, slightly arched, broad at the base, compressed towards the end acute; upper mandible with the ridge rather acute, the sides convex, the edges sharp, the tip a little declinate; lower mandible nearly straight. Nostrils basal, oblong, half closed above by a membrane, and partially concealed by the feathers. Head of ordinary size, neck rather long, general form slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus compressed, anteriorly scutellate, acute behind; toes free, scutellate above, the lateral ones nearly equal; hind toe rather stronger; claws compressed, arched, acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Bristles at the base of the bill. Feathers of the hind head longish. Wings of ordinary length, broad, rounded, the fifth quill longest, the fourth nearly equal, the first very short. Tail long, rounded, of twelve straight narrowly rounded feathers.

Bill black. Iris hazel. Feet dark umber. The general colour of the plumage above is blackish-grey, the head and tail brownish-black, as are the inner webs of the quills. The cheeks, and under surface in general, deep bluish-grey, the abdomen paler, and the under tail-coverts brownish-red. The outer tail-feather transversely barred with white on the inner web.

Length 9 inches, extent of wings 12; bill along the ridge 7½⁄12, along the edge 9½⁄12; tarsus 1 1⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXVIII. Fig. 2.

The female is a little paler in the tints of the plumage, but in other respects is similar to the male.

The Cat Bird, both in the form of its bill, and the colour of its plumage, as well as in many of its habits, is closely allied to several Flycatchers, while in other respects it approaches the genus Turdus, and especially that section of it which contains the Mocking Birds.

The Blackberry.

Rubus villosus, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. ii. p. 1085. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. i. p. 346.—Icosandria Polygynia, Linn. Rosaceæ, Juss.

This species of bramble is pubescent, prickly, with angular twigs; the leaves ternate or quinate, with ovato-oblong, serrate, acuminate leaflets, downy on both sides; the calycine leaves short, acuminate; the flowers white, in a loose raceme. Blackberries are so plentiful in all parts of the United States, that they are gathered in great quantities, and often exposed for sale in the markets, especially those of the Eastern Districts, where they are applied to various domestic uses. They grow to a remarkably large size in the Southern States, where the plant itself is larger and more productive. In Kentucky and Louisiana, I have observed a variety bearing fruit of a light yellow colour, which is still superior to the common sort in flavour.

THE GREAT CRESTED FLYCATCHER.

Muscicapa crinita, Linn.
PLATE CXXIX. Male.

How often whilst gazing on the nest of a bird, admiring the beauty of its structure, or wondering at the skill displayed in securing it from danger, have I been led to question myself why there is often so much difference in the conformation and materials of those of even the same species, in different latitudes or localities. How often, too, while admiring the bird itself, have I in vain tried to discover the causes why more mental and corporeal hardihood should have been granted to certain individuals, which although small and seemingly more delicate than others, are wont to force their way, and that at an early season, quite across the whole extent of the United States; while others, of greater bodily magnitude, equal powers of flight, and similar courage, never reach so far, in fact merely enter our country or confine their journeys to half the distance to which the others reach. The diminutive Ruby-throated Humming-bird, the delicate Winter Wren, and many warblers, all birds of comparatively short flight, are seen to push their way from the West India Islands, or the table-lands of Mexico and South America, farther north than our boundary-lines, before they reach certain localities, which we cannot look upon but as being the favourite places of rendezvous allotted to these beings for their summer abode.

How wonderful have I thought it that all birds which migrate are not equally privileged. Why do not the Turkey Buzzard, the Fork-tailed Hawk, and many others possessing remarkable ease and power of flight, visit the same places? There the Vulture would find its favourite carrion during the heat of the dog-days, and the Hawk abundance of insects. Why do not the Pigeons found in the south ever visit the State of Maine, when one species, the Columba migratoria, is permitted to ramble over the whole extent of our vast country? And why does the small Pewee go so far north, accompanied by the Tyrant Flycatcher; while the Titirit, larger and stronger than either, remains in the Floridas and Carolinas, and the Great Crested Flycatcher, the bird now before you, seldom travels farther east than Connecticut? Reader, can you assist me?

The places chosen by the Great Crested Flycatcher for its nest are so peculiar, and the composition of its fabric is so very different from that of all others of the genus with which I am acquainted, that perhaps no one on seeing it for the first time, would imagine it to belong to a Flycatcher. There is nothing of the elegance of some, or of the curious texture of others, displayed in it. Unlike its kinsfolk, it is contented to seek a retreat in the decayed part of a tree, of a fence-rail, or even of a prostrate log mouldering on the ground. I have found it placed in a short stump at the bottom of a ravine, where the tracks of racoons were as close together as those of a flock of sheep in a fold, and again in the lowest fence-rail, where the black snake could have entered it, sucked the eggs or swallowed the young with more ease than by ascending to some large branches of a tree forty feet from the ground, where after all the reptile not unfrequently searches for such dainties. In all those situations, our bird seeks a place for its nest, which is composed of more or fewer materials, as the urgency may require, and I have observed that in the nests nearest the ground, the greatest quantity of grass, fibrous roots, feathers, hair of different quadrupeds, and exuviæ of snakes was accumulated. The nest is at all times a loose mass under the above circumstances. Sometimes, when at a great height, very few materials are used, and in more than one instance I found the eggs merely deposited on the decaying particles of the wood, at the bottom of a hole in a broken branch of a tree, sometimes of one that had been worked out by the grey squirrel. The eggs are from four to six, of a pale cream colour, thickly streaked with deep purplish-brown of different tints, and, I believe, seldom more than a single brood is raised in the season.

