MRS. OLIVE THORNE MILLER.
BY FLORENCE MERRIAM BAILEY.
Little more than a month after the last meeting of the A. O. U., at which greetings were sent from the Council to Mrs. Miller as the oldest living member of the Union, came the announcement of her death, on December 26, 1918. Born on June 25, 1831, she had indeed been allotted a full span, and for thirty-one of her eighty-seven years she had been associated with the American Ornithologists’ Union joining four years after it was founded and being made Member in 1901 when that class was established.
Harriet Mann—for the more familiar name of Olive Thorne Miller was the pen name adopted after her marriage—was born at Auburn, New York, where her father, Seth Hunt, was a banker; but she was of New England ancestry on both sides of the family, her paternal grandfather being an importing merchant of Boston, and her great-grandfather, Captain Benjamin Mann, having organized a company during the revolution of which he was in command at Bunker Hill.
From Auburn the family moved to Ohio when she was eleven years old, making the journey, in lieu of railroads, by “packet” on the canal through the Mohawk Valley, by steamer across Lake Erie, and finally by an old-fashioned thoroughbrace coach for twenty-five miles through Ohio—a journey full of romance to an imaginative child, and described entertainingly in one of Mrs. Miller’s delightful and in this case largely autobiographical child stories, ‘What Happened to Barbara.’ In Ohio she spent five years in a small college town where she attended private schools, among them one of the Select Schools of that generation, with an enrollment of some forty or fifty girls. At the age of nine, as she says, she “grappled with the problems of Watts on the Mind!” To offset the dreariness of such work, she and half a dozen of her intimate friends formed a secret society for writing stories, two members of the circle afterwards becoming well known writers. For writing and reading even then were her greatest pleasures. The strongest influence in her young life, she tells us, was from books. “Loving them above everything, adoring the very odor of a freshly printed volume, and regarding a library as nearest heaven of any spot on earth, she devoured everything she could lay her hands upon.” As she grew older the shyness from which she had always suffered increased painfully, and coupled with a morbid sensitiveness as to what she considered her personal defects made people a terror to her; but solitary and reticent, she had the writer’s passion for self expression and it is easy to understand her when she says, “To shut myself up where no one could see me, and speak with my pen, was my greatest happiness.”
In 1854, she married Watts Todd Miller, like herself a member of a well known family of northern New York, and in her conscientious effort to be a model wife and to master domestic arts to which she had never been trained, she sacrificed herself unnecessarily. “Many years I denied myself the joy of my life—the use of my pen,” she tells us, “and it was not until my children were well out of the nursery that I grew wise enough to return to it.”
The history of the vicissitudes of her literary life is at once touching and enlightening. Full of ardor to reform the world, to prevent needless unhappiness and to set people on the right path, her first literary attempt was the essay, but as she expressed it, “the editorial world did not seem to be suffering for any effusions of mine,” and her manuscripts were so systematically returned that she was about giving up, concluding during very black days that she had mistaken her calling; when a practical friend gave her a new point of view. What did the public care for the opinions of an unknown writer? she asked. Let her give what it wanted—attractively put information on matters of fact. Then when her reputation was established, people might be glad to listen to her views of life.
Philosophically accepting the suggestion, she calmly burned up her accumulated “sentiments and opinions,” and set about writing what she termed “sugar-coated pills of knowledge” for children. The first, the facts of china-making in the guise of a story, she sent to a religious weekly which had a children’s page, and to her surprise and delight received a check for it—her first—two dollars! This was apparently in 1870, and for twelve years, she worked in what she terms that “Gradgrind field” in which during that period she published some three hundred and seventy-five articles in religious weeklies, ‘Our Young Folks,’ ‘The Youth’s Companion,’ ‘The Independent,’ ‘St. Nicholas,’ ‘The Chicago Tribune,’ ‘Harper’s,’ ‘Scribner’s,’ and other papers and magazines, on subjects ranging from the manufacture of various familiar articles, as needles, thread, and china to sea cucumbers, spiders, monkeys, and oyster farms; and during those twelve years, in addition she published five books, the best known of which were perhaps ‘Little Folks in Feathers and Fur,’ 1873, ‘Queer Pets at Marcy’s,’ 1880, and ‘Little People of Asia,’ 1882.
About this time, having lived in Chicago nearly twenty years, the Millers, with their two sons and two daughters, moved to Brooklyn, where they lived until Mr. Miller’s death. Not long after settling in Brooklyn, when she had spent twelve years mainly on miscellaneous juvenile work, Mrs. Miller was visited by a friend who gave her a new subject, completely changing the course of her life. The friend was none less than Mrs. Sara A. Hubbard, whom she had known as a book reviewer in Chicago, but who was also an enthusiastic bird woman—later an Associate of the A. O. U.—and whose greatest desire in coming to New York had been to see the birds.
