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 ma.s.s 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, coa.r.s.e meadow gra.s.s, 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 una.s.sisted 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 a.s.sists the female in feeding the young and cleansing the domicile, but when disturbed by an observer, the female is more a.s.siduous than the male in her attentions to their offspring.

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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 c.o.c.k 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.

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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.

I.

The old beech tree, so green and gray!

How oft I've heard thee, whispering say, With beckoning branches waving low, "Rest here, where cooling breezes blow!"

And in thy shadows deep and dark, How oft I've touched thy cool gray bark; And still I bless thee, old beech tree, For old sweet memories dear to me.

Repeat the stories yet half told Of those who carved their names so bold!

In whispers tell of them today, O venerable beech, so green and gray!

II.

The old beech tree, so green and gray, The old-time welcome gives today, With beckoning branches reaching down To mother earth all garbed in brown.

Thy gnarled, bark-covered roots up-bend A further welcome to extend.

Thy low-extending branches wave, As though a green-robed prelate gave A benediction, and had blessed A people weary and oppressed.

And so I rest with thee today, My old beech tree, so green and gray!

--_Richard Nevin Pemberton._

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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 G.o.d 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.

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"ONE, TWO, THREE!"

1. It was an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy that was half past three; And the way that they played together Was beautiful to see.

2. She couldn't go running and jumping, And the boy, no more could he; For he was a thin little fellow, With a thin little twisted knee.

3. They sat in the yellow twilight, Out under the maple tree; And the game that they played I'll tell you, Just as it was told to me.

4. It was Hide and Go Seek they were playing, Though you'd never have known it to be-- With an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy with a twisted knee.