The Great Crested Flycatcher arrives in Louisiana and the adjacent country in March. Many remain there and breed, but the greater number advance towards the Middle States, and disperse among the lofty woods, preferring at all times sequestered places. I have thought that they gave a preference to the high lands, and yet I have often observed them in the low sandy woods of New Jersey. Louisiana, and the countries along the Mississippi, together with the State of Ohio, are the districts most visited by this species in one direction, and in another the Atlantic States as far as Massachusetts. In this last, however, it is very seldom met with unless in the vicinity of the mountains, where occasionally some are found breeding. Farther eastward it is entirely unknown.

Tyrannical perhaps in a degree surpassing the King Bird itself, it yet seldom chases the larger birds of prey, but, unlike the Bee Martin, prefers attacking those smaller ones which inadvertently approach its nest or its station. Among themselves these birds have frequent encounters, on which occasions they shew an unrelenting fierceness almost amounting to barbarity. The plucking of a conquered rival is sometimes witnessed.

In its flight this bird moves swiftly and with power. It sweeps after its prey with a determined zeal, and repeatedly makes its mandibles clatter with uncommon force and rapidity. When the prey is secured, and it has retired to the spray on which it was before, it is seen to beat the insect on it, and swallow it with greediness, after which its crest is boldly erected, and its loud harsh squeak immediately resounds, imitating the syllables paiip, paip, payup, payiup. No association takes place among different families, and yet the solicitude of the male towards his mate, and of the parent birds towards their young, is exemplary. The latter are fed and taught to provide for themselves, with a gentleness which might be copied by beings higher in the scale of nature, and in them might meet with as much gratitude as that expressed by the young Flycatchers towards their anxious parents. The family remain much together while in the United States, and go off in company early in September. This species, like the Tyrant Flycatcher, migrates by day, and during its journeys is seen passing at a great height.

The squeak or sharp note of the Great Crested Flycatcher is easily distinguished from that of any of the genus, as it transcends all others in shrillness, and is heard mostly in those dark woods where, recluse-like, it seems to delight. During the love-season, and as long as the male is paying his addresses to the female, or proving to her that he is happy in her society, it is heard for hours both at early dawn and sometimes after sunset; but as soon as the young are out, the whole family are mute.

It feeds principally upon insects, so long as these are abundant; but frequently in autumn, and as it retrogrades from the Middle Districts, its food is grapes and several species of berries, among which those of the pokeweed are conspicuous. While in the woods, its flight is peculiarly rapid: it dashes through the upper branches of the tallest trees like an arrow, and often sweeps from this elevated range close to the earth, to seize an insect, which it has espied issuing from among the grass or the fallen leaves.

Muscicapa crinita, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 325.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 485.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 67.

Great Crested Flycatcher, Muscicapa crinita, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. ii. p. 75. pl. 13. fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 271.

Adult Male. Plate CXXIX. Fig. 1

Bill rather long, stout, broader than deep, excepting towards the end, where it is compressed; upper mandible with the ridge broad and nearly straight, the sides convex, the tip declinate, the edges sharp, with a sinus close to the tip; lower mandible with the back broad at the base, the sides convex, the ridge rather sharp towards the end, the edges sharp. Nostrils basal, lateral, roundish, partly covered by the bristly feathers. Head rather large, but the general form rather slender. Feet short; tarsus very short, covered anteriorly with a few scutella, sharp behind; toes free, scutellate, slender; claws arched, much compressed, very acute.

Plumage soft and blended. Feathers of the head pointed and elongated. Wings of ordinary length, broad, rounded, the fourth and fifth quills longest. Tail rather long, slightly forked, of twelve rounded feathers. The bristles at the base of the bill strong.

Bill and legs brownish-black. Iris brown. The colour of the upper parts is dull greenish-olive. Quills and coverts dark brown, the primaries margined with light reddish-brown, the secondaries with white, of which there are two bars across the wing, formed by the tips of the secondary coverts and first row of small coverts. Inner webs of the tail-feathers light ferruginous, as are those of the quills. Sides of the head and neck bluish-grey. The under parts in general lemon-yellow.

Length 8½ inches, extent of wings 13; bill along the ridge 8⁄12, along the edge 11⁄12; tarsus 8⁄12.

The Female resembles the male.

THE YELLOW-WINGED SPARROW.

Fringilla passerina, Wils.
PLATE CXXX. Male.