As Mrs. Miller naïvely remarks, “of course I could do no less than to take her to our park, where were birds in plenty.” And here, in Prospect Park when she was nearly fifty years old—incredible as it seems in view of her later work—Mrs. Miller got her first introduction to birds. “I knew absolutely nothing about ornithology,” she confesses; “indeed, I knew by sight not more than two birds, the English Sparrow and the Robin, and I was not very sure of a Robin either! I must say in excuse for myself,” she adds, “that I had never spent any time in the country and had been absorbed all my life in books. My friend was an enthusiast, and I found her enthusiasm contagious. She taught me to know a few birds, a Vireo, the charming Catbird, and the beautiful Wood Thrush, and indeed before she left me I became so interested in the Catbird and Thrush that I continued to visit the park to see them, and after about two summers’ study the thought one day came to me that I had seen some things that other people might be interested in. I wrote what I had observed and sent an article to the ‘Atlantic Monthly’ and it was accepted with a very precious letter from Mr. Scudder, who was then editor. All this time my love of birds and my interest in them had been growing, and soon I cared for no other study. I set up a bird-room in my house to study them winters and I began to go to their country haunts in the summer.”
Of the bird-room described so interestingly in ‘Bird Ways’ it is only necessary to say that first and last Mrs. Miller had about thirty-five species of birds which she bought from the bird stores in winter and allowed to fly about in her bird room, where she could study them unobtrusively at her desk by means of skillfully arranged mirrors. For twenty summers, from 1883 to 1903, she spent from one to three months in the country studying the wild birds, visiting among other sections, Maine, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, Ohio, North Carolina, Michigan, Colorado, Utah, and California, taking careful notes in the field and writing them up for publication at the end of the season. To one who has not known her, the method may sound deliberate and commercial, but to one who has worked joyfully by her side, each year’s journey is known to have meant escape from the world, to the ministering beneficence of Nature. Let her speak for herself.—“To a brain wearied by the din of the city ... how refreshing is the heavenly stillness of the country! To the soul tortured by the sights of ills it cannot cure, wrongs it cannot right, and sufferings it cannot relieve, how blessed to be alone with nature, with trees living free, unfettered lives, and flowers content each in its native spot, with brooks singing of joy and good cheer, with mountains preaching divine peace and rest!”[1] Freed from city life and the tortures imposed by her profound human sympathy, each gift of fancy and imagination, each rare quality of spirit, joined in the celebration of the new excursion into fields elysian. But while each sight she saw was given glamour and charm by her imagination and enthusiasm, her New England conscience ruled her every word and note, and not one jot or tittle was let by, no word was set down, that could not pass muster before the bar of scientific truth.
Mrs. Miller’s first bird book was published in 1885 and the others followed in quick succession although they were interlarded with magazine articles and books on other subjects—as ‘The Woman’s Club,’ 1890, ‘Our Home Pets,’ 1894, ‘Four Handed Folk,’ 1896, and a series of children’s stories, 1904 to 1907. Her eleven bird books, published by the Houghton, Mifflin Company, were ‘Bird Ways,’ 1885, ‘In Nesting Time,’ 1887, ‘Little Brothers of the Air,’ 1892, ‘A Bird Lover in the West,’ 1894, ‘Upon the Tree Tops,’ 1897, ‘The First Book of Birds,’ 1899, ‘The Second Book of Birds,’ 1901, ‘True Bird Stories from my Note-Books,’ 1902, ‘With the Birds in Maine,’ 1903, ‘The Bird our Brother,’ 1908, and her last book, ‘The Children’s Book of Birds’—a juvenile form of the First and Second Book of Birds—1915.
The newspaper and magazine articles of this second period of Mrs. Miller’s literary work, beginning with the time when she first began to study birds, were published not only in the principal religious weeklies and others of the former channels, but by various syndicates, in ‘Harper’s Bazar,’ and the ‘Atlantic Monthly.’ They included not only a large number of bird papers, some of which appeared later in her books, but also articles on general subjects, proving her friend’s statement, for now that her reputation had become established on a basis of fact, the public was ready to profit by her “sentiments and opinions.”
Her last book of field notes—‘With the Birds in Maine’—was published in 1903, when she was seventy-two, after which time she was able to do very little active field work and her writing was confined mainly to children’s books.
In 1902 Mrs. Miller had visited her oldest son, Charles W. Miller, in California, and fascinated by the outdoor life and the birds and flowers of southern California, she would have returned to live, without delay, had it not been that her married daughter, Mrs. Smith, and her grandchildren lived in Brooklyn. In 1904, however, accompanied by her younger daughter, Mary Mann Miller, she did return to California, where her daughter built a cottage on the outskirts of Los Angeles on the edge of a bird-filled arroyo where rare fruits and flowers ran riot and the cottage—El Nido—became embowered in vines and trees.
From 1870-1915, as nearly as can be determined by her manuscript lists, Mrs. Miller published about seven hundred and eighty articles, one booklet on birds and twenty-four books—eleven of them on birds, her books being published mainly by the Houghton Mifflin Company and E. P. Dutton. When we stop to consider that her real work did not begin until she was fifty-four, after which four hundred and five of her articles and nineteen of her books were written, and moreover that during her later years, by remarkable self-conquest, she became a lecturer and devoted much of her time to lecturing on birds in New York, Brooklyn, Philadelphia, and other towns, we come to a realization of her tireless industry and her astonishing accomplishment.
When living in Brooklyn she was a member of some of the leading women’s clubs of New York and Brooklyn, giving her time to them with the earnest purpose that underlay all her work. In the midst of her busy life, it is good to recall as an example of her devotion to her friends, that for years Mrs. Miller gave up one day a week to visiting an old friend who had been crippled by an accident; and after she had gone to California took time to make for her a calendar of three hundred and sixty-five personally selected quotations from the best in literature.
Among Mrs. Miller’s pleasures during her later years in the East were the meetings of the Linnæan Society held in the American Museum of Natural History in New York, and the A. O. U. meetings which she attended in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Washington, enjoying not only the papers of other workers, but the rare opportunity to meet those interested in her beloved work. In a letter written after one of the meetings she exclaimed—“You don’t know what a good time we have always. We had a real ‘love feast’ this time. Not only all the old standbys—Mr. Brewster, Mr. Sage, Dr. Allen, Dr. Merriam and the rest, but a lot of Audubonites and John Burroughs. I went over and stayed with Mrs. May Riley Smith and attended every session.” In this same letter she speaks of her promotion to the new class of membership and says, “It is a great pleasure to have honest work recognized, and encourages one to keep at it.”
When Mr. Brewster, in view of a discovery made by Mrs. Miller, wrote in ‘The Auk,’ regretting that one “gifted with rare powers of observation” should not record at least the more important of her discoveries in a scientific journal, Mrs. Miller replied in another note to ‘The Auk,’ confessing that she would not know what was a discovery; adding with the enthusiasm that vitalized her work—“to me everything is a discovery; each bird, on first sight, is a new creation; his manners and habits are a revelation, as fresh and as interesting to me as though they had never been observed before.” Explaining her choice of a literary rather than a scientific channel of expression, she gives the key to her nature work, one of the underlying principles of all her work—“my great desire is to bring into the lives of others the delights to be found in the study of Nature.”
Looking over the bookshelf where the names of Burroughs, Torrey, Miller, and Bolles call up each its own rare associations, I am reminded of a bit of advice that came long years ago from Mr. Burroughs’ kindly pen—“Put your bird in its landscape”—as this seems the secret of the richness and charm of this rare company of writers, for while beguiling us with the story of the bird, they have set it in its landscape, they have brought home to us “the river and sky,” they have enabled us to see Nature in its entirety.
Remembering this great boon which we owe Mrs. Miller, it seems rarely fitting that when her three score years and ten were accomplished, her last days should have been spent in the sunshine surrounded by the birds and flowers which brought her happiness in beautiful California.
AN EXPERIENCE WITH HORNED GREBES
(COLYMBUS AURITUS).
BY ALEXANDER D. DUBOIS.
Plates VIII-X
The southeastern portion of Teton County, Montana, lying in the prairie region east of the Rocky Mountains, comprises flat and rolling bench-lands, traversed at frequent intervals by coulees which are tributary to the Teton and Sun Rivers. On these benches are occasional shallow depressions which have no natural drainage. They form transient “prairie sloughs” which may be dry at one season and wet meadows or ponds of water at another.
The slough which afforded the present observations is a crescent-shaped depression, not more than ten or twelve acres in extent, curving about a knoll upon which stands a homesteader’s cabin. There are no lakes or water courses in the immediate vicinity. During the last few years the region has been rapidly transformed into grain farms. At the time these notes were made the meadow in question was bordered on three sides by plowed fields. The spring of 1917 was an extremely rainy one, following a winter of much more than normal snowfall. In consequence, the crescent-shaped meadow became a marshy sheet of water.
On the open water of this pond two Grebes were seen on several days in May. On the third of June, while walking around the pond scanning its surface with a field-glass, I was suddenly amazed to see a Grebe sitting upon a nest which protruded above the water amid the scant vegetation. Careful examination showed the bird to be Colymbus auritus. She slipped from the nest, as I slowly waded toward her, and swam about in the open water, anxiously watching my every movement. The interest was mutual. After watching the bird for some time I went up to the nest and found that it contained two eggs. Subsequent visits showed that the eggs were deposited at intervals of two days; the dates of the visits and number of eggs found at each visit being as follows: June 3 (2); June 5 (3); June 7 (4); June 9 (5); June 12 (6); June 13 (6).
Plate VIII.
1.
Nesting Site of Horned Grebe in a Flooded Meadow.
Nest beyond Open Water. Wheat Stubble in Foreground.
2.
Horned Grebe on her Nest, showing Scant Surrounding Vegetation.
Whenever I appeared at the edge of the slough, it was the custom of the two Grebes to float about upon the area of open water with an air of supreme unconcern. They busied themselves constantly with their toilets, preening the feathers of all parts of their bodies and very frequently tipping or rolling themselves in the water to reach their under parts with their bills. In this half-capsized posture they would float for several seconds, exposing to view the strikingly prominent white area that is normally below the water-line. This preening and floating in different positions, on the part of both birds, proceeded without interruption during my entire stay, each day that I visited them. It became very evident that it was practiced as a ruse to hold the attention of the intruder and thus divert him from their nest.
On the morning of June 12, a camera was taken to the nest-site with the purpose of making photographs of the nest and eggs. On the land to the south, a homesteader with eight horses to his plow, was turning over the virgin sod. His furrows ended at the edge of the slough southwest from the nesting site of the Grebes. Upon wading to the nest I found the six eggs shielded on the southwest side, by a partial covering of vegetation which had been pulled up on that side only. The general character of the country and location of the nest are shown in the photograph on [Plate VIII]. After making a photograph, and remaining for a time near the nest to observe the parent birds, I left the tripod and camera in position and went away. The female was continually gaining either confidence or bravery and had been swimming about in an agitated manner, not far from me, as I stood quietly by the camera. Before I had gotten out of sight of the nest I saw her go to it and change the covering or shielding material to its opposite edge, thus sheltering the eggs from the too inquisitive gaze of the camera’s eye. When I returned from the cabin the bird was on the nest, incubating. She took to the water as I came up, but continued to swim back and forth among the scant, neighboring tufts of marsh grass. As I stood very quietly for some time behind the camera her boldness gradually increased, until at length I was able to photograph her near the nest, with the aid of only ten feet of rubber tubing attached to the shutter release. The making of these photographs consumed much time and continually the Grebe was growing bolder. She swam almost under the camera, and when I came close to the nest she made a dash at me, shooting entirely out of the water. This show of force was afterward repeated frequently, and it sometimes ended with a violent, splashing dive which sent a shower of spray over the camera outfit and the photographer. Meanwhile her spouse drifted quietly at a safe and respectful distance. Although one photograph of the bird on her nest was secured by means of a very long thread, the result was rather unsatisfactory.
On the following day, June 13, I donned the hip boots again and stationed myself with the camera outfit, determined to see if patience would be rewarded by an opportunity to photograph the bird on her nest at close range. It was a wearisome experiment, but not without result, for eventually the Grebes became remarkably bold. The female was the first to approach. She swam around the nest repeatedly, but for a long time refused to venture upon it. For the most part the male witnessed her adventures from a discreet distance. Occasionally however, he came up; and finally, while the female was showing her agitation by swimming hurriedly about, the male swam deliberately to the nest, climbed up its side, and sat on the eggs, facing me. A plate was exposed on this unexpected sitter but unfortunately was ruined by an accident before development. He became alarmed by my activities in changing plate-holders, or perhaps by the removal of my head from beneath the focusing cloth, and suddenly slipped off the nest into the water. Both birds were subsequently photographed together, near the nest.
I cautiously moved the camera somewhat closer and waited. The female frequently shot out of the water at me with a rush accompanied by a harsh cry, and sometimes ended her attack with a dive and a great splash. Eventually she went upon the nest, and once in contact with her eggs, she became invincible. I photographed her thus; then moved the tripod toward her, slowly and cautiously, keeping my head beneath the cloth. In this way the camera was placed within arm’s length of the bird and another exposure made, which resulted in the intimate portrait of [Plate X, fig. 1]. I uncovered my head, but she remained firm, and when I extended my hand toward her she reached out her long neck and delivered a vicious, stinging stab with her sharp bill. The threatening attitude of the bird, just previous to striking, is shown in [Plate X, fig. 2].
The exposed situation of this nest is shown in several of the photographs. It consisted of a mass of coarse grasses, many of them fresh and green, floating in about a foot of water, the body of the nest below the water line being of such bulk as to almost touch the muddy bottom. The nest-lining, in the bottom of the well hollowed cavity, was very wet and soggy, being only slightly above the water surface when the nest was unoccupied, and probably below it when the weight of the bird was added to that of the nest. This lining was composed of decaying vegetation which was decidedly warm to the touch, in the sunshine, while the wet rim of the nest was cold.
The eggs of this set were taken. They were of course in various stages of incubation, from fresh in the last, to well begun in the first-laid egg. For some time after I had left the empty nest, taking the camera with me, the two Grebes swam to and fro beside it, or circled around it, frequently going to the nest and climbing part way up. Occasionally one of the birds, presumably the female, sat upon the nest for a brief period, shifting herself in a restless manner, and then returned to the water.
For several days I stayed away. Would these birds nest again in this small and rapidly diminishing slough at so late a season? Would they leave the slough and go elsewhere to nest? Or would they abandon the duty of reproduction altogether? These questions seemed of sufficient interest to demand further observations, but not wishing to further inject the factor of the human menace into their already complicated affairs, I left the birds entirely to themselves. Meanwhile extremely dry warm weather was causing rapid evaporation and the slough was shrinking very perceptibly.
My next visit, on the eighteenth of June, disclosed the fact that the Grebes were not only present but were building a new nest not far from the old one. The nest seemed nearly completed. The two birds were floating near each other on the open water, preening their plumage in the ostentatious manner previously described.
At seven-thirty on the morning of June 21, the new nest contained two eggs, partially covered, especially on the northwest side, which was the direction from which I approached the slough. There was a striking difference in the coloring of the two eggs, in view of the slight difference in their ages. One egg was a drab-tinted cream; the other a beautiful greenish tint with a freshness and delicacy which is difficult to describe, and which marked it as having just been deposited by the bird. A schedule of the subsequent visits to this nest is given in the accompanying table:
| Visit | Date | Time of | # of | Were eggs | Was either | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| No. | day | eggs | covered? | bird seen? | ||
| 1 | June, | 18 | 0 | Both on open water | ||
| 2 | " | 21 | 7:30 A.M | 2 | Partially covered | |
| 3 | " | 22 | 8:00 A.M. | 2 | Sparsely covered | |
| 4 | " | 23 | 7:30 A.M. | 3 | Not seen | |
| 5 | " | 24 | 9:00 A.M. | 4 | Covered | Bird seen on nest |
| 6 | " | 25 | 7:30 A.M. | 4 | Lightly covered | Not seen |
| 7 | " | 25 | Sunset | 4 | Covered on E. side | Not seen |
| 8 | " | 26 | 7:30 A.M. | 5 | Covered | One on open water |
| 9 | " | 27 | 7:00 A.M. | 5 | Not covered | Saw bird leave nest |
| 10 | " | 28 | 7:30 A.M. | 5 | Chiefly on E. side | Not seen |
| 11 | " | 29 | Evening | 5 | Covered | Not seen |
| 12 | July, | 4 | 5 | Covered on top | Not seen | |
| 13 | " | 8 | 5 | Covered | Yes; in water-lane | |
| 14 | " | 9 | 5 | Covered | Not seen | |
| 15 | " | 10 | 8:00 P.M. | 5 | Not covered | One bird seen |
| 16 | " | 11 | 6:00 P.M. | 5 | Not covered | Not seen |
| 17 | " | 12 | 5:00 P.M. | 5 | Partially covered | One on open water |
| 18 | " | 13 | 6:00 P.M. | 4 | Not covered | Not seen |
| 19 | " | 14 | 4 | Lightly covered | Not seen | |
| 20 | " | 15 | Evening | 3 | Bird on nest | |
| 21 | " | 16 | 10:00 A.M. | 3 | Not covered | Not seen |
| 22 | " | 17 | 10:00 A.M. | 3 | Not covered | One seen with young |
| 23 | " | 18 | 7:30 P.M. | 2 | Not covered | Not seen |
| 24 | " | 20 | 6:00 A.M. | 2 | Not covered | Not seen |
| 25 | " | 22 | 7:30 P.M. | 2 | Not covered | Not seen |
| 26 | " | 23 | 9:00 A.M. | 2 | Not covered | Not seen |
| 27 | " | 24 | Evening | 2 | Not covered | Not seen |
Plate IX.
1.
A Pair of Horned Grebes at Home. Female at Right.
2.
Nest and Eggs of Horned Grebe.
When I approached on the morning of June 24, the Grebe was on her nest. She made herself as inconspicuous as possible by holding her head down, close to the nest rim. As I came within twenty-five or thirty yards of the nest the bird hastily pulled a covering of green-stuff over the eggs and slid silently into the water, disappearing completely. Although I watched for some time I did not succeed in catching even a glimpse of either of the birds.
On the occasion of the sixth visit (June 26) I found the nest lightly covered with fresh green stems and blades which had been plucked by the bird. At that time I made the notation in my field book: “Never see the birds on the open water any more.” However, on the next day, some time after I had left the nest, I did see one of the Grebes floating on the open water. The eggs had again been covered with fresh vegetation.
On the morning of June 27, I approached by a circuitous route, passing by the nest with my interest ostensibly concentrated elsewhere. But as I passed too near her the bird slipped quickly off the nest without stopping to cover the eggs; and I could not find her afterward. It will be noted from the tabulated schedule that neither of the birds was seen at the tenth, eleventh, or twelfth visits. The thirteenth visit was more successful for I saw a Grebe sitting perfectly motionless, at the edge of a water-lane which traversed some of the thickest vegetation, its bright red eyes appearing as its only conspicuous feature. The next day (fourteenth visit), I could not find the birds, and the fifteenth visit gave me only a fleeting glimpse of a Grebe. The eggs were not covered but were slightly shielded on the side from which I had come. On the evening of July 12, one of the birds was observed floating, silent and solemn, with head toward me, at the farthest side of the open water. It was evident at this time that the birds had changed their dress since my acquaintance with them at their first nest, for no yellow “horns” were now visible.
On July 13, finding only four eggs in the nest, and pieces of egg shell both there and in the water, I searched carefully in the vicinity of the nest but without result. I could neither find the newly hatched young nor catch any glimpse of either parent. On the next day the conditions were the same except that the eggs were slightly covered and a few small feathers had been left on the nest, showing that the bird had been upon it.
The twentieth visit, on the evening of July 15, gave me an opportunity to examine the bird at close range. She was on the nest and allowed me to approach, cautiously, to a point twenty or thirty feet from her. She was considerably changed in appearance. The yellowish-white tip of the bill remained unaltered and the light line through the lower margin of the lore was observed to still persist, but the plumage of the head was much subdued, the yellow plumes having been exchanged for mere inconspicuous grayish streaks on the sides of the head. As I came up I could see a young bird poking its head through her wing. She soon left the nest, with a startling rush, and swam rapidly away, leaving three eggs in the nest and two tiny youngsters in the water. The newly hatched downy young can both swim and dive in a feeble way. As I approached them they tried to escape by diving. When I held them in my hands they gave utterance to a little cry not greatly different from that of domestic chicks.
The downy young are very striking in appearance. They are striped longitudinally with black and white stripes; the white however is rather a “soiled” or grayish white. There are two narrow white stripes on the head which converge to a point at the base of the bill. Between these stripes, on the forehead, is a small slightly raised bare spot, of a bright red color, back of which is a white elongated blotch, or median stripe. The bill is pink and has on both mandibles a white tip which resembles white porcelain. This is larger on the upper mandible than on the lower. On the upper mandible between the nostrils there is a black spot. The iris is brown, not red like that of the adults. The lobate feet are remarkably well developed, but the wings are rudimentary.
On the following day, July 16, I failed to find either the parent or the young at the nest. The three remaining eggs were not covered. Again on the morning of the seventeenth, the nest held only the three uncovered eggs; but when I skirted the east end of the slough to examine a Sora’s nest, I was startled by the parent Grebe taking wing not far from me. She flew over the farthest part of the slough, but soon returned, after circling a time or two, to the small area of open water, where she alighted with a splashing glide. When on the wing this bird shows very prominent white markings. The white secondaries cause the posterior portion of the wing to show as a prominent white area, and of course the entire under surface of the body, being white, is very conspicuous when the bird wheels. The flight is so duck-like that the flying Grebe might readily be mistaken, at a distance, for a duck.
I waded to the spot whence this bird had taken flight and presently saw the water agitated by some small creature beneath the surface. It was one of the diminutive downy Grebes, floating submerged, head downward, with its forward parts thrust into a mass of filamentous vegetation (algae), while its legs, stretched to their full extent posteriorly, were pointed vertically upward toward the surface of the water. I easily took it up in my hand.
The next day, July 18, at 7:30 P. M., another egg had hatched. The nest was not covered. It contained two eggs and nearly all of the opened shell of the other, which last circumstance was of course unusual. I heard the young bird, and by following the faint sound of its voice found it, in the water, about six or eight feet from the nest. It was small enough to have just emerged from the shell. Its bill was very pink and the naked red spot, or comb, on its forehead very bright, though only slightly raised above the surrounding skin. By the merest chance I discovered a downy young duck within a few feet of the Grebe’s nest. It was not identified. Perhaps it had been attracted by the cry of the little Grebe. The adult Grebes were not seen, either on this visit or on July 20, when I looked for them early in the morning. On the latter date the two eggs and the nest were cold and the orphan above mentioned was dead, on the slope of the nest just above the surface of the water. There was an opening in the top of its skull through which its brain had been removed by some small creature. This nestling had probably never seen its parents but had taken to the water wholly by instinct.
On the evening of July 22, the two eggs were cold and had not been disturbed since my previous visit, at which time their positions had been carefully noted. However one of them was “pipped” and I could distinctly hear the voice of the bird within the shell. A search for the parent Grebes was without avail. A faint voice, at the other side of the water, was detected and was followed several times, but when its author was finally located it proved to be not a Grebe but a recently hatched Sora Rail.
The next morning, although the sun shone upon the nest, the eggs were cold and the fetuses in both of them were dead. No birds were seen. My last visit, on the evening of July 24, yielded no further result. But I noted now, that there was no water around the nest. It was stranded upon a mud-bar. This was undoubtedly the cause of forced abandonment of the nest. The Grebes were unable to reach it by a water route, and no other mode of travel was possible to them. A search around the water area, now very small and shallow, gave no further evidence. The Grebes were never seen again.
In reviewing the account of these observations certain groups of data suggest themselves for summarization:
It is interesting to note that only six days elapsed between the removal of the first set of eggs and the deposition of the first egg in a new nest.
The period of incubation is twenty-four or twenty-five days, as shown in the following table of dates, noted at the second nest:
| Egg No. | Date Laid | Date Hatched | Incubation Period in days |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | June 19 (?) | July 13 | 24 |
| 2 | June 21 | July 15 | 24 |
| 3 | June 22 or 23 | July 17 or 18 | 25 |
| 4 | June 24 | July 22, (Pipped) | Fetus died |
| 5 | June 26 | Fetus died | |
It will be observed that the fourth egg was alive and on the point of hatching, twenty-eight days after it was deposited, but this cannot be considered normal, since the egg had been deprived of the parent heat for several days. It seems remarkable that the fetus survived the cool nights.
Plate X.
1.
Horned Grebe within Arm’s Length of the Camera.
2.
2. Female, Hissing and Ready to Strike in Defense of Nest.
The change of color which these eggs undergo, is also worthy of note. I do not refer to the nest-stains caused by contact with the fermenting vegetation of the nest lining, but to a uniform color change of the surface layer of the shell, which is brought about presumably by exposure to light and atmosphere. Referring to the eggs of the second nest by numbers it will be noted that egg number two, when first observed at 7:30 A. M., had apparently just been deposited. As previously stated, its color was a very delicate bluish-green. Egg number one had already attained its final color; a sort of drab-tinted buff, which rendered it less conspicuous in the nest. Twenty-four hours later, egg number two had changed to the same color as egg number one. No data were recorded for egg number three in this respect. Egg number four, after thirty-six hours, was “nearly but not quite the same color as the others.” After it had been in the nest forty-eight hours it was noted as, “same color as other eggs.” But egg number five could scarcely be recorded as fully changed after eighty-four hours had elapsed. These notes would seem to indicate that the first-laid eggs change color more rapidly than the later ones. It may be noted in this connection that the first eggs are slightly richer in the light green pigment; possibly, also, they receive less shelter from the parent bird than the later eggs.
The usual vocal performance of these Grebes, so far as I was able to determine, is a sort of “ko-wee, ko-wee,” repeated at regular intervals. It might be compared to the squeak of a dry wheelbarrow producing one double squeak at each revolution of the wheel. It is however of a clearer quality than this comparison might indicate. Each “ko-wee” has rising inflection and its two syllables are run closely together, with the accent on the last syllable.
The remarkable change of manner which came over these birds as the moult began will be appreciated by reference to the tabulated schedule of visits. The pugnacious bravery of the female at her first nest is amply attested by the photographs, while the records of the second nest show that the birds rarely permitted themselves to be observed, even at a distance, although they had eggs as before.
These Horned Grebes were absolutely isolated so far as concerns other individuals of the species.[2] There were certainly no other Grebes in the slough. Their nesting associates were as follows: Red-winged Blackbird (Agelaius phœniceus fortis), about three pairs nesting; Sora Rail (Porzana carolina), three or four pairs nesting; Wilson’s Phalarope (Steganopus tricolor), several pairs; Killdeer (Oxyechus vociferus), one pair in evidence; Savannah Sparrows (Passerculus sandwichensis alaudinus) were present at the slough all summer; and a pair of Pintails (Dafila acuta) were believed to have a nest in an adjoining field. The adjoining prairie was monopolized, as usual, by the Horned Larks (Otocoris alpestris leucolæma) and Longspurs (Calcarius ornatus and Rhynchophanes mccowni).
At the present writing this slough is dry; the road which passes through it is traveled every day by automobiles; and the spot where the Grebes established their home a year ago has now been plowed and planted.
HISTORICAL NOTES ON HARRIS’S SPARROW
(ZONOTRICHIA QUERULA).
BY HARRY HARRIS.
During the early decades of the nineteenth century when those pioneer ornithological enthusiasts, whose names and discoveries are familiar to all students of the science, were pushing beyond the frontiers in quest of new objects of study, the Kansas City region was the gateway to the wilderness and the very outpost of civilization. In this immediate neighborhood where the down-rushing Missouri is joined by the less turbulent Kaw, and where the great river bends finally to the east, were situated the frontier settlements of Independence, Fort Osage (Fort Clark, of Lewis and Clark), Westport, and the great Konzas Indian village, while a short distance up-stream were three other landmarks frequently mentioned by travelers. Fort Leavenworth, the mouth of Little Platte River, and the Black Snake Hills.
These names bring to mind several notable ornithologists and botanists whose published journals and narratives are at once fruitful sources of information to the working student and delightful reading to any person. Of all the young scientists who passed this way in their eagerness to explore the unknown beyond and gather its treasures to science, perhaps none are of more interest, though others may be more widely known, than John K. Townsend and Thomas Nuttall. Nuttall’s discovery here of the bird now known as Harris’s Sparrow (Zonotrichia querula), together with the fact that two other eminent ornithological explorers, at later periods, each believed he had discovered the bird in this same region, renders the tradition of peculiar and obvious local interest.
A long entertained hope of being able to determine the actual locality in Jackson County, Missouri, where Nuttall took the original specimen of this Sparrow, has led the writer to bring together the widely scattered data bearing on the early history of the bird. The facts in question, which do not appear to have been previously assembled, present several interesting features.
Nuttall and Townsend had outfitted in St. Louis in late March, 1834, preparatory to a leisurely [pedestrian journey] of some three hundred miles across the state to Independence, where they were to join the large caravan under Captain Nathaniel J. Wyeth, bound for the Columbia River country. On April 28th the party left Independence over the frontier trail to Westport, distant approximately fourteen miles. Some time during the day Nuttall, who was primarily a botanist and is said to have carried no gun, took, or had taken for him by some member of the party, the type specimen of Harris’s Sparrow which he named the Mourning Finch (Fringilla querula). Nuttall writes: “We observed this species, which we at first took for the preceding [White-crowned Sparrow], a few miles to the west of Independence, in Missouri, towards the close of April. It frequents thickets, uttering in the morning, and occasionally at other times, a long, drawling, monotonous and solemn note te de de de. We heard it again on the 5th of May, not far from the banks of the Little Vermilion, of the Kansa.”[3]
The information contained in this short paragraph is the only guide the writer has had in a search for the spot where the species was first met with. Not a little difficulty has been experienced in tracing the road between Independence and Westport in use in the early thirties, since but meager graphic record of its course has been preserved. The accompanying sketch map is in the main authentic, authorities differing as to only a short stretch about three miles from old Westport. Many years association with the birds of this region leads the writer to the conclusion that these scientists would have had difficulty in crossing the Blue Valley at this season of the year without seeing or hearing troops of these striking Sparrows. That part of the road lying within the valley is indicated on the map by arrows.
Townsend’s frame of mind on this momentous day is best described in his own words. “On the 28th of April, at 10 o’clock in the morning, our caravan, consisting of seventy men, and two hundred and fifty horses, began its march; Captain Wyeth and Milton Sublette took the lead, Mr. N.[uttall] and myself rode beside them; then the men in double file, each leading, with a line, two horses heavily laden, and Captain Thing [Captain W.’s assistant] brought up