DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION
STATE OF OHIO

In Accordance with Section 358 of the
General Code of Ohio this

Arbor and Bird Day Manual

is Issued for the Benefit of the

SCHOOLS OF OUR STATE

Compiled by

MRS. GRACE R. CLIFTON

Issued by the
STATE COMMISSIONER OF COMMON SCHOOLS

APRIL 1913

Columbus, Ohio:
The F. J. Heer Printing Co.
1913

STATE OF OHIO

Executive Department

OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR.

PROCLAMATION.

By authority of the law of the State of Ohio, Friday, April 4th, 1913, is hereby named and set apart as

ARBOR DAY.

The statutes provide that those in charge of public schools and institutions of learning are required to devote at least two hours to giving information to the pupils and students concerning the value and interest of forestry and the duty of the public to protect the birds thereof and also for planting forest trees.

It is well that our people have come to a full appreciation of the commercial, as well as the sentimental value of these things. This appreciation was arrived at through the proper inculcation into the minds of the young of the importance of observing the matters of nature upon which we are all so dependent.

But let us not confine our observance of Arbor Day alone to the schools and institutions of learning. Let us at least carry the spirit of the day also into our homes as well. And above all, let us be mindful at this time of the great scheme of nature wherein the humblest plant and flower, as well as the lordliest of the animal creation, has its proper place.

In Testimony Whereof, I have hereunto subscribed my name and caused the Great Seal of the State to be affixed at Columbus, this fifteenth day of January, in the year of our Lord, One Thousand, Nine Hundred and Thirteen.

By the Governor:

James M. Cox.

• Chas. H. Graves
  • Secretary of State.

James M. Cox

Section 358. The state commissioner of common schools shall issue each year a manual for arbor day exercises. The manual shall contain matters relating to forestry and birds, including a copy of such laws relating to the protection of song and insectivorous birds as he deems proper. He shall transmit copies of the manual to the superintendents of city, village, special and township schools and to the clerks of boards of education, who shall cause them to be distributed among the teachers of the schools under their charge. On arbor day, and other days when convenient, the teachers shall cause such laws to be read to the scholars of their respective schools and shall encourage them to aid in the protection of such birds.

Section 7688. Not later than April the governor of the state shall appoint and set apart one day in the spring season of each year, as a day on which those in charge of the public schools and institutions of learning under state control, or state patronage, for at least two hours must give information to the pupils and students concerning the value and interest of forests, the duty of the public to protect the birds thereof, and also for planting forest trees. Such a day shall be known as Arbor Day.

Section 1409. No persons shall catch, kill, injure, pursue or have in his possession either dead or alive, or purchase, expose for sale, transport or ship to a port within or without the state a turtle or mourning dove, sparrow, nuthatch, warbler, flicker, vireo, wren, American robin, catbird, tanager, bobolink, blue jay, oriole, grosbeck or redbird, creeper, redstart, waxwing, woodpecker, humming bird, killdeer, swallow, blue bird, blackbird, meadow lark, bunting, starling, redwing, purple martin, brown thresher, American goldfinch, chewink or ground robin, pewee or phoebe bird, chickadee, fly catcher, knat catcher, mouse hawk, whippoorwill, snow bird, titmouse, gull, eagle, buzzard, or any wild bird other than a game bird. No part of the plumage, skin or body of such bird shall be sold or had in possession for sale.

Section 1410. No person shall disturb or destroy the eggs, nests or young of a bird named in the preceding section; but nothing of the preceding section shall prohibit the killing of a chicken hawk, blue hawk, cooper hawk, sharp skinned hawk, crow, great horned owl, or English sparrow, or the destroying of their nests, or prohibit the owner or duly authorized agent of the premises from killing blackbirds at any time, except on Sunday, when they are found to be a nuisance or are injuring grain or other property.

INTRODUCTION.

This Arbor and Bird Day Annual has been compiled and published for the benefit of the teachers of Ohio. It is our purpose to have this book used from the time it is received until the close of the school term. We find that but few books written about birds and their habits come into the hands of the boys and girls; therefore, we have attempted to include as much additional information as possible concerning the most common birds of Ohio. You will find that the articles about birds are but a continuation of bird study found in the 1912 Arbor and Bird Day Annual. We are under obligations to "Nature and Life", a publication of the Audubon Society, for their articles, for which credit is given after each selection. Johnny Appleseed is a character with whom all the boys and girls should become acquainted. C. L. Martzolf's article about this peculiar man should be read carefully. F. B. Pearson contributed a fine description and history of the "Logan Elm". Charles DeGarmo of Cornell University generously contributed two poems that have not appeared in print before this publication.

G. R. C.

"The Old Beech Tree," Ohio University Campus, Athens, Ohio.

THE CLASS TREE.

(Tune: America.)

—Emma S. Thomas, Schoharie, N.Y., in Teacher's Magazine.

THIS IS ARBOR DAY.

(Tune: Lightly Row.)

—Selected.

This school building is located at Pickerington, Fairfield County. Violet township helped to build this building, and the town and township have among the best of the centralized schools of the state.

WHY WE PLANT THE TREE.

First Pupil.

Second Pupil.

Third Pupil.

Fourth Pupil.

—Primary Education.

WHAT THE TREE TEACHES US.

First Pupil.

Second Pupil.

Third Pupil.

Fourth Pupil.

—Selected.

ARBOR DAY FETE.

By Grace A. Lusk, Milwaukee.

(Stage, if possible, represents scene out-of-doors; raised throne to right.)

Enter Chorus.

Enter boy and girl (with flag and drum).

Boy:

Girl:

(The holidays, after speaking, step to left and right of throne.)

Enter girl (in Puritan dress).

Enter girl (in coat and furs, arms full of packages and holly).

Enter very small boy (carrying a big book under his arm with 1913 printed on it).

Enter girl (in white trimmed with red hearts).

Enter two boys (carrying flags).

Together:

First boy:

Second boy:

Chorus (to Holidays).

Enter Arbor Day (in white, crown of flowers, accompanied by two small maids with flowers, accompanist softly plays Mendelssohn's Spring Song).

Chorus continues.

Arbor Day (while Chorus leads her to throne).

Chorus.

School children (with baskets and bouquets of flowers pass to right of stage, salute in military fashion, saying):

Queen.

Enter ten girls (in white with flowers in hands and in their hair; they quickly and lightly run across stage and form in line; each courtesies as she says her lines).

First girl:

Second girl:

Third girl:

Fourth girl:

Fifth girl:

Sixth girl:

Seventh girl:

Eighth girl:

Ninth girl:

Tenth girl:

All in unison:

Arbor Day.

Rose (turning to flowers and holidays).

(School children, Holidays and Flowers sing while Flowers join hands and dance about in circle.)

(Tune: Campbells are coming.)

(Alternate girls step inside circle, face outward, other circle about.)

(Each girl in inner circle gives her right hand to left hand of girl in outer circle, thus in "wheel form" they circle singing.)

(Dropping hands in single file they pass to back of stage singing.)

Arbor Day.

Trees enter (carrying budded boughs of trees; they march and countermarch in simple march figures, while piano plays "Campbells are coming," or "Narcissus." They form in line, each saluting queen as he speaks his line.)

First boy:

Second boy:

Third boy:

Fourth boy:

Fifth boy:

Sixth boy:

Seventh boy:

Eighth boy:

Ninth boy:

Tenth boy:

Trees in unison:

(March to music to back of stage behind Flowers.)

Arbor Day.

Enter ten small girls (run in on tiptoe lightly, waving arms while the others sing.)

First girl (courtesies):

Second girl:

Third girl:

Fourth girl:

Fifth girl:

Sixth girl:

Seventh girl:

Eighth girl:

Ninth girl:

Tenth girl:

In Unison:

Arbor Day:

(Here may be introduced groups of the charming flower songs by Mrs. Gaynor, bird songs by Nevin, simple folk dances, and appropriate Spring poems, etc., as part of the May Day fete.)

Arbor Day.

(Exit, first the Birds, then the Trees, the flowers, the School children, the Holidays, then Arbor Day and Chorus, singing.)

(Simple costumes make this more effective. All the girls wear white gowns—Chorus has a simple Greek dress. Arbor Day a crown of flowers and scepter, her maids baskets of flowers; the flower girls wear chaplets of blossoms, artificial ones are best; The Holidays can wear appropriate dress; the School-Children enter as if from play with their baskets, dolls, flowers, fishing rods, etc.)

A BROKEN WING.

—Selected.

HUNTING THE WILD.

One Christmas, over forty years ago, my grandfather sent to me from Colorado a real Indian bow and arrows. It was a beautiful bow with a sinew string and wrapped in the middle and at the ends with sinews. The arrow-heads were iron spikes, bound in place with wrapping of fine sinews. The eagle feathers' tips were also bound with sinews.

It was a beautiful, snow-clad Christmas morning, and I remember how I yearned to go with this bow and arrows into the cedar grove to shoot the birds feeding there. This yearning must have expressed itself in some way, for I distinctly remember how a man with my bow and arrows led the way, and I in restrained delight followed him to the cedar grove. I remember how he maneuvered among the trees, and with keen eyes watched for an opportunity to make a shot.

He stopped, whispered to me, pointed to a bird in the trunk of a cedar. Raising the bow, it bent taut under his firm, cautious pull. "Whiz," went the arrow, and there, pinned to the tree with the iron spike, fluttered a hairy woodpecker. To my wondering child-mind it was a great feat—my inherent instinct for hunting the wild approved and applauded.

That very phase of human nature is what we are now trying to eliminate from the present and coming generation.

—Eugene Swope.

"Hungry Hollow."

WREN NOTES.

From Nature and Culture.

We have grown to expect at least one wren's nest on our porch or elsewhere in our yard each year; so, as usual, we put our boxes this Spring with notices, figuratively: "For wrens only—no sparrows need apply."

Knowing Jenny's fastidious taste, we furnish several boxes, thus giving her a choice. There is but little we would not do to induce her to live in our neighborhood, and it would be a great disappointment to us if she would not accept one of our houses, rent free.

This year, 1912, she carried twigs to three different boxes before she settled down to business. When this occurred, to our amusement, she went to the other two boxes for twigs, bringing them to the chosen site, instead of getting them from the ground, which for obvious reasons would have been much easier. Mr. Wren is not so hard to suit. Anything is good enough, in his estimation, much to the disgust of his spouse.

We Are Seven.

One day he made bold to select a box and carried in a few twigs to lay the "cornerstone" of a structure. Soon Mrs. Wren came upon the scene and in unmistakable language told him what she thought of him. Still scolding, this Xantippe of birds threw out the material he had brought, and, meekly submitting, he accepted her choice of a new location.

We always have to reckon with the sparrows—"avian rats," as some one has aptly called them. We do our best in helping Jenny drive them away by emptying out the stuff they bring in, by shooting them away, and even by use of the air gun. When absent one day for several hours we found, upon our return, the following things in the box: a rusty nail, an old safety pin, a hairpin, an elastic fixture, besides the usual bits of grass, weeds, sticks, roots, etc.

After emptying this out, it gave Mrs. Wren her inning once more, and she improved the opportunity; for she built an unusually fine nest, which is not altogether apparent in this illustration. The box containing the nest was placed upon a ledge of the porch and so could be easily taken down for inspection.

The material first used in the nest was twigs found under a nearby plum tree. Then it was lined with grass, horse hair, a blue jay's feather, some hen's feathers, and some cottony material like lint. Jenny finally completed her boudoir by festooning a snake skin about it. When the nestlings began to walk about over the nest, this skin broke up into bits; so does not show in the picture.

This nest was begun May 4, and the first egg was laid May 12. One more egg was added each day until eight were counted. They began to hatch the 30th, thus celebrating Memorial Day. Seven eggs hatched and the little ones kept the old birds more than busy, early and late, feeding them.

First the tiniest little spiders and bugs were brought. Then came larger ones, and finally beetles, crickets, large spiders, etc., were dropped into the yawning mouths. So fast they grew, one could almost see the progress from day to day. They posed for this picture June 17, leaving the nest the 18th, and on the 19th the parent birds began their second nest in another box on the same porch.

The first egg was laid the 23rd, thus taking but four days in the construction of this nest, while the first required eight. As a matter of fact it was not so carefully made. This time only five eggs were laid, and at the present moment Mr. Wren is singing encouragement and appreciation to his brooding mate; and, although the thermometer registers 98° in the shade, his notes joyously ripple out loud and clear, not only to Jenny's delight, but to ours as well.

A COMPARISON.

—Selected.

A Solitary Giant That Will Soon Disappear.

DAME NATURE'S RECIPE (APRIL).

—Selected.

THE GROUSE.

Hattie Washburn, Goodwin, S.D.

"The grouse is a very fine bird." The sentence leaped out of the conversation and caught my wandering attention. With a quick smile I looked toward our rather corpulent guest across the table. I love birds, and a word in their praise ever fills me with pleasure, not alone because one delights in the praise of whatever he cherishes, but because the expression of such a sentiment indicates that the speaker is one who will befriend the birds or at least leave them unmolested.

"Take them when they are properly prepared," our guest continued, and I lowered my eyes to my plate in disgust. He appreciated their value only as a palatable dish to feed his fat body or possibly as a target for his gun.

Such is the general attitude, it would seem, toward the grouse family, from the ruffled grouse of the wooded portions of the Eastern States to the prairie chicken of our vast plains, the dusky grouse of the mountain regions of the West and all their related species.

The drumming of the ruffled grouse so harmoniously breaking the stillness of the woodland is dear to the nature-lover; no sound is more characteristic of the prairies than the prairie chicken's melodious booking that echoes afar like the low notes of a vast organ; the dusky grouse's booming call, that may seem to come from a distance even when the bird is near by, has its place in the great symphony of nature, yet these musical sounds are being steadily and relentlessly silenced by the gun of the sportsman. By this silencing that costs the lives of countless hundreds of innocent and harmless birds, the agriculturist is being robbed of one of his most powerful allies in the endless battle against insects.

Nature has given the grouse tribe large, palatable bodies and characteristics which render them easy marks for the hunter, with only zest enough to the quest to make these birds what sportsmen call "good game." She has also endowed the grouse with food habits which should cause them to live and multiply under the protection of man. The former characteristics, however, seem most strongly to attract mankind in general, and the grouse is known as game rather than the insect-eating bird that it is.

Laws have been made for the protection of the pinnated grouse, or prairie chicken, and others of their tribe. These laws have been enforced and have aided materially in the great work of bird-protection. They have also, it is regrettable to state, been violated and ignored. Too often the land owner is too lenient; being blinded to his own interests or being keenly alive to the need of protecting the grouse within his realm, is powerless to act because of lack of evidence.

The prairie hen nests upon the ground, choosing her own nesting site, performing the duties of incubation, and rearing her young unaided by the cock. There are few wooers in bird-life so ardent as the pinnated grouse, yet he that joins in the mating ceremony of booming morning after morning on some chosen booming-ground or fiercely contests with other males for the favor of the chosen one deserts her soon after the winning.

Thus the eggs and young, having only one protector, are unduly exposed. Since they are always on the ground until the young are able to fly their loss is great. It is estimated that half of the prairie hens' eggs are destroyed by fire, water and other causes. Wet seasons are very injurious to the prairie chicks, and at all times they are in danger from skunks and other prowlers, save through the cunning and courageous protection of their devoted mother.

These unavoidable dangers should appeal to the farmer to render the prairie chicken his kindness and protection whenever he can. He has few, if any, greater allies, for during the rearing of the young and throughout the summer the food of the prairie chicken consists principally of insects, chiefly of the destructive grasshopper. During the winter they feed upon weed-seed and scattered grain. Of course, at times the prairie chickens make slight inroads upon the crops, but these are many times repaid by the noxious weed-seeds they destroy.

The wild rose is one of the most beautiful flowers on the prairie. It is also one of the most troublesome weeds, in the destruction of which the prairie chicken has no superior, for one of their principal foods in winter is the wild rose fruit.

The beneficial characteristics of the prairie chicken, varied by environment and ensuing tendencies of the birds, hold true of the entire grouse family. Wherever found, the grouse are considered good game birds. Were their good works in the destruction of weeds and insects as well known as is their desirability for the table or for targets for the sportsmen, they would be regarded as one of the most valuable among the agriculturist's feathered friends.

—Reprint from Nature and Culture.

BUNNY.

A Summer Scene in Mercer County.

A Branch of the Maumee.

OHIO'S PIONEER TREE-PLANTER.

By Clement L. Martzolff, Ohio University, Athens, Ohio.

In the year 1806, a man living in Jefferson County, happened to look out upon the Ohio River one day when he saw floating down with the tide a strange looking craft. It consisted of two ordinary canoes lashed together. The crew was one very oddly-dressed man and the cargo comprised racks of appleseeds. This singular man was John Chapman, better known as "Johnny Appleseed," from his penchant for gathering apple-seeds at the cider-presses in western Pennsylvania, bringing them to Ohio, planting them at suitable places, so when the pioneer came he would find an abundance of young apple trees ready for planting.

This was the mission of "Johnny Appleseed" who conscientiously believed it had been heaven sent. He was deeply religious and his faith taught him he could live as complete a life in thus serving his fellow-men, as in perhaps some higher (?) sphere of usefulness. Certainly the result of his labors proved a great blessing to the Ohio pioneer.

Very little is known of Johnny Appleseed before he came to Ohio. He was born in Springfield, Massachusetts, in the opening of the Revolutionary War, 1775. As a boy he loved to roam the woods, searching for plants and flowers. He was a lover of nature in all its forms. He studied the birds as well as the flowers. He loved the song of the brook as he did that of the birds. At night he would lie upon his back and gaze into the sky and whether he studied flowers or stars, brooks or birds, he saw God's hand-writing in them all. It is thought he came westward with his half-brother about the year 1801, and located somewhere about Pittsburgh. His father, Nathaniel Chapman, shortly afterward became one of the residents of Marietta and later moved to Duck Creek, in Washington county, where he died. "Johnny" never spoke much about his previous life. It was said by some that he had been once disappointed in love and this accounted for his never marrying and for living the life he did. This is not probable. Such stories are told about every old bachelor and since they are so common, they lose their value.

What educational advantages our tree-planter enjoyed, we do not know, either. But it is certain he possessed a fair knowledge of the rudiments of learning. He was a great reader for one of his time and his mode of life, and moreover, he was a clear thinker.

There are some who would call "Johnny Appleseed" "queer;" others, "freakish;" again, "eccentric," etc. This peculiar, odd personage may be described by all these terms. But the ruling passion of his life was to plant apple-seeds, because he loved to see trees grow and because he loved his fellow-men. The world has often been made better because there was a man who possessed but one idea, and he worked it for all it was worth.

"Johnny's" methods were to keep up with the van of pioneerdom and move along with it to the westward. So we find him in the early years of the century in western Pennsylvania, then in Ohio, and after forty-five years of service to mankind, he dies and is buried near Ft. Wayne in Indiana.

His nurseries were usually located in the moist land along some stream. Here he would plant the seeds, surround the patch with a brush fence and wander off to plant another one elsewhere. Returning at intervals to prune and care for them, he would soon have thrifty trees growing all over the country.

He did not plant these trees for money, but the pioneer got them oftentimes for old clothes, although his usual price for each tree was "a fip-penny-bit."

The first nursery Johnny planted in Ohio was on George's Run in Jefferson county. Others he planted along the river front, when he moved into the interior of the state. For years he lived in a little rude hut in Richland county near the present town of Perrysville, from where he operated his nurseries in the counties of Richland, Ashland, Wayne, Knox, and Tuscarawas.

On his journeys across the country he usually camped in the woods, although the pioneer latch-string was always hanging out for "Apple-seed John." He carried his cooking utensils with him. His mush-pan serving him for a hat. When he would accept the hospitality of a friend, he preferred making his bed on the floor. He wore few clothes and went bare-footed the most of his time, even when the weather was quite cold. For a coat a coffee sack with holes cut for neck and arms was ample.

There were plenty of Indians in those days and they were troublesome, too, since several massacres occurred in that region. But they never did any harm to our hero. No doubt they thought he was quite a "Medicine Man." Once, during the War of 1812, when the red-men were at their depredations and all the people were flocking to the Mansfield block-house for protection, it was necessary to get a message to Mt. Vernon, asking for the assistance of the militia. It was thirty miles away and the trip had to be made in the night. Johnny volunteered his services. Bare-footed and bare-headed he made his way along the forest trails, where wild animals and probably wild Indians were lurking. The next morning he had returned and with him was the needed help.

He loved everything that lived. He harmed no animal, and if he found any that were wounded or mis-treated, he would care for them as best he could. Once when a snake had bitten him, he instinctively killed it. He never quite forgave himself for this "ungodly passion."

He, as has already been stated, was deeply religious. He was a disciple of Emanuel Swedenborg, and he always carried some religious books about with him, in the bosom of his shirt. These books he would give away. Often he would divide a book into several pieces, so it would go farther. When he visited the pioneers, he would always hold worship and discuss religious subjects with them.

But Johnny was getting old. The first trees he planted had for years been bearing fruit. Still he kept planting and caring for new nurseries. Once in Ft. Wayne he heard that some cattle had broken into one of them and were destroying his trees. The distance was twenty miles. He started at once to protect his property. It was in the early spring of 1845. The weather was raw and the trip was too much for him. He sought shelter at a pioneer home, partook of a bowl of bread and milk for his supper, and before retiring for the night as usual held worship.

The family never forgot that evening. How the simple-minded old man read from the Book, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Then he prayed and as he spoke with God, he grew eloquent. His words made a deep impression on all who heard him.

In the morning he was found to have a high fever. Pneumonia had developed during the night. A physician was called, but the age of the man and the exposure to which he had subjected himself for so many years were against him. With the sunshine of joy and satisfaction upon his countenance as though his dying eyes were already looking into the new Jerusalem, "God's finger touched him and he slept."

(From "Appleseed John" by Maria Child.)

Bibliography of John Chapman.

Howe's History of Ohio, Vol. II, p. 484.

Ohio Archaeological and Historical Society Publications, Vol. VI, p. 290. Vol. IX, p. 301.

"Philip Seymour" or "Pioneer Life in Richland County" by Rev. James F. McGraw.

"The Quest of John Chapman" by Newell Dwight Hillis.

Jackson Township, Pickaway County, Centralized School Building.

WHY STUDY BIRDS?

A Cincinnati teacher in one of the big intermediate schools recently discussed with her class the question of studying birds. She reminded them that they are city children living in a densely populated district, and that they could hardly expect to see the live birds unless they went into the country, but agreed to forming a bird-study class if the children could give good reasons for doing so.

One child called attention to the fact that they read and studied about many things all over the world that they never hoped to see, why not about birds also? One boy thought it just as necessary for city children to know what was to be seen in the country, as for country children to know what could be seen in the city. There were other reasons offered equally as good, but behind it all was a real live desire, a natural desire, that need give no reasons for its existence, to learn something about the wild birds. The teacher saw this, and being one who realizes that schools are maintained for the benefit of children rather than that children are born and reared to serve a school system, consented to the organization of a Junior Audubon Class.

Bird study in some measure should be given to every class in every school, city and country. Not just because it is new, not just because it is a branch of the now popular nature-study, not just because the children are eager for it, all of which are good reasons, but because of the great need of a national change of attitude toward the wild birds if we are to succeed in preserving this absolutely essential part of our natural resources.

—Eugene Swope.

TROOP OF WINTER BIRDS LED BY CAPTAIN NUT-HATCH.

H. W. Weisgerber.

From Nature and Culture.

How many of the boys that roam the winter woods appreciate the services of the white-breasted nut-hatch? He is the captain of the small troop of winter resident birds, and where his "yank", "yank", is heard there are the other birds also. Sometimes he is far in advance of the troop, but the small company of followers press on and go where he leads.

In the winter birds are not as common as during the summer, and the bird student sometimes tramps a long ways before he sees one of any kind. Then, all of a sudden he hears the call-note of the nut-hatch, and if he is wise, he will follow it up until he comes upon the company, which will not be far away from where the nut-hatch is heard.

Sometimes only three species are found, but generally four different kinds of birds make up the small company that road the woods together. These four are the white-breasted nuthatch, tufted titmouse, downy woodpecker, and the merry little chickadee. What a happy, contented quartet they are!

One cold and cloudy November morning I thought I had caught a pair of nuthatches that had betrayed their trust. I had followed an old rail fence that bordered a weedy cornfield next to an open woods, and the only birds seen were a few juncos and tree sparrows. After walking about thirty rods, a pair of nuthatches were found; the next ten minutes were spent listening and looking for the other birds that should have been about. None were seen or heard. I was about to make a note of the fact; but, it being a cold, windy morning, I deferred this part, and moved on in order to get warm. I paralleled my first walk by keeping in the woods along the fence, waiting for the troop to come. I had not gone many rods until a note was heard, then a titmouse came in sight, and in a few minutes I was surrounded by titmice, downy woodpeckers, chickadees, and a number of golden-crowned kinglets. Altogether there were twenty-five or more of the little fellows, and they moved so fast that I did not get to see them all, so I followed them to the place where I first saw the nuthatches. Here was where white-breasted was christened "Captain Nuthatch."

FARMER JOHN.

—Trowbridge.

This Picture Represents First Grade Children Enjoying the Best of School Opportunities.

A School Exhibit.

BIRD STUDY.

W. H. Wisman, New Paris, Ohio.

In order to carry on the work of bird study with any degree of success, experience has taught me that the subject must continually be kept before the pupils in all of its phases. This means actual work among the birds, with eyes sharpened for every movement and ears tuned to every sound.

The first essential, I think, is for the pupil to know the bird by sight—that is, at close range—and to be able to give a minute description, paying attention to details in markings, especially in cases where distinctive markings determine the species.

Our work in autumn consists in a sharp lookout for the warblers that are returning toward the Southland at the beginning of the school term. This requires careful observation, and pupils are encouraged to be watchful at this time and report any small bird they may be able to find on their way to or from school, or at home. A record is kept, and pupils are urged to compete for the longest list of different species.

Later in the season, when the leaves are well off the trees, we start a nest-hunting contest, the object being to see who can find the greatest number of nests in a specified time. Samples of nests are secured and put up in the school room.

When cold weather comes the question of food supply is considered. Shelters for the birds are constructed, and feeding places are prepared. One method is to place a feeding board outside a south window, and fastening a good-sized branch of a tree outside the window, upon which pieces of suet are fastened. The remains of the children's lunches, together with seeds, kernels of nuts, etc., are placed upon the board, and birds soon learn to come to the banquet prepared for them. The pupils are urged to go home and do likewise.

Monthly bird lists are kept, showing the kinds of birds that may be seen each month, and pupils are required to keep note-books in which anything of interest may be noted.

In the spring the question of housing the birds is considered, and pupils are taught to construct simple bird houses, and all are interested in placing these boxes about their homes.

In connection with this field work, attention is given to the literature upon this subject. Scrap-books are kept, and any article relating to birds found in papers or magazines is clipped and pasted in this book.

We have in the school room over one hundred and fifty pictures in colors of the birds to be found in this section of the State, and using these as a basis, I give frequent "lectures" on the habits or any other points of interest concerning these birds.

The pupils are very enthusiastic in the work, and the influence has not only extended throughout the entire district, but other teachers and pupils in the surrounding districts have caught the spirit and much is being done along this line throughout the township.

—Reprint from Nature and Culture.

THE WHITE BIRCH.

By Charles DeGarmo.

—After Wm. Martin.

Notice the Spreading Branches of This Tree.

BLUE.

By Charles DeGarmo.

—From the Author's forthcoming book, "An Aesthetic View of the World."

¹
The Author's little granddaughters.

SUNRISE NEVER FAILS.

—Celia Thaxter.

New Washington, Crawford County, High School.

WHO—OO—

—Jean Halifax in St. Nicholas.

THE BLUEBIRD.

By Mabel Osgood Wright.

The National Association of Audubon Societies Educational Leaflet No. 24.

Who dares write of the Bluebird, thinking to add a fresher tint to his plumage, a new tone to his melodious voice, or a word of praise to his gentle life, that is as much a part of our human heritage and blended with our memories as any other attribute of home?

Not I, surely, for I know him too well and each year feel myself more spellbound and mute by the memories he awakens. Yet I would repeat his brief biography, lest there be any who, being absorbed by living inward, have not yet looked outward and upward to this poet of the sky and earth and the fullness and goodness thereof.

The Bluebird's
Country.

For the Bluebird was the first of all poets,—even before man had blazed a trail in the wilderness or set up the sign of his habitation and tamed his thoughts to wear harness and travel to measure. And so he came to inherit the earth before man, and this, our country, is all The Bluebird's County, for at some time of the year he roves about it from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from Mexico to Nova Scotia, though westward, after he passes the range of the Rocky Mountains, he wears a different dress and bears other longer names.

The Bluebird's
Travels.

In spite of the fact that our eastern Bluebird is a home-body, loving his nesting haunt and returning to it year after year, he is an adventurous traveler. Ranging all over the eastern United States at some time in the season, this bird has its nesting haunts at the very edge of the Gulf States and upward, as far north as Manitoba and Nova Scotia.

When the breeding season is over, the birds travel sometimes in family groups and sometimes in large flocks, moving southward little by little, according to season and food-supply, some journeying as far as Mexico, others lingering through the middle and southern states. The Bluebirds that live in our orchards in summer are very unlikely to be those that we see in the same place in winter days. Next to the breeding impulse, the migrating instinct seems to be the strongest factor of bird life. When the life of the home is over, Nature whispers, "To wing, up and on!" So a few of the Bluebirds who have nested in Massachusetts may be those who linger in New Jersey, while those whose breeding haunts were in Nova Scotia, drift downward to fill their places in Massachusetts. But the great mass of even those birds we call winter residents go to the more southern parts of their range every winter, those who do not being but a handful in comparison.

"What does this great downward journey of autumn mean?" you ask. What is the necessity for migration among a class of birds that are able to find food in fully half of the annual range? Why do birds seek extremes for nesting sites? This is a question about which the wise men have many theories, but they are still groping. One theory is that once the whole country had a more even climate and that many species of birds lived all the year in places that are now unsuitable for a permanent residence. Therefore, the home instinct being so strong, though they were driven from their nesting sites by scarcity of food and stress of weather, their instinct led them back as soon as the return of spring made it possible.

Thus the hereditary love of the place where they were given life may underlie the great subject of migration in general and that of the Bluebird's home in particular.

The Bluebird
at Home.

Before more than the first notes of spring song have sounded in the distance, Bluebirds are to be seen by twos and threes about the edge of old orchards along open roads, where the skirting trees have crumbled or decaying knot-holes have left tempting nooks for the tree-trunk birds, with whom the Bluebird may be classed. For, though he takes kindly to a bird-box, or a convenient hole in a fencepost, telegraph pole or outbuilding, a tree hole must have been his first home and consequently he has a strong feeling in its favor.

As with many other species of migrant birds, the male is the first to arrive; and he does not seem to be particularly interested in house-hunting until the arrival of the female, when the courtship begins without delay, and the delicate purling song with the refrain, "Dear, dear, think of it, think of it," and the low, two-syllabled answer of the female is heard in every orchard. The building of the nest is not an important function,—merely gathering of a few wisps and straws, with some chance feathers for lining. It seems to be shared by both parents, as are the duties of hatching and feeding the young. The eggs vary in number, six being the maximum, and they are not especially attractive, being of so pale a blue that it is better to call them a bluish white. Two broods are usually raised each year, though three are said to be not uncommon; for Bluebirds are active during a long season, and, while the first nest is made before the middle of April, last year a brood left the box over my rose arbor September 12, though I do not know whether this was a belated or a prolonged family arrangement.

As parents the Bluebirds are tireless, both in supplying the nest with insect food and attending to its sanitation; the wastage being taken away and dropped at a distance from the nest at almost unbelievable short intervals, proving the wonderful rapidity of digestion and the immense amount of labor required to supply the mill inside the little speckled throats with grist.

The young Bluebirds are spotted thickly on throat and back, after the manner of the throat of their cousin, the Robin, or, rather, the back feathers are spotted, the breast feathers having dusky edges, giving a speckled effect.

The study of the graduations of plumage of almost any brightly colored male bird from its first clothing until the perfectly matured feather of its breeding season, is in itself, a science and a subject about which there are many theories and differences of opinion by equally distinguished men.

The Food of
the Bluebird.

The food of the nestling Bluebird is insectivorous, or, rather to be more exact, I should say animal; but the adult birds vary their diet at all seasons by eating berries and small fruits. In autumn and early winter, cedar and honeysuckle berries, the grape-like cluster of fruit of the poison ivy, bittersweet and catbrier berries are all consumed according to their needs.

Professor Beal, of the Department of Agriculture, writes, after a prolonged study, that 76 per cent. of the Bluebird's food "consists of insects and their allies, while the other 24 per cent. is made up of various vegetable substances, found mostly in stomachs taken in winter. Beetles constitute 28 per cent. of the whole food, grasshoppers 22, caterpillars 11, and various insects, including quite a number of spiders, comprise the remainder of the insect diet. All these are more or less harmful, except a few predaceous beetles, which amount to 8 per cent., but in view of the large consumption of grasshoppers and caterpillars, we can at least condone this offense, if such it may be called. The destruction of grasshoppers is very noticeable in the months of August and September, when these insects form more than 60 per cent. of the diet."

It is not easy to tempt Bluebirds to an artificial feeding-place, such as I keep supplied with food for Juncos, Chickadees, Woodpeckers, Nuthatches, Jays, etc.; though in winter they will eat dried currants and make their own selection from mill sweepings if scattered about the trees of their haunts. For, above all things, the Bluebird, though friendly and seeking the borderland between the wild and the tame, never becomes familiar, and never does he lose the half-remote individuality that is one of his great charms. Though he lives with us and gives no sign of pride of birth or race, he is not of us, as the Song Sparrow, Chippy or even the easily alarmed Robin. The poet's mantle envelopes him even as the apple blossoms throw a rosy mist about his doorway, and it is best so.

THE BLUEBIRDS.

1. Eastern Bluebird (Sialia sialis)

Adult male.—Length 7 inches. Upper parts, wings and tail bright blue; breast and sides rusty, reddish brown, belly white. Adult female.—Similar to the male, but upper parts except the upper tail coverts, duller, gray or brownish blue, the breast and sides paler. Nestling.—Wings and tail essentially like those of adult, upper parts dark sooty brown, the back spotted with whitish; below, whitish, but the feathers of the breast and sides widely margined with brown, producing a spotted appearance. This plumage is soon followed by the fall or winter plumage, in which the blue feathers of the back are fringed with rusty, and young and old birds are then alike in color.

Range.—Eastern United States west to the Rocky Mountains; nests from the Gulf States to Manitoba and Nova Scotia; winters from southern New England southward.

1a. Azure Bluebird (Sialia sialis azurea).

Similar to the Eastern Bluebird, but breast paler, upper parts lighter, more cerulean blue.

Range.—Mountains of eastern Mexico north to southern Arizona.

2. Western Bluebird (Sialia mexicana occidentalis).

Adult male.—Above deep blue, the foreback in part chestnut; throat blue, breast and sides chestnut, the belly bluish grayish.

Adult Female.—Above grayish blue, chestnut of back faintly indicated, throat grayish blue, breast rusty, paler than in male, belly grayish.

Range.—Pacific coast region from northern Lower California north to British Columbia, east to Nevada.

2a. Chestnut-Backed Bluebird (Sialia mexicana anabelae).

Similar to the Western Bluebird, but foreback wholly chestnut.

Range.—Rocky Mountain region from Mexico north to Wyoming.

2b. San Pedro Bluebird (Sialia mexicana anabelae).

Similar to the Western Bluebird, but back with less chestnut.

Range.—San Pedro Martir mountains, Lower California.

3. Mountain Bluebird (Sialia arctica).

Adult male.—Almost wholly blue, above beautiful cerulean, below paler, belly whitish. Adult female.—Above brownish gray, upper tail coverts, wings and tail bluish below pale fawn, belly whitish.

Range.—Western United States from Rocky Mountains to Sierras, and from New Mexico north to the Great Slave Lake region.

TO CELIA.

—Ben Johnson.

A Tree That Stands in the Open Country Has a Hard Struggle for Existence.

DON'T FORGET THE TREE.

(A Poem for Arbor Day.)

DON'T FORGET THE TREE.

—T. C. Harbaugh.

Along The Maumee.

The Thoughtless Lumber-Man Leaves an Uncanny Wake.

TRAILING ARBUTUS.

—Mary Nowlan Wittwer, Adelphi, Ohio.

Many Times "Three Score Years and Ten."

THE LOGAN ELM.

The Logan Elm, about six miles from Circleville, with five acres of park surrounding it, is now the property of the Ohio Historical and Archaeological Society, having been transferred to that organization by the Pickaway Historical Association on October 2, 1912. It is altogether proper that this historic tree and ground should become the property of Ohio so that every person in our commonwealth may feel a proprietary interest in this spot and all that it means.

We have traveled far on the pathway of civilization since the day when the Chief of the Mingoes made this spot memorable by his native eloquence, but we do well to look back, now and again, to these landmarks so as to catch a view of the road over which we have come. Such a view gives us courage and spirit for the journey that lies before us for we are made to feel that since we have done this much we shall be able to do even more and better.

In his historical collections Howe says of the speech of Logan: "It was repeated throughout the North American Colonies as a lesson of eloquence in the schools, and copied upon the pages of literary journals in Great Britain and the Continent. This brief effusion of mingled pride, courage and sorrow, elevated the character of the native American throughout the intelligent world; and the place where it was delivered can never be forgotten so long as touching eloquence is admired by men."

This being true, it is quite fitting that the schools shall place this speech in the category of eloquence and give the children to know that real eloquence is the expression of deep and sincere emotion. The Logan Elm remains to us the visible symbol of an example of this sort of eloquence and our celebration of Arbor Day will be all the more inspiring if all the children come to know the meaning of this tree and feel the real eloquence of the speech.

The version of the speech here given is found in Jefferson's Notes and is as follows:

—F. B. Pearson.

LITTLE DOG TRAY.

—By Walter P. Neff.

Lady Betty.

A KIPLING TRIBUTE.

—By Lee A. Dollinger.

"MAN'S BEST FRIEND."

Senator Vest had been retained as the Attorney of a man whose dog had been wantonly shot by a neighbor. The plaintiff demanded $200.00.

When Vest finished speaking the jury awarded $500.00 without leaving their seats. This is what he said:

"Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most.

"A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us, may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog.

"A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer. He will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He will guard the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains.

"When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces he is as constant in his love, as the sun on its journey through the heavens. If misfortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in his embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his grave side will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death."

—Van Dyke.

THE REDSTARTS.

Cordelia J. Stanwood, Ellsworth, Me.

Reprints from Nature and Culture.

The redstart is one of the most beautiful of the warblers. It flutters through the branches like the sunbeams through the dancing leaves; again, it suggests a darting flame or a gorgeous autumn-leaf tossed hither and thither by the wind.

The redstart winters in the tropics—Mexico, South America, and the West Indies—but nests in almost every part of North America east of the Rockies. The female models an exquisite statant, increment nest, well set down in the crotch of a tree, but the kind of a tree selected and the materials used vary in different localities.

The most beautiful nest I ever found was located sixteen feet from the ground, in the crotch of a white birch. The support was formed by the main trunk and several ascending, rudimentary branches. When I looked up into the tree a tiny, fluffy mass of white birch curls attracted my attention. On this cushion the nest was shaped of similar curls of white birch bark and partially decomposed inner bark, fiber; the rim, firm and well modeled, consisted of what looked like split culms of hay, but I decided that it must be the outside of decayed goldenrod stems. It was lined with horse hair, human hair, and the feathers of the female. A daintier, warmer, safer, little cradle no bird could desire.

Another nest, located in a maple five feet high from the ground, was placed on a foundation of dead leaves, coarse meadow grass, and white birch bark. The cup was constructed of fine cedar bark fiber; the outside was ornamented with the white egg cases of some insect. The nest had a beautifully turned brim of the same material as was used in the former nest. The lining, likewise, was of goldenrod fiber, and a few of the green and yellow feathers of the female. As usual, more or less spider's floss entered into the composition of this well-made structure. The dwelling strikingly corresponded in color with the gray maple crotch that supported it. Each house was well adapted to its surroundings.

The female builds the nest almost unassisted and appears, likewise to incubate and brood the young. The male, however, sings from his varied repertoire to cheer his mate at her task, and assists the female in feeding the young and cleansing the domicile, but when disturbed by an observer, the female is more assiduous than the male in her attentions to their offspring.

Usually when a person attempts to inspect a redstart's nest containing young, the female drops from the nest a dead weight and falls from branch to branch of any tree in the way, striking the ground with a dull thud. Her next move is to trail a helpless wing along the ground. At another time she flies from the nest and alights on the ground with spread wings and tail. The yellow markings on the wing and tail show conspicuously as the bird moves forward by the wings, as if her legs were too weak to sustain her weight. At the same time the bird twitters very softly, almost inaudibly; in other words, she feigns the helplessness of a young bird. These pretty deceptions, the expression of the mother instinct, always appeal to me very strongly.

While studying a family of redstarts that lived in a gray birch some twelve feet above the ground, the hen and one nestling disappeared. Across the hayfield from the grove of the birds that I was observing was a bit of woodland to which both redstarts resorted frequently, presumably for feed. Here was the nest of a redstart containing four fresh eggs. That day I arranged with a care to lower the nest a number of feet. The birds deserted. On examining the nest I found that one egg has been cracked. Whether this nest belonged to the redstarts of the grove and the female left her young in the care of the cock while she constructed a third nest, I cannot say. Exactly what became of the mother remained a mystery.

It was with grave concern that I watched the gayly dressed little songster for an entire day to see if he would take upon himself the duties of the mother-bird. Nothing could have been more touching than to note the faithfulness with which he performed all the work of two birds save brooding the young. The following morning the nest was empty, but I found the father-bird in a coppice feeding the little family. Evidently he had undertaken the entire care of his small flock.

One nest of redstarts that I studied from the egg stage was on the wing on the tenth day. As the nest was but five feet from the ground, within reach, and as I called there nearly every day, it is not surprising that the old bird tolled the young from the nest as soon as they were able to fly. At this age redstart nestlings preen vigorously and fly short distances.

The nest of the redstarts, when vacated, was immaculate, save for the quill and pin feather cases that filled the interstices.

The bird seems to raise a second brood, at least some years, as nearly all the dates at which I have discovered the bird nesting are later than those I find recorded. Redstarts were completing a nest June 13, 1908; a male and female were feeding four young five or six days old July 13, 1907; a bird was ready to incubate four fresh eggs the same day, and still another redstart was incubating four eggs July 5, 1910; these were not hatched until nine days later.

If the birds feed two broods during the summer, then they are nearly twice as useful as they have been generally supposed to be. The redstart is the most active of the active warblers, and the number of gnats, flies, caterpillars, moths, other insects and their eggs that these birds consume or feed to their nestlings in one day is incredible. While it does splendid work in the woods it frequently comes to the orchard and is not unknown to paly its quest for food in the village streets. While we admire the redstart for its beauty and its charming little songs, we respect the bird for his utility. In this case the proverbial "fine feathers" do cover fine little bird.

THE OLD TREE.

—Richard Nevin Pemberton.

THE HORSE'S PRAYER TO HIS MASTER.

To Thee, My master, I offer my prayer: Feed me, water and care for me, and when the day's work is done, provide me with shelter, a clean dry bed, and a stall wide enough for me to lie down in comfort.

Always be kind to me. Talk to me. Your voice often means as much to me as the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you the more gladly and learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins, and do not whip me when going up hill. Never strike, beat or kick me when I do not understand what you want, but give me a chance to understand you. Watch me, and if I fail to do your bidding, see if something is not wrong with my harness or feet.

Do not check me so that I cannot have the free use of my head. If you insist that I wear blinders so that I cannot see behind me, as it was intended I should, I pray you to be careful that the blinders stand well out from my eyes.

Do not overload me, or hitch me where water will drip on me. Keep me well shod. Examine my teeth when I do not eat. I may have an ulcerated tooth, and that, you know, is very painful. Do not fix my head in an unnatural position, or take away my best defense against flies and mosquitoes by cutting off my tail.

I cannot tell you when I am thirsty, so give me clean cool water often. I cannot tell you in words when I am sick, so watch me, and by signs you may know my condition. Give me all possible shelter from the hot sun, and put a blanket on me not when I am working but when I am standing in the cold. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth. First warm it by holding it a moment in your hands.

And finally, O My Master, when my useful strength is gone, do not turn me out to starve or freeze, or sell me to some human brute, to be slowly tortured and starved to death; but do Thou, My Master, take my life in the kindest way, and your God will reward you Here and Hereafter. You will not consider me irreverent if I ask this in the name of Him who was born in a stable. Amen.

"ONE, TWO, THREE!"

—From Poems of H. C. Bunner;
copyrighted 1884, 1892, 1899 by Chas. Scribner's Sons.

BIRD-STUDY IN OHIO PUBLIC SCHOOLS.

Dr. Eugene Swope.

Audubon Field Agent for Ohio, 4 W. Seventh St., Cincinnati, O.

The national movement for the study and protection of our wild birds is as well understood and supported by the teachers of Ohio as of any other State. The number of Junior Audubon Classes formed in the schools of Ohio last year was second only to New Jersey. That little State took the lead. Ohio ought to take the lead this year. With our Commissioner F. W. Miller giving his approval and encouragement, and our Supervisors of Agriculture recommending bird study as a necessary feature of elementary agriculture, Ohio ought to be able to report a large number of Bird Classes by the middle of May.

Birds at Home.

It is a rare thing to find a Superintendent or principal actually unfriendly toward bird study, but a very large percent hesitate to admit it into their schools because it is new and untried.

The claims of bird study upon Superintendents and principals is one that cannot much longer be overlooked. The National desire to know the wild birds and to save the remnant now left, is yearly becoming stronger. An ever-increasing number of homes are becoming active centers and parents are looking to the public schools for help, and children everywhere are eager for bird study.

There is no risk in introducing Junior Audubon Classes in a school. Some of our country's foremost educators have tried it with gratifying results, for they find that there is no better subject to develope the power of attention in children, there is no better subject to train children's memories, there is no better subject to awake originality of thought in young minds, and it is unquestionably the supreme subject for composition work. Any teacher who cares to give bird study a trial may correspond with me and receive gratis, the help now offered by the Ohio Audubon Society.

THE BOY WITH THE HOE.

—Selected.

Why do Boys Love Such a Place as This?

THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION.

—Thomas Campbell.

Turtlecreek Township School Exhibit at Warren County Fair.

THE CARDINAL.

By William Dutcher,

President of National Association of Audubon Societies. Educational Leaflet No. 18.

The Cardinal is one of the most brilliant of American birds; the name is derived from its color, which is a deep red, somewhat less vivid than scarlet. This color is supposed to be named from the vestments of a cardinal, an ecclesiastic of high rank in the Roman Church. The female bird, while not so conspicuous as her mate, is clad in a rich brown with just enough of red to light it up. They are indeed a striking pair, and wherever they are found soon become favorites. They are known as Cardinal Grosbeaks, Red-birds, Crested Red-birds, Virginia Nightingales, and lately James Lane Allen has made familiar Kentucky Cardinal. The illustration shows the Cardinal's most prominent features—a very large strong bill, a conspicuous crest, which can be erected or depressed at will, short rounded wings and a long tail. The length of the Cardinal is a little over eight inches from tip of bill to end of tail.

Once seen, the Cardinal can never be mistaken for any other bird, especially as its plumage virtually never changes but remains much the same at all seasons of the year. Cardinals are resident wherever they are found, and their center of abundance is in the southern portion of the United States. The northern limit of its range is approximately a line drawn from a point in the vicinity of New York City, westward to southeastern Nebraska; thence southward to Texas, where it is found in the greater part of the state. These lines are arbitrary, but are given in order that a teacher may show scholars in a general way where Cardinals can be found. Further, they give teachers and pupils who reside outside these limits an opportunity to extend the Cardinal's known range by proving that it lives in their locality.

There have been records of the Cardinal made as far north as Nova Scotia and Southern Ontario, but it is believed that these were escaped cage birds, the Cardinal, probably owing to its beauty of plumage and richness of song, having long been a favorite cage bird. Alexander Wilson, in American Ornithology (Vol. II, page 145), which was published in 1828, says, "This is one of our most common cage birds, and is very generally known, not only in North America, but even in Europe; numbers of them having been carried over both to France and England, in which last country they are usually called Virginia Nightingales."

Dr. Russ, the great German aviculturist, says, "Beloved in its home by both Americans and Germans, it is protected and caught only for the cage bird fancy. Had been bred in Holland a century and a half ago and later in England." It is true that until recently large numbers of Cardinals were caught or taken from the nest while young, for shipment to foreign countries by bird dealers. Owing to the efforts of the National Association, this traffic is a thing of the past. The Model Law, which is in force in all the States where the Cardinal is found, prohibits all traffic in these birds and forbids their being shipped from the State.

The Cardinal is too beautiful and valuable a bird to be confined within the narrow limits of a cage, where its splendid spirit is soon broken by its unavailing attempts to escape. Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller, in one of her charming pictures of bird life, says of a captive Cardinal, that, "He is a cynic, morose and crusty." Such a character cannot be attributed to the Cardinal when it is at liberty. Its wild, free song, its restless activity and its boldness are the antithesis of a depressed cage captive. Even when it receives the best care from its human jailer it is still a prisoner confined in a space so small that it never has an opportunity to stretch its wings in flight, nor can it ever bathe in the bright sunshine or view the blue skies above it. The whispering of the winds through the sylvan shades is lost to the captive forever. Is it strange that the nature of this wild free spirit changes?

The writer has seen many hundreds of these beautiful birds in cages ready to be shipped, each one doomed to a short existence, a prisoner and an exile. Fortunately, this condition is now changed; and, had the National Association accomplished no other good, the stopping of the cage-bird traffic would be a sufficient reason for its organization.

In the South, where the Cardinal is one of the most abundant birds, it is a special favorite, rivaling the Mockingbird in the affections of the people. It is commonly found in the towns as well as the rural districts. The female bird builds the nest, which is loosely constructed of leaves, bark, twigs, shreds of grape-vine, and is lined with dry grasses. The nest is placed in bushes or vines from eight to ten feet from the ground. Three or four white eggs, speckled with brown, are laid, and it is probable that in the South two broods are raised each season. The home life of Cardinals is a pattern of domestic felicity, so true are the sexes to each other. Even in winter they seem to be paired, for a male and a female are always seen together. However, during the season of incubation the tender solicitude of the male for his mate is best shown. In fact, his extreme anxiety that the home and its inmates should not be discovered excites him so much that he actually leads the visitor to the nest in the attempt to mislead.

The song of the male Cardinal is loud and clear, with a melodious ring, "What cheer! What cheer! What cheer!" winding up with a peculiar long-drawn out e-e-e. Contrary to the usual custom in bird families, the female Cardinal is an excellent singer, although her notes are in an entirely different key from those of her gifted mate, being lower and to some ears more sweet and musical.

Audubon's "American Ornithological Biography" is so rare at the present day, being found only in the largest libraries, and is consequently so inaccessible to the ordinary reader, that his description of the song of the Cardinal is quoted in full.

"Its song is at first loud and clear, resembling the finest sounds produced by the flageolet, and gradually descends into more marked and continued cadences, until it dies away in the air around. During the love season the song is emitted with increased emphasis by this proud musician, who, as if aware of his powers, swells his throat, spreads his rosy tail, droops his wings, and leans alternately to the right and left, as if on the eve of expiring with delight at the delicious sounds of his own voice. Again and again are those melodies repeated, the bird resting only at intervals to breathe. They may be heard from long before the sun gilds the eastern horizon, to the period when the blazing orb pours down its noonday floods of heat and light, driving the birds to the coverts to seek repose for a while. Nature again invigorated, the musician recommences his song, when, as if he had never strained his throat before, he makes the whole neighborhood resound, nor ceases until the shades of evening close around him. Day after day the song of the Red-bird beguiles the weariness of his mate as she assiduously warmed her eggs; and at times she also assists with the modesty of her gentler sex. Few individuals of our own race refuse their homage and admiration to the sweet songster. How pleasing is it, when, by a clouded sky, the woods are rendered so dark that, were it not for an occasional glimpse of clearer light falling between the trees, you might imagine night at hand, while you are yet far distant from your home, how pleasing to have your ear suddenly saluted by the well-known notes of this favorite bird, assuring you of peace around, and of the full hour that still remains for you to pursue your walk in security! How often have I enjoyed this pleasure and how often, in due humbleness of hope, do I trust that I may enjoy it again."

A School Ground Worth Many Times What it Costs.

Bird Houses.

In addition to its great esthetic value of song and plumage, the Cardinal has another important character which should endear it to the husbandman. Its food is various, consisting of wild fruits such as grapes, berries, mulberries, cedar berries, seeds of grasses and of many species of weeds, also large numbers of adult beetles, grasshoppers, crickets, flies, ants and their larvae; it is especially fond of rose-bugs. The Cardinal is from every point of view a bird of great interest and value, and any person who makes its intimate acquaintance will form a life-long friendship.

—Reprinted from Bird-lore.

THE HERMIT THRUSH.

—Arvia Mackaye, 9 years old.

MY LITTLE BO-PEEP.

Marion, Ohio.

—Isabella Virginia Freeland.

THE OAK TREE.

—Colorado Arbor and Bird Day.

THE POPLAR FIELD.

—Cowper.

IN THE ORCHARD.

Adelphi, Ohio.

—Mary Nowlan Wittwer.

"THANK YOU" AND "AMEN".

A Country School Building.

South Salem School With House for Superintendent, Rent Free.

SPRINGTIME.

Air—"Auld Lang Syne."

Ellen Beauchamp.

DO APPLE SEEDS POINT UP OR DOWN?

—Carolyn Wells in St. Nicholas.

—William H. Hayne.

THE JOLLY OLD CROW.

—Selected.

THEY'LL COME AGAIN.

A PLUMP LITTLE GIRL AND A THIN LITTLE BIRD.

—M. M. Dodge.

HOW THE WOODPECKER KNOWS.

THE BOY'S PROTEST.

—New York Independent.

An Antwerp Scene.

THE ORIOLE'S SONG.

—Sheila.

THE RED-HEADED WOODPECKER.

By Florence Merriam Bailey.

The National Association of Audubon Societies Educational Leaflet No. 43.

The Woodpeckers are a band of foresters most of whom spend their lives saving trees. Many of them do their work hidden in the dark forests, but the Red-heads hunt largely out in plain sight of passers-by. Why? Because, while they devour enough enemies of the trees to deserve the name of foresters, they are particularly fond of vegetable foods and large beetles found in the open.

Watch one of the handsome Red-headed birds on a fence. Down he drops to pick up an ant or a grasshopper from the ground; then up he shoots to catch a wasp or beetle in the air. Nor does he stop with fly-catching. Nutting—beech-nutting—is one of his favorite pastimes; while berries, fruits and seeds are all to his taste. If, in his appreciation of the good things that man offers, the Red-head on rare occasions takes a bit more cultivated fruit or berries than his rightful share, his attention should be diverted by planting some of his favorite wild fruits, such as dogwood, mulberry, elderberry, chokecherry, or wild black cherry.

But, in judging of what is a bird's fair share of man's crops, many things should be considered. Food is bought for the Canary and other house pets; and many people who do not care for caged pets buy food for the wild birds summer and winter, to bring them to their houses. Flowers cost something, too. But without birds and flowers, what would the country be? Before raising his hand against a bird, a man should think of many things. A man who is unfair to a bird is unfair to himself.

Feeding
Habits.

It would be a stingy man, indeed, who would begrudge the Woodpeckers their acorns and beechnuts. While the leaves are still green on the trees, the Redheads discover the beechnuts and go to work. "It is a truly beautiful sight," Dr. Merriam says, "to watch these magnificent birds creeping about after the manner of Warblers, among the small branches and twigs, which bend low with their weight, while picking and husking the tender nuts."

The nuts are not always eaten on the spot, for, like their famous California cousins, the Redheads store up food for winter use. All sorts of odd nooks and crannies serve the Redheads for storehouses—knot-holes, pockets under patches of raised bark, cracks between shingles and fences, and even railroad ties. Sometimes, instead of nuts, grasshoppers and other eatables are put away in storage. The wise birds at times make real caches, concealing their stores by hammering down pieces of wood or bark over them.

Beechnuts are such a large part of the fall and winter food of the Redheads in some localities, that, like the gray squirrels, the birds are common in good beechnut winters and absent in others. Cold and snow do not trouble them, if they have plenty to eat, for, as Major Bendire says, many of them "winter along our northern border, in certain years, when they can find an abundant supply of food." In fact, in the greater part of the eastern states the Redhead is "a rather regular resident," but in the western part of its range "It appears to migrate pretty regularly," so that it is rare to see one "North of latitude 40°, in winter." The western boundary of the Redhead's range is the Rocky Mountains, but east of the mountains it breeds from Manitoba and northern New York south to the Gulf of Mexico; though it is a rare bird in eastern New England.

Migration.

In sections where this erratic Woodpecker migrates, it leaves its nesting-grounds early in October, and returns the latter part of April or the beginning of May. Before too much taken up with the serious business of life, the Redhead goes gaily about, as Major Bendire says, "frolicking and playing hide-and-seek with its mate, and when not so engaged, amusing itself by drumming on some resonant dead limb, or on the roof and sides of houses, barns, etc." For though, like other drummers, the Woodpeckers are not found in the front ranks of the orchestra, they beat a royal tattoo that may well express many fine feelings.

When the musical spring holiday is over and the birds have chosen a tree for the nest, they hew out a pocket in a trunk or branch, anywhere from eight to eighty feet from the ground. When the young hatch, there comes a happy day for the looker-on who, by kind intent and unobtrusive way, has earned the right to watch the lovely birds flying back and forth, caring for their brood.

Nest.

And then, at last, come the days when the gray-headed youngsters, from hanging out of the window, boldly open their wings and launch into the air. Anxious times these are for old birds,—times when the watcher's admiration may be roused by heroic deeds of parental love; for many a parent bird fairly flaunts in the face of the enemy, as if trying to say, "Kill me; spare my young!"

One family of Redheads once gave me a delightful three weeks. When the old birds were first discovered, one was on a stub in a meadow. When joined by its mate, as the farmer was coming with oxen and hayrack to take up the rows of haycocks that led down the field, the pair flew slowly ahead along a line of locusts, pecking quietly at the bark of each tree before flying on. At the foot of the meadow they flew over to a small grove in the adjoining pasture.

As it was July, it was easy to draw conclusions. And when I went to the grove to investigate, the pair were so much alarmed that they at once corroborated my conclusions. Did I mean harm? Why had I come? One of them leaned far down across a dead limb and inspected me, rattling and bowing nervously; the other stationed itself on the back of a branch over which it peered at me with one eye. Both of them cried krit-tar-rah every time I ventured to take a step. As they positively would not commit themselves as to which one of the many Woodpecker holes in sight belonged to them I had to make a tour of the grove.

A School Exhibit.

Wayne Township Centralized School Located at Lees Creek, Clinton County, Ohio.

On its edge was a promising old stub with a number of big, round holes and, picking up a stick, I rapped on the trunk. Both birds were over my head in an instant, rattling and scolding till you would have thought I had come to chop down the tree and carry off the young before their eyes. I felt injured, but having found the nest could afford to watch from a distance.

It was not long before the old birds began feeding their young. They would fly to the stub and stand under the nest while rousing the brood by rattling into the hole, which had the odd effect of muffling their voices. When, as they flew back and forth a Yellow-hammer stopped in passing, they drove him off in a hurry. They wanted that grove to themselves.

On my next visits, if, in spite of many precautions, they discovered me, they flew to dead tree tops to watch me, or startled me by an angry quarr´ quarr´ quarr´ over my head. When they found that I made no attempt to go near the nest, however, they finally put up with me and went about their business.

After being at the nest together they would often fly off in opposite directions, to hunt on different beats. If one hunted in the grove, the other would go out to the rail fence. A high maple was a favorite lookout and hunting-ground for the one who stayed in the grove, and cracks in the bark afforded good places to wedge insects into. The bird who hunted on the fence, if suspecting a grub in a rail, would stand motionless as a Robin on the grass, apparently listening; but when the right moment came would drill down rapidly and spear the grub. If an insect passed that way the Redhead would make a sally into the air for it, sometimes shooting straight up for fifteen or twenty feet and coming down almost as straight; at others flying out and back in an ellipse, horizontally or obliquely up in the air or down over the ground. But oftener than all, perhaps, it flew down onto the ground to pick up something which its sharp eyes had discovered there. Once it brought up some insect, hit it against the rail, gave a business-like hop and flew off to feed its young.

The young left the nest between my visits, but when, chancing to focus my glass on a passing Woodpecker I discovered that its head was gray instead of red, I knew for a certainty what had happened. The fledgling seemed already much at home on its wings. It flew out into the air, caught a white miller and went back to the tree with it, shaking it and then rapping it vigorously against a branch before venturing to swallow it. When the youngster flew, I followed rousing a Robin who made such an outcry that one of the old Redheads flew over in alarm. "Kik-a-rik, kik-a-rik," it cried as it hurried from tree to tree, trying to keep an eye on me while looking for the youngster. Neither of us could find it for some time, but after looking in vain over the west side of a big tree I rounded the trunk and found it calmly sitting on a branch on the east side—which goes to prove that it is never safe to say a Woodpecker isn't on a tree, till you have seen both sides!

The old Redhead found the lost fledgling about the time that I did and flew over to it with what looked like a big grub. At the delectable sight, the youngster dropped all its airs of independence, and with weak infantile cries turned and opened wide its bill!

Two days later I found two birds that may have been father and son, on the side of a gladpole, out in the big world together. The old bird's head glowed crimson in the strong sunlight, and it was fortunate indeed that only friends were by.

The striking tricolor makes the Redheads such good targets that they are in especial danger from human enemies and need loyal, valiant defenders wherever they live. And what a privilege it is to have birds of such interesting habits and beautiful plumage in your neighborhood! How the long country roads are enlivened, how the green fields are lit up, as one of the brilliant birds rises from a fence-post and flies over them! In the city, it is rare good luck, indeed, to have a pair nest in an oak where you can watch them and even a passing glimpse or an occasional visit is something to be thankful for.

"There's the Redhead!" you exclaim exultantly, when a loud tattoo beats on your city roof in spring. And "There's the Redhead!" you cry with delight, as a soft kikarik comes from a leafless oak you are passing in winter; and the city street, so dull and uninteresting before, is suddenly illumined by the sight.

—Reprinted from Bird-lore.

FOUR LEAF CLOVERS.

—Ella Higginson.

THE FLOWER FOLK.

—Christina G. Rossetti.

ARBOR DAY MARCH.

Air—"Marching Through Georgia."

ARBOR DAY SONG.

(Air: Hold the Fort.)

—Iowa Special Days.

WE LOVE THE TREES.

(Tune: "There's Music in the Air.")

—Ada S. Sherwood, in Journal of Education.

RECITATION.

—Selected.

GOIN' BAREFOOTED.

—Burges Johnson, in "Harper's Magazine."

—Browning.

—O. W. Holmes.

—Lowell.

TIME TO RISE.

Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made and forgot to put a soul into.

—Beecher.

The best verses I have printed are the trees I have planted.

—Holmes.

—Emerson.

Our Shy Neighbor.

THE WISEACRES OF THE FOREST.

From Nature and Culture.

So many have an idea that bird-life does not blossom out until the flowers do, and that our shy neighbors do not wake to life and joy and song until the warm breezes of spring have chased to the realm of memory winter's cold and snow. Several weeks of wandering through the woods during the months of January and February taught me that to him who has time to devote, and that amount of patience which enables a hunter to rise at three in the morning, crawl through wet, tangled swamp-grass in the cold and snow, and then sit shivering for hours in a "hide" awaiting the ducks, there will be shots, camera shots, replete with interest and full of instruction; revelations of a world's population little known because of their unobtrusive life. They who lead the "simple life" may not make as much stir in the world as some others we know: but never make the mistake of thinking the life one lacking in interest. These "little journeys" of mine were for the purpose of prying into the secrets of our friends "the owls." As far back as the uncovered picture-writing of the ancients, Mr. Owl has been the synonym for wisdom. Does he deserve the title?

As company lends interest, I was accompanied by a friend who took equal delight in these jaunts; and off we started one fourteenth of January. For some six miles we tramped along the Kaw Valley, in Kansas, ever on the lookout for trees with large hollow trunks or broken limbs. Now, if any one believes an owl is entirely a night-bird, let him follow in my footsteps, and he will learn a thing or two. These are some of the mysteries of "the wild." Entering a spot of the forest where the banks of the stream were lined thickly on both sides with trees, both large and small, we seated ourselves for a time to rest and to watch. Like Egyptian darkness, the quiet was of a kind to be felt, but it did not long remain this way. Suddenly the strange quiet was broken by a fierce, angry call of a crow. Now, where did he come from, and why this display of anger? Possibly at our intrusion; yet this could hardly be, as it was far too early in the season for the crow to be nesting. Before we had time to settle our question the stillness was further broken by several shrill answers, and into the branchy arena came other crows. These were followed by others, and still others. Surely we were not the cause of all this disturbance. Finally there were no less than two dozen crows flying around a large tree with a broken top, and making a clatter that would have put a boiler factory to shame. One could easily imagine it to be a congress of crows exorcised over an insurgency move and demanding the previous question. Then came the solution of the mystery. In dignified yet rapid flight a huge owl dropped from a limb on the other side of the stump, and with a flight as silent as the grave winged her way into the deeper woods followed by that rabble of noisy, cawing crows. It seemed strange that the owl did not turn upon her tormentors; she who had talons long, strong, and sharp; a beak that could easily make its impression upon a pine stick; but her reputed wisdom here led her to know that safety lay in flight, as her size would be her undoing; that the crow would find many points of attack ere she could turn around. Safety lay in flight and shelter where the crows could not reach her, and would finally caw themselves hoarse and tired, and at last depart. Many times have I watched these actions on the part of the owls and crows, and always with the same results. Not alone the larger, but also the smaller owls adopt the same course of action to escape their tormentors. This leads me to believe that this partly accounts for their foraging at night.

Nest of Barred Owl.

We now turned our attention to the tree—truly a monarch of the "forest primeval"—a huge sycamore, about five feet in diameter at the base, with few limbs to aid in climbing. But we simply must get up to that hollow, and after much effort success was ours; and there, deep down in the hole, on a bed of warm chips and half-rotted punky wood, all nicely cuddled up, lay two little fluffy white baby owls—young hoot owls. As it takes about four weeks for incubation, and these babies were fully a week old, nesting must have begun at least in the middle of December. Much depends on the winter; this one having been very mild. In fact, I have noticed that birds are quite accurate weather prophets, were we only skilled enough to read their predictions. But it is always safe, I find, to be early in the field. And now came our first disappointment. It was impossible to secure a picture of the nest and baby owls, owing to the unfavorable position of the tree and nest; so, taking a farewell look at the place, we returned, hoping for better luck next time.

Nest and Eggs of Screech Owl.

The following week we were out and at it again, and were more fortunate in that we discovered the home of another owl, similar in shape, but smaller, and differently marked. This was the barred owl, so called because of its markings. Here, again, the nest was up quite a ways, and difficult to get to. After much trouble we cut down a small tree and hoisted it into the larger tree so that it came near the hole where the nest was. This enabled me to get above the nest, so that I could swing down to the hole by a rope and get a view of the nest and contents. After many attempts I succeeded in snapping two or three negatives, one of which turned out fairly good and accompanies this article. Every move I made while taking the pictures was punctuated by hoots of anger and disgust by the mother owl, who had flown to a nearby tree, until she aroused the attention of some ever-observant crows; then she had all she could do taking care of herself and getting rid of her tormentors. If ever a free matinee in birdland was billed, it occurred that afternoon.

The weeks now slowly passed without further success. One must have patience, much patience, in birdland. It may take years to secure what will prove satisfactory views of some species. Many snaps, when taken, prove undesirable after development, and each week adds to the uncertainty of finding anything "at home" when next you come. While the percentage of successful incubation is fairly large, yet the numerous enemies of the feathered tribe make the uncertainty of life in birdland quite noticeable.

Baby Screech Owls.

The time was now ripe for us to turn our attention to the little screech owls; a small but interesting and valuable species. Here I found a marked difference. Any small hole or cavity suits their fancy. Generally speaking, it must be small enough to exclude larger birds or animals that might prey upon them; but at times their boasted wisdom seemingly forsakes them, and they take up with any habitation. I have known them to nest in boxes in shade-trees and in bird-houses under the eaves of the barn. On this trip I found a fresh set of eggs in an old hollow stump formerly made by and used as the nesting-place of the yellow-shafted woodpecker. Mrs. Owl was at home, and very much disliked being disturbed. Unlike the larger owls, she refused to fly away, and I had to lift her repeatedly from the eggs that I might take the picture. As sometimes happens, the negative was a failure; and returning the next week to try for better luck, I found safely curled up within the cavity an opossum. The eggs and mother bird were not in evidence, and the "possum" told no tales. Similar experiences have often occurred to me when I have returned for better views or to follow up a certain line of study.

The next nest of this species I found in a large hollow limb, which in falling had lodged crosswise in a tree. It was rather a queer place for a screech owl, but, I presume, suited her fancy. However, it was favorably located, and if successful I could at least follow up the process of nature; and this is just what I did. The only change made was in bringing the eggs, and later the young, forward from the recess of the cavity to insure better light. I wished to also take the parent bird upon the nest; but in this case they were perverse, and refused to be taken. One of the birds decided that he did not wish to be taken, and after repeated trials I concluded he knew best, and gave over the attempt. I also took the most courageous one and posed him on the stump of the tree. The result is not altogether satisfactory, but is interesting.

Nest and Eggs of Long-eared Owl.

My next acquisition was the long-eared owl. With camera and tripod strapped upon the bicycle I started upon a ride of some fifteen miles, which brought me to an old nursery, abandoned, overgrown, and wild. Here, in a much-neglected fir grove I found the nests and eggs of this variety. The first taken was in a pine. Climbing an adjacent tree, I located myself about five feet from the nest, and after carefully securing and focussing the camera, secured the view. My second I found later in the day in an apple tree. The tree was in bloom, but not leaved out, and offered but scant hide or protection for the nest. Indeed I, at first, took it for an old crow's nest, and was about to pass on, when up over the rim of the nest bobbed two long ear-like tufts—whence the bird gets its name. Approaching the tree, the mother quietly left, and as long as I was in that vicinity I saw nothing further of her. The long-eared owl is not very particular in the choice of her nesting-place. They will often build in a communal manner, several pairs selecting a fir grove or other suitable place; and here you will find the nests quite near together. Again, they will be isolated in location; one here, and another quite a distance away, as the notion strikes them. The nest also seems to vary with their state of mind. At times they will build a very elaborate structure of their own; then, again, they take up with an old crow's nest or the summer nest of a squirrel, and with very little patching up make this answer their purpose. Because of this variability on their part, it is not an easy matter to locate an occupied nest.

Elaborate Nest of Long-eared Owl.

One more, and I am done with the owls. The securing of this was of great interest to me, not alone for the sake of the picture, but because it settled two questions on which I had long been in doubt. At the time of which I now write I was living in an Indian school, and previous to this all my ideas of Indians and Indian life had been gathered from Cooper. Near the school was a large village of prairie dogs covering something like ten acres of ground. One day I saw a small species of owl flying around and lighting on the different mounds. I immediately knew it to be the burrowing owl; but where among all those thousand and more holes to dig for her was a question I could not answer. To assist me, I brought the supposed craft of the red man's children to bear; but of no avail. Not one of over two hundred could give me the least ray of light. Then I got down to principles and discovered that there were some mounds around which were scattered butterflies' and grasshoppers' legs and wings, parts of frogs and toads, and the little pellets usually ejected by owls in the process of digestion. I also found that these mounds were invariably covered by an animal compost gathered from the surrounding prairie. I resolved to put my theory to the test by digging into one of these holes. Here the Indian boy was a great help, as he thoroughly knew his verb "to dig." I followed the hole down through hardpan to a depth of three feet, and back for over ten feet, where at last I found Mrs. Owl sitting on her nest of fresh eggs. Here I took her picture while her large round eyes followed my every move as I focused and snapped her. It was while investigating this subject that I also exploded a somewhat common belief that prairie dogs, owls, and rattlesnakes live together in the same quarters in perfect amity. This is not the case. If they are ever found together it is either an accident unknown to one or the other party, or one of three has purposely crawled into the other's home for deeds dark and evil.

Altogether the experiences gained amply repaid me for the effort spent. These visits to the silent ones were payments ample enough in themselves, but my closer acquaintance with a very interesting family made them doubly so. I find that the owl is one of our best and most valuable friends, destroying during a season much of the troublesome animal population that injures the agricultural interests of the land. If careless boys and indifferent "others" could get this fact well grounded and use some other mark in target practice, all parties would be better off and much good gained. To take any life is ill, but to take good life is crime.

Burrowing Owl and Her Eggs.

THE JAYS.

ADDRESS OF THE BIRDS.

An Exercise for Five Pupils.

LITTLE BY LITTLE.

—Selected.

A LITTLE POLLYWOG.

—School Education.

AN ARBOR DAY TREE.

—From The Intelligence.

THE ROBIN AND THE FLOWER.

—Charles A. Myall.

—Whittier.

BIRD PUZZLE.

1. There's a bird whose name tells if he flies fast or slow,
2. One which boys use when with long strides they go,
3. There is one that tells tales, although he can't sing,
4. And one who flies high, but is held by a string.
5. By one a high rank in the army is held;
6. There's another whose name with one letter is spelled.
7. There is one that a farmer in harvest would use;
8. And one you can easily fool if you choose.
9. What bird, at dessert, is it useful to hold?
10. And which in the chimney place oft hung of old?
11. Which bird wears a bit of sky in its dress?
12. Which one always stands in the corner at chess?
13. There is one built a church, of London the pride;
14. We have one when we talk with a friend by our side.
15. What bird would its bill find useful at tea,
16. And which would its tail use to steer with at sea?
17. Which proudly a musical instrument wears?
18. And which the same name as a small island bears?
19. Which bird is called foolish and stupid and silly?
20. And which always wanting to punish poor Billy?
21. Which bird is an artisan, works at his trade?
22. And which is the stuff of which flags are made?
23. One, we're told by the poet, at Heaven's gate sings;
24. There's one which in Holland the new baby brings.
25. What bird have we with us in eating and drinking?
26. One, used for a fence, you can say without thinking.
27. What bird is a scoffer, a scorner, a jest?
28. Which one is too lazy to build her own nest?
29. From a high wind at evening one name is inferred.
30. Guess these, and you're wise as Minerva's own bird.

ANSWERS TO BIRD PUZZLE.

THE CATBIRD.

—Edith M. Thomas.

THE MOCKING BIRD.

—Frank L. Stanton.

The Buckeye State