This is another of those remarkable species which pass unobserved from the Mexican dominions and some of the West India Islands, to the middle portions of our Atlantic States. Not one of the species have I ever met with in Louisiana, the Floridas, any of the other Southern States, or those west of the Alleghany range; while from Maryland to Maine it is found in considerable numbers, and is not uncommon in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. In all the States it prefers the neighbourhood of the coast and a light sandy soil. It arrives in the latter districts about the 10th of May, and throws itself into the open newly-ploughed fields, and those covered with the valuable red clover. It is never found in the woodlands. Its food consists of such insects and larvæ as are found on the ground, together with the seeds of grasses and other plants.

Its flight is low, short, and performed by a kind of constant tremor of the wings, resembling that of a young bird. It alights on the tops of low bushes, fence-rails, and tall grasses, to sing its unmusical ditty, composed of a few notes weakly enunciated at intervals, but sufficing to manifest its attachment to its mate. Almost unregarded, it raises two broods in the season, perhaps three when it has chosen the warmer sandy soils in the vicinity of the sea, where it is evidently more abundant than in the interior of the country.

The nest of the Yellow-winged Sparrow is as simple as its owner is innocent and gentle. It is placed on the ground, and is formed of light dry grasses, with a scanty lining of withered fibrous roots and horse hair. The female deposits her first egg about the 20th of May. The eggs are four or five, of a dingy white, sprinkled with brown spots. The young follow their parents on the ground for a short time, after which they separate and search for food singly. This species, indeed, never congregates, as almost all others of its tribe do, before they depart from us, but the individuals seem to move off in a sulky mood, and in so concealed a way, that their winter quarters are yet unknown.

Scarcely any difference is perceptible in the plumage of the sexes, and by the time the young return to us the following spring, they have obtained the full plumage of their parents.

Fringilla passerina, Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 109.

Yellow-winged Sparrow, Fringilla passerina, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 76. pl. 24. fig. 5.

Savannah Finch, or Yellow-shouldered Bunting (Fringilla savanarum, Gmel.) Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 494.

Bill short, conical, acute; upper mandible slightly convex in its dorsal outline, angular, and encroaching a little on the forehead, of the same breadth as the lower, with sharp and inflected edges; lower mandible also inflected on the edges; gap-line slightly deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, roundish, open, concealed by the feathers. Head rather large, neck short, body full. Feet of moderate length, slender; tarsus covered anteriorly with a few longish scutella, acute behind; toes free, scutellate above, the lateral ones nearly equal; claws slender, compressed, acute, slightly arched, that of the hind toe elongated.

Plumage soft and blended, slightly glossed. Wings shortish, curved, rounded, the first and second primaries longest, the third scarcely shorter; the secondaries long, but less so than in the Henslow Bunting, which belongs to the same group. Tail short, small, rounded, slightly emarginate, of twelve narrow, tapering feathers.

Bill flesh-coloured beneath, dusky above. Iris dark brown. Feet light flesh-coloured. The general colour of the upper parts is light greyish-brown, mixed on the neck with ash-grey tints, the central parts of the feathers brownish-black, the margins of those of the back bright chestnut. The upper part of the head brownish-black, with a longitudinal central line of brownish-white. Secondary coverts dusky, margined with greyish-white; along the flexure of the wing the small feathers are bright yellow, whence the name of the species. Quills wood-brown, margined with pale yellowish-brown. Tail-feathers of the same colour, the outermost much paler. The under parts pale yellowish-grey, the breast of a richer tint, being of a light yellowish-brown, its sides anteriorly spotted with brownish-black.

Length 4 10⁄12 inches, extent of wings 8; bill along the ridge 5½⁄12, along the edge ½; tarsus ⅔, middle toe a little more than ⅔, hind toe 7⁄12.

This species forms part of a group more allied to the Buntings than to the Finches, and composed of Henslow's Bunting or Finch, the Savannah Finch, and the Yellow-winged Sparrow. They are all very closely allied, so that it is somewhat difficult to distinguish them.

Let us compare the Yellow-winged Sparrow in the first place, with the Henslow Bunting, described at [p. 360 of Vol. I].

In Henslow's Bunting the bill is smaller, and has the margin less sinuous; the tarsi are shorter, being only 7⁄12 (erroneously ⅔ in the description), while those of the present species are ⅔. The feet of the latter are also stronger, and the toes a little longer. The colouring of the upper parts is very similar; but the present species has a distinct white line along the middle of the head, whereas the other has the same part of the general olivaceous tint of the hind-neck, the quills are differently coloured on their margins, and while the present species is unspotted on the breast and sides, the other is distinctly streaked.

But besides these differences the feathers present others still more decisive. The tail of Henslow's Bunting is 2⅛ inches long, graduated, with narrower feathers, which taper to a point, while that of the Yellow-winged Sparrow is only 1 10⁄12, rounded, much stronger, with broader (though still very narrow) feathers, having a narrow rounded point. Then in the first the secondaries are so long as to be only 2⁄12 shorter than the longest primary, whereas in the second they are ½ inch shorter. In the first the third quill is longest, while in the second the first exceeds the others, although in neither is there any great difference between the first three quills in length.

But the Yellow-winged Sparrow is much more closely allied to the Savannah Finch than to Henslow's Bunting.

The colouring of the upper parts is almost the same, but the Savannah Finch has very little of the bright bay tints, and the flexure of the wing is so slightly tinged with yellow that one might be apt to overlook it. There is a central whitish streak on the head of the Savannah Finch, as on that of the Yellow-winged Sparrow. The great difference in colouring lies in the circumstance, that while the throat, breast, and sides of the latter are unspotted, those of the former are very conspicuously marked with longitudinal dark brown streaks, margined with reddish-brown.

The bills and feet are of the same form, but the bill of the Savannah Finch is much less robust, and its feet rather more so. In the Savannah Finch the secondaries are proportionally as long as in the Henslow Bunting, and the third and fourth quills are longest; whereas in the Yellow-winged Sparrow the first is longest, and in the Henslow Bunting the third.

Having in my possession a fine specimen of a new species allied to the above, but still more decidedly an Emberiza, I embrace this opportunity of describing it. The species having been discovered, in the vicinity of Philadelphia, by Dr Townsend of that city, I cannot dedicate it with equal propriety to any other individual, and I am happy in thus paying my tribute of respect to him for his great attainments in ornithology.

TOWNSEND'S BUNTING.

Emberiza Townsendii.

In form this species is compact and rather robust, like the common Sparrow of Europe, or the Black-throated Bunting of America. The bill is short, strong, conical, compressed, acute; the upper mandible narrower, with its dorsal line a little convex, as is that of the lower, the edges of both inflected, and the gap-line declinate at the base. Nostrils roundish, basal. Feet of ordinary length and thickness, the tarsus with seven anterior scutella, and two lateral plates meeting behind so as to form an edge; lateral toes equal, the outer united as far as the second joint, hind-toe strong; claws, arched, compressed, acute, with a lateral groove.

The wings are short, the first quill longest, the next scarcely shorter, the rest graduated, the second, third, and fourth, very slightly cut out on the outer web towards the end, the secondaries rounded, the outer slightly emarginate. Tail of moderate length, and slightly emarginate. The plumage is soft and rather compact.

Bill brownish-black above, light blue beneath, with a longitudinal black line from the tip half way to the base. Iris light hazel. Feet and claws dusky brown. Head above deep bluish-grey, streaked with black; the cheeks, hind-neck, sides of the neck, fore part of the breast, and the sides of the same colour, becoming paler backwards. Back bluish-grey, each feather with a narrow dark brown central streak bordered with light brown, the margins grey; the rump grey, without streaks. Quills and tail wood-brown, slightly edged with paler, wing-coverts light brown, the central parts of the feathers darker. There is a narrow white line over the eye, and the minute feathers margining the eyelids are of the same colour. The throat and fore-neck are white. A line of short brownish-black streaks passes on either side from the base of the lower mandible, separating a narrow portion of the white space, and margining the lower part of it, although there the streaks are scattered; the middle part of the breast and abdomen are also greyish-white.

Length 5¾ inches, extent of wings 9; bill along the ridge 7⁄12; tarsus 10⁄12.

DEATH OF A PIRATE.

In the calm of a fine moonlight night, as I was admiring the beauty of the clear heavens, and the broad glare of light that glanced from the trembling surface of the waters around, the officer on watch came up and entered into conversation with me. He had been a turtler in other years, and a great hunter to boot, and although of humble birth and pretensions, energy and talent, aided by education, had raised him to a higher station. Such a man could not fail to be an agreeable companion, and we talked on various subjects, principally, you may be sure, birds and other natural productions. He told me he once had a disagreeable adventure, when looking out for game, in a certain cove on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico; and, on my expressing a desire to hear it, he willingly related to me the following particulars, which I give you, not perhaps precisely in his own words, but as nearly so as I can remember.

"Towards evening, one quiet summer day, I chanced to be paddling along a sandy shore, which I thought well fitted for my repose, being covered with tall grass, and as the sun was not many degrees above the horizon, I felt anxious to pitch my musquito bar or net, and spend the night in this wilderness. The bellowing notes of thousands of bull-frogs in a neighbouring swamp might lull me to rest, and I looked upon the flocks of blackbirds that were assembling as sure companions in this secluded retreat.

I proceeded up a little stream, to insure the safety of my canoe from any sudden storm, when, as I gladly advanced, a beautiful yawl came unexpectedly in view. Surprised at such a sight in a part of the country then scarcely known, I felt a sudden check in the circulation of my blood. My paddle dropped from my hands, and fearfully indeed, as I picked it up, did I look towards the unknown boat. On reaching it, I saw its sides marked with stains of blood, and looking with anxiety over the gunwale, I perceived to my horror, two-human bodies covered with gore. Pirates or hostile Indians I was persuaded had perpetrated the foul deed, and my alarm naturally increased; my heart fluttered, stopped, and heaved with unusual tremors, and I looked towards the setting sun in consternation and despair. How long my reveries lasted I cannot tell; I can only recollect that I was roused from them by the distant groans of one apparently in mortal agony. I felt as if refreshed by the cold perspiration that oozed from every pore, and I reflected that though alone, I was well armed, and might hope for the protection of the Almighty.

Humanity whispered to me that, if not surprised and disabled, I might render assistance to some sufferer, or even be the means of saving a useful life. Buoyed up by this thought, I urged my canoe on shore, and seizing it by the bow, pulled it at one spring high among the grass.

The groans of the unfortunate person fell heavy on my ear, as I cocked and reprimed my gun, and I felt determined to shoot the first that should rise from the grass. As I cautiously proceeded, a hand was raised over the weeds, and waved in the air in the most supplicating manner. I levelled my gun about a foot below it, when the next moment, the head and breast of a man covered with blood were convulsively raised, and a faint hoarse voice asked me for mercy and help! A death-like silence followed his fall to the ground. I surveyed every object around with eyes intent, and ears impressible by the slightest sound, for my situation that moment I thought as critical as any I had ever been in. The croakings of the frogs, and the last blackbirds alighting on their roosts, were the only sounds or sights; and I now proceeded towards the object of my mingled alarm and commiseration.

Alas! the poor being who lay prostrate at my feet, was so weakened by loss of blood, that I had nothing to fear from him. My first impulse was to run back to the water, and having done so, I returned with my cap filled to the brim. I felt at his heart, washed his face and breast, and rubbed his temples with the contents of a phial, which I kept about me as an antidote for the bites of snakes. His features, seamed by the ravages of time, looked frightful and disgusting; but he had been a powerful man, as the breadth of his chest plainly shewed. He groaned in the most appalling manner, as his breath struggled through the mass of blood that seemed to fill his throat. His dress plainly disclosed his occupation:—a large pistol he had thrust into his bosom, a naked cutlass lay near him on the ground, a red silk handkerchief was bound over his projecting brows, and over a pair of loose trowsers he wore fisherman's boots. He was, in short, a pirate.

My exertions were not in vain, for as I continued to bathe his temples, he revived, his pulse resumed some strength, and I began to hope that he might perhaps survive the deep wounds which he had received. Darkness, deep darkness, now enveloped us. I spoke of making a fire. "Oh! for mercy's sake," he exclaimed, "don't." Knowing, however, that under existing circumstances it was expedient for me to do so, I left him, went to his boat, and brought the rudder, the benches, and the oars, which with my hatchet I soon splintered. I then struck a light, and presently stood in the glare of a blazing fire. The pirate seemed struggling between terror and gratitude for my assistance; he desired me several times in half English and Spanish to put out the flames, but after I had given him a draught of strong spirits, he at length became more composed. I tried to staunch the blood that flowed from the deep gashes in his shoulders and side. I expressed my regret that I had no food about me, but when I spoke of eating he sullenly waved his head.

My situation was one of the most extraordinary that I have ever been placed in. I naturally turned my talk towards religious subjects, but, alas, the dying man hardly believed in the existence of a God. "Friend," said he, "for friend you seem to be, I never studied the ways of Him of whom you talk. I am an outlaw, perhaps you will say a wretch,—I have been for many years a Pirate. The instructions of my parents were of no avail to me, for I have always believed that I was born to be a most cruel man. I now lie here, about to die in the weeds, because I long ago refused to listen to their many admonitions. Do not shudder when I tell you—these now useless hands murdered the mother whom they had embraced. I feel that I have deserved the pangs of the wretched death that hovers over me; and I am thankful that one of my kind will alone witness my last gaspings."

A fond but feeble hope that I might save his life, and perhaps assist in procuring his pardon, induced me to speak to him on the subject. "It is all in vain, friend—I have no objection to die—I am glad that the villains who wounded me were not my conquerors—I want no pardon from any one—Give me some water, and let me die alone."

With the hope that I might learn from his conversation something that might lead to the capture of his guilty associates, I returned from the creek with another capful of water, nearly the whole of which I managed to introduce into his parched mouth, and begged him, for the sake of his future peace, to disclose his history to me. "It is impossible," said he, "there will not be time; the beatings of my heart tell me so. Long before day, these sinewy limbs will be motionless. Nay, there will hardly be a drop of blood in my body; and that blood will only serve to make the grass grow. My wounds are mortal, and I must and will die without what you call confession."

The moon rose in the east. The majesty of her placid beauty impressed me with reverence. I pointed towards her, and asked the Pirate if he could not recognise God's features there. "Friend, I see what you are driving at," was his answer,—"you, like the rest of our enemies, feel the desire of murdering us all.—Well—be it so—to die is after all nothing more than a jest; and were it not for the pain, no one, in my opinion, need care a jot about it. But, as you really have befriended me, I will tell you all that is proper."

Hoping his mind might take a useful turn, I again bathed his temples and washed his lips with spirits. His sunk eyes seemed to dart fire at mine—a heavy and deep sigh swelled his chest and struggled through his blood-choked throat, and he asked me to raise him for a little. I did so, when he addressed me somewhat as follows, for, as I have told you, his speech was a mixture of Spanish, French and English, forming a jargon, the like of which I had never heard before, and which I am utterly unable to imitate. However I shall give you the substance of his declaration.

"First tell me, how many bodies you found in the boat, and what sort of dresses they had on." I mentioned their number, and described their apparel. "That's right," said he, "they are the bodies of the scoundrels who followed me in that infernal Yankee barge. Bold rascals they were, for when they found the water too shallow for their craft, they took to it and waded after me. All my companions had been shot, and to lighten my own boat I flung them overboard; but as I lost time in this, the two ruffians caught hold of my gunwale, and struck on my head and body in such a manner, that after I had disabled and killed them both in the boat, I was scarce able to move. The other villains carried off our schooner and one of our boats, and perhaps ere now have hung all my companions whom they did not kill at the time. I have commanded my beautiful vessel many years, captured many ships, and sent many rascals to the devil. I always hated the Yankees, and only regret that I have not killed more of them.—I sailed from Mantanzas.—I have often been in concert with others. I have money without counting, but it is buried where it will never be found, and it would be useless to tell you of it." His throat filled with blood, his voice failed, the cold hand of death was laid on his brow, feebly and hurriedly he muttered, "I am a dying man, farewell!"

Alas! It is painful to see death in any shape; in this it was horrible, for there was no hope. The rattling of his throat announced the moment of dissolution, and already did the body fall on my arms with a weight that was insupportable. I laid him on the ground. A mass of dark blood poured from his mouth; then came a frightful groan, the last breathing of that foul spirit; and what now lay at my feet in the wild desert?—a mangled mass of clay!

The remainder of that night was passed in no enviable mood; but my feelings cannot be described. At dawn I dug a hole with the paddle of my canoe, rolled the body into it, and covered it. On reaching the boat I found several buzzards feeding on the bodies, which I in vain attempted to drag to the shore. I therefore covered them with mud and weeds, and launching my canoe, paddled from the cove with a secret joy for my escape, overshaded with the gloom of mingled dread and abhorrence."

THE AMERICAN ROBIN OR MIGRATORY THRUSH.

Turdus migratorius, Linn.
PLATE CXXXI. Male, Female, Young, and Nest.

The first land-bird seen by me, when I stepped upon the rugged shores of Labrador, was the Robin; its joyful notes were the first that saluted my ear. Large patches of unmelted snow still dappled the surface of that wild country; and although vegetation was partially renewed, the chillness of the air was so peculiarly penetrating, that it brought to the mind a fearful anxiety for the future. The absence of trees, properly so called, the barren aspect of all around, the sombre mantle of the mountainous distance that hung along the horizon, excited the most melancholy feelings; and I could scarcely refrain from shedding tears when I heard the song of the Thrush, sent there as if to reconcile me to my situation. That song brought with it a thousand pleasing associations referring to the beloved land of my youth, and soon inspired me with resolution to persevere in my hazardous enterprise.

The traveller who, for the first time in his life, treads the wastes of Labrador, is apt to believe that what he has been told or read of it, must be at least in part true. So it was with me: I had conceived that I should meet with numberless Indians who would afford me much information respecting its rivers, lakes, and mountains, and who, like those of the far west, would assist me in procuring the objects of my search. But alas! how disappointed was I when, in rambling along three hundred miles of coast, I scarcely met with a single native Indian, and was assured that there were none in the interior. The few straggling parties that were seen by my companions or myself, consisted entirely of half-bred descendants of "the mountaineers;" and, as to Esquimaux, there were none on that side of the country. Rivers, such as the Natasguan, which on the maps are represented as of considerable length, degenerated into short, narrow, and shallow creeks. Scarcely any of its innumerable lakes exceeded in size what are called ponds in the Southern States; and, although many species of birds are plentiful, they are far less numerous than they were represented to us by the fishermen and others before we left Eastport. But our business at present is with the Robin, who greeted our arrival.

This bird breeds from North Carolina, on the eastern side of the Alleghany Mountains, to the 56th degree of north latitude, and perhaps still farther. On the western side of those mountains, it is found tolerably abundant, from the lower parts of Kentucky to Canada, at all times of the year; and, notwithstanding the snow and occasional severe winters of Massachusetts and Maine, flocks remain in those States the whole season. Thousands, however, migrate into Louisiana, the Floridas, Georgia, and the Carolinas, where, in winter, one cannot walk in any direction without meeting several of them. While at Fayetteville, in North Carolina, in October 1831, I found that the Robins had already arrived and joined those which breed there. The weather was still warm and beautiful, and the woods, in every direction, were alive with them, and echoed with their song. They reached Charleston by the end of that month. Their appearance in Louisiana seldom takes place before the middle of November. In all the Southern States, about that period, and indeed during the season, until they return in March, their presence is productive of a sort of jubilee among the gunners, and the havoc made among them with bows and arrows, blowpipes, guns, and traps of different sorts, is wonderful. Every gunner brings them home by bagfuls, and the markets are supplied with them at a very cheap rate. Several persons may at this season stand round the foot of a tree loaded with berries, and shoot the greater part of the day, so fast do the flocks of Robins succeed each other. They are then fat and juicy, and afford excellent eating.

During the winter they feed on the berries and fruits of our woods, fields, gardens, and even of the ornamental trees of our cities and villages. The holly, the sweet-gum, the gall-berry, and the poke, are those which they first attack; but, as these fail, which is usually the case in January, they come nearer the towns and farm-houses, and feed voraciously on the caperia berry (Ilex caperia), the wild-orange berry (Prunus caroliniana), and the berries of the pride of India (Melia azedarach). With these they are often choked, so that they fall from the trees, and are easily caught. When they feed on the berries of the poke-plant, the rich crimson juices colour the stomach and flesh of these birds to such an extent as to render their appearance, when plucked, disagreeable; and although their flesh retains its usual savour, many persons decline eating them. During summer and spring they devour snails and worms, and at Labrador I saw some feeding on small shells, which they probed or broke with ease.

Toward the approach of spring they throw themselves upon the newly ploughed grounds, into the gardens, and the interior of woods, the undergrowth of which has been cleared of grass by fire, to pick up ground-worms, grubs, and other insects, on which, when perched, they descend in a pouncing manner, swallowing the prey in a moment, jerking their tail, beating their wings, and returning to their stations. They also now and then pick up the seed of the maize from the fields.

Whenever the sun shines warmly over the earth, the old males tune their pipe, and enliven the neighbourhood with their song. The young also begin to sing; and, before they depart for the east, they have all become musical. By the 10th of April, the Robins have reached the Middle Districts; the blossoms of the dogwood are then peeping forth in every part of the budding woods; the fragrant sassafras, the red flowers of the maple, and hundreds of other plants, have already banished the dismal appearance of winter. The snows are all melting away, and nature again, in all the beauty of spring, promises happiness and abundance to the whole animal creation. Then it is that the Robin, perched on a fence-stake, or the top of some detached tree of the field, gives vent to the warmth of his passion. His lays are modest, lively, and ofttimes of considerable power; and although his song cannot be compared with that of the Thrasher, its vivacity and simplicity never fail to fill the breast of the listener with pleasing sensations. Every one knows the Robin and his song. Excepting in the shooting season, he is cherished by old and young, and is protected by all with anxious care.

The nest of this bird is frequently placed on the horizontal branch of an apple-tree, sometimes in the same situation on a forest-tree; now and then it is found close to the house, and it is stated by Nuttall that one was placed in the stern timbers of an unfinished vessel at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in which the carpenters were constantly at work. Another, adds this amiable writer, has been known to rebuild his nest within a few yards of the blacksmith's anvil. I discovered one near Great Egg Harbour, in the State of New Jersey, affixed to the cribbing-timbers of an unfinished well, seven or eight feet below the surface of the ground. To all such situations this bird resorts, for the purpose of securing its eggs from the Cuckoo, which greedily sucks them. It is seldom indeed that children meddle with them.

Wherever it may happen to be placed, the nest is large and well secured. It is composed of dry leaves, grass, and moss, which are connected internally with a thick layer of mud and roots, lined with pieces of straw and fine grass, and occasionally a few feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a beautiful bluish-green, without spots. Two broods are usually raised in a season.

The young are fed with anxious care by their tender parents, who, should one intrude upon them, boldly remonstrate, pass and repass by rapid divings, or, if moving along the branches, jerk their wings and tail violently, and sound a peculiar shrill note, evincing their anxiety and displeasure. Should you carry off their young, they follow you to a considerable distance, and are joined by other individuals of the species. The young, before they are fully fledged, often leave the nest to meet their parents, when coming home with a supply of food. The family of Robins which I have grouped in the plate exhibits such an occurrence.

During the pairing season, the male pays his addresses to the female of his choice frequently on the ground, and with a fervour evincing the strongest attachment. I have often seen him, at the earliest dawn of a May morning, strutting around her with all the pomposity of a pigeon. Sometimes along a space of ten or twelve yards, he is seen with his tail fully spread, his wings shaking, and his throat inflated; running over the grass and brushing it, as it were, until he has neared his mate, when he moves round her several times without once rising from the ground. She then receives his caresses.

Many of these birds shew a marked partiality to the places they have chosen to breed in, and I have no doubt that many who escape death in the winter, return to those loved spots each succeeding spring.

The flight of the Robin is swift, at times greatly elevated and capable of being long sustained. During the periods of its migrations, which are irregular, depending upon the want of food or the severity of the weather, it moves in loose flocks over a space of several hundred miles at once, and at a considerable height. From time to time a few shrill notes are heard from different individuals in the flock. Should the weather be calm, their movements are continued during the night, and at such periods the whistling noise of their wings is often heard. During heavy falls of snow and severe gales, they pitch towards the earth, or throw themselves into the woods, where they remain until the weather becomes more favourable. They not unfrequently disappear for several days from a place where they have been in thousands, and again visit it. In Massachusetts and Maine, many spend the most severe winters in the neighbourhood of warm springs and spongy low grounds sheltered from the north winds. In spring they return northward in pairs, the males having then become exceedingly irritable and pugnacious.

The gentle and lively disposition of the Robin when raised in the cage, and the simplicity of his song, of which he is very lavish in confinement, render him a special favourite in the Middle Districts, where he is as generally kept as the Mocking Bird is in the Southern States. It feeds on bread soaked in either milk or water, and on all kinds of fruit. Being equally fond of insects, it seizes on all that enter its prison. It will follow its owner, and come to his call, peck at his finger, or kiss his mouth, with seeming pleasure. It is a long-lived bird, and instances are reported of its having been kept for nearly twenty years. It suffers much in the moult, even in the wild state, and when in captivity loses nearly all its feathers at once.

The young obtain their full plumage by the first spring, being spotted on the breast, and otherwise marked, as in the plate. When in confinement they become darker and less brilliant in the colours, than when at liberty.

So much do certain notes of the Robin resemble those of the European Blackbird, that frequently while in England the cry of the latter, as it flew hurriedly off from a hedge-row, reminded me of that of the former when similarly surprised, and while in America the Robin has in the same manner recalled the Blackbird to my recollection.

Turdus migratorius, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 292.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. i. p. 330.—Ch. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 75.

Merula migratoria, Swains. and Richards. Fauna Bor.-Amer. part ii. p. 176.

Robin, Turdus migratorius, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. i. p. 35. pl. ii. fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, part i. p. 338.

Adult Male. Plate CXXXI. Fig. 1.

Bill of moderate length, rather strong, compressed, acute; upper mandible slightly arched in its dorsal line, with acute edges, which are notched close to the declinate tip; lower mandible nearly straight along the back. Nostrils basal, oblong, half closed above by a membrane. The general form is rather slender. Feet longish, rather strong; tarsus compressed, anteriorly covered with a few long scutella, sharp behind; toes scutellate above, free; the outer and middle united to the second joint, claws arched, compressed, acute.

Plumage soft and rather blended. Wings of moderate length rounded, the first primary extremely short, the third and fourth longest. Tail rather long, even, of twelve broad rounded feathers.

Bill lemon-yellow, the tip brownish, in old birds the whole is yellow. Iris hazel. Feet pale brown. Upper part and sides of the head brownish-black, fading on the back of the neck; the upper parts in general, smoke-grey, tinged on the shoulders with brown. The wings and tail blackish-brown, with greyish edges; the first row of small wing-coverts tipped with pale-grey, and the end of the inner web of the outermost tail-feather, together with the tip of the next, white. An interrupted circle of three lines of white round the eye. Chin white, spotted with brownish-black. The under surface generally, including the wing-coverts, reddish-orange, fading on the abdomen into whitish.

Length 10 inches, extent of wings 14; bill along the ridge ¾, along the edge 11⁄12; tarsus 1 3⁄12, middle toe 1 3⁄12.

Adult Female. Plate CXXXI. Fig. 2.

The colours of the female are paler, but resemble those of the male. Her dimensions are a little less, the length varying from 9 to 10 inches.

Young Birds. Plate CXXXI. Fig. 3, 3, 3, 3, 3.

The young birds are spotted with blackish-brown on the fore-neck, breast, and sides, which are of a paler reddish tint; the upper parts have the shafts of the feathers whitish, and the bill is dark-brown. It is remarkable that all the Thrushes known to me which have the breast of a uniform tint when old, have it spotted when young, shewing that in their mode of colouring the different species of the genus agree in this respect at one period or other.

The Rock or Chestnut Oak.

Quercus montana, Willd. Sp. Pl. vol. iv. p. 440. Pursh, Flor. Amer. Sept. vol. ii. p. 634. Mich. Arbr. Forest. vol. i. p. 56. pl. 8.—Monœcia Polyandria, Linn. Amentaceæ, Juss.

This species of oak is distinguished by its obovate or oblong largely toothed or sinuate leaves, which are acuminate, and tapering at the base, of a deep shining green above, whitish and downy beneath. The cupule is hemispherical, with tuberculate scales; the acorn ovate. It grows to a great size, forming a fine ornament to our woods, and in open situations spreads abroad its branches to a great extent. The wood is valuable, and is much employed in the Western and Southern countries, where, as well as in some of the Middle Districts, it abounds. It prefers elevated situations, and generally occurs in dry gravelly soil.

THE THREE-TOED WOODPECKER.