Читать книгу: «Birds and all Nature, Vol. IV, No. 3, September 1898», страница 3
WILD BIRDS IN LONDON
Their Number and Variety is Increasing Instead of Diminishing
WHETHER in consequence of the effective working of the Wild Birds' Charter or of other unknown causes, there can be no doubt in the minds of observant lovers of our feathered friends that of late years there has been a great and gratifying increase in their numbers in and around London, especially so, of course, in the vicinity of the beautiful open spaces which do such beneficent work silently in this province of houses. But even in long, unlovely streets, far removed from the rich greenery of the parks, the shabby parallelograms, by courtesy styled gardens, are becoming more and more frequently visited by such pretty shy songsters as Linnets, Blackbirds, Thrushes, and Finches, who, though all too often falling victims to the predatory Cat, find abundant food in these cramped enclosures. Naturally some suburbs are more favored than others in this respect, notably Dulwich, which, though fast losing its beautiful character under the ruthless grip of the builder, still retains some delightful nooks where one may occasionally hear the Nightingale's lovely song in its season.
But the most noticable additions to the bird population of London have been among the Starlings. Their quaint gabble and peculiar minor whistle may now be heard in the most unexpected localities. Even the towering mansions which have replaced so many of the slums of Westminster find favor in their eyes, for among the thick clustering chimneys which crown these great buildings their slovenly nests may be found in large numbers. In some districts they are so numerous that the irrepressible Sparrow, true London gamin that he is, finds himself in considerable danger of being crowded out. This is perhaps most evident on the sequestered lawns of some of the inns of the court, Gray's Inn Square, for instance, where hundreds of Starlings at a time may now be observed busily trotting about the greensward searching for food. Several long streets come to mind where not a house is without its pair or more of Starlings, who continue faithful to their chosen roofs, and whose descendants settle near as they grow up, well content with their surroundings. House Martins, too, in spite of repeated efforts on the part of irritated landlords to drive them away by destroying their nests on account of the disfigurement to the front of the dwelling, persist in returning year after year and rebuilding their ingenious little mud cells under the eaves of the most modern suburban villas or terrace houses. —Pall Mall Gazette.
THE PIGMY ANTELOPE
THE Pigmy Antelopes present examples of singular members of the family, in that they are of exceedingly diminutive size, the smallest being no larger than a large Rat, dainty creatures indeed. The Pigmy is an inhabitant of South Africa, and its habits are said to be quite similar to those of its brother of the western portion of North America.
The Antelope is a very wary animal, but the sentiment of curiosity is implanted so strongly in its nature that it often leads it to reconnoitre too closely some object which it cannot clearly make out, and its investigations are pursued until "the dire answer to all inquiries is given by the sharp 'spang' of the rifle and the answering 'spat' as the ball strikes the beautiful creatures flank." The Pigmy Antelope is not hunted, however, as is its larger congener, and may be considered rather as a diminutive curiosity of Natures' delicate workmanship than as the legitimate prey of man.
BIRDS OF ALASKA
No sooner had the twilight settled over the island than new bird voices called from the hills about us. The birds of the day were at rest, and their place was filled with the night denizens of the island. They came from the dark recesses of the forests, first single stragglers, increased by midnight to a stream of eager birds, passing to and fro from the sea. Many, attracted by the glow of the burning logs, altered their course and circled about the fire a few times and then sped on. From their notes we identified the principal night prowlers as the Cassin's Auklet, Rhinoceros Auk, Murrelet, and varieties of Petrel. All through the night our slumbers were frequently disturbed by birds alighting on the sides of the tent, slipping down with great scratching into the grass below, where our excited Dog took a hand in the matter, daylight often finding our tent strewn with birds he had captured during the night. When he found time to sleep I do not know. He was after birds the entire twenty-four hours.
In climbing over the hills of the island we discovered the retreats of these night birds, the soil everywhere through the deep wood being fairly honeycombed with their nesting burrows. The larger tunnels of the Rhinoceros Auks were, as a rule, on the slopes of the hill, while the little burrows of the Cassin's Auklet were on top in the flat places. We opened many of their queer abodes that ran back with many turns to a distance of ten feet or more. One or both birds were invariably found at the end, covering their single egg, for this species, like many other sea birds, divide the duties of incubation, both sexes doing an equal share, relieving each other at night.
The Puffins nested in burrows also, but lower down – often just above the surf. One must be very careful, indeed, how he thrusts his hand into their dark dens, for should the old bird chance to be at home, its vise-like bill can inflict a very painful wound. The rookeries of the Murres and Cormorants were on the sides of steep cliffs overhanging the sea. Looking down from above, hundreds of eggs could be seen, gathered along the narrow shelves and chinks in the rocks, but accessible only by means of a rope from the top. —Outing.
THE RED-SHOULDERED HAWK
You have heard of me before. I am the Hawk whose cry Mr. Blue Jay imitated, as you will remember, in the story "The New Tenants," published in Birds.
Kee-oe, kee-oe, kee-oe, that is my cry, very loud and plaintive; they say I am a very noisy bird; perhaps that is the reason why Mr. Blue Jay imitates me more than he does other Hawks.
I am called Chicken Hawk, and Hen Hawk, also, though I don't deserve either of those names. There are members of our family, and oh, what a lot of us there are – as numerous as the Woodpeckers – who do drop down into the barnyards and right before the farmer's eyes carry off a Chicken. Red Squirrels, to my notion, are more appetizing than Chickens; so are Mice, Frogs, Centipedes, Snakes, and Worms. A bird once in a while I like for variety, and between you and me, if I am hungry, I pick up a chicken now and then, that has strayed outside the barnyard. But only occasionally, remember, so that I don't deserve the name of Chicken Hawk at all, do I?
Wooded swamps, groves inhabited by Squirrels, and patches of low timber are the places in which we make our homes. Sometimes we use an old crow's nest instead of building one; we retouch it a little and put in a soft lining of feathers which my mate plucks from her breast. When we build a new nest, it is made of husks, moss, and strips of bark, lined as the building progresses with my mate's feathers. Young lady Red-shouldered Hawks lay three and sometimes four eggs, but the old lady birds lay only two.
Somehow Mr. Blue Jay never sees a Hawk without giving the alarm, and on he rushes to attack us, backed up by other Jays who never fail to go to his assistance. They often assemble in great numbers and actually succeed in driving us out of the neighborhood. Not that we are afraid of them, oh no! We know them to be great cowards, as well as the crows, who harass us also, and only have to turn on our foes to put them to rout. Sometimes we do turn, and seizing a Blue Jay, sail off with him to the nearest covert; or in mid air strike a Crow who persistently follows us. But as a general thing we simply ignore our little assailants, and just fly off to avoid them.
THE Hawk family is an interesting one and many of them are beautiful. The Red-shouldered Hawk is one of the finest specimens of these birds, as well as one of the most useful. Of late years the farmer has come to know it as his friend rather than his enemy, as formerly. It inhabits the woodlands where it feeds chiefly upon Squirrels, Rabbits, Mice, Moles, and Lizards. It occasionally drops down on an unlucky Duck or Bob White, though it is not quick enough to catch the smaller birds. It is said to be destructive to domestic fowls raised in or near the timber, but does not appear to search for food far away from its natural haunts. As it is a very noisy bird, the birds which it might destroy are warned of its approach, and thus protect themselves.
During the early nesting season its loud, harsh kee-oe is heard from the perch and while in the air, often keeping up the cry for a long time without intermission. Col. Goss says that he collected at Neosho Falls, Kansas, for several successive years a set of the eggs of this species from a nest in the forks of a medium sized oak. In about nine days after each robbery the birds would commence laying again, and he allowed them to hatch and rear their young. One winter during his absence the tree was cut down, but this did not discourage the birds, or cause them to forsake the place, for on approach of spring he found them building a nest not over ten rods from the old one, but this time in a large sycamore beyond reach. This seemed to him to indicate that they become greatly attached to the grounds selected for a home, which they vigilantly guard, not permitting a bird of prey to come within their limits.
This species is one of the commonest in the United States, being especially abundant in the winter, from which it receives the name of Winter Falcon. The name of Chicken Hawk is often applied to it, though it does not deserve the name, its diet being of a more humble kind.
The eggs are usually deposited in April or May in numbers of three or four – sometimes only two. The ground color is bluish, yellowish-white or brownish, spotted, blotched and dotted irregularly with many shades of reddish brown. Some of them are strikingly beautiful. According to Davie, to describe all the shades of reds and browns which comprise the variation would be an almost endless task, and a large series like this must be seen in order to appreciate how much the eggs of this species vary.
The flight of the Red-shouldered Hawk is slow, but steady and strong with a regular beat of the wings. They take delight in sailing in the air, where they float lightly and with scarcely a notable motion of the wings, often circling to a great height. During the insect season, while thus sailing, they often fill their craws with grass-hoppers, that, during the after part of the day, also enjoy an air sail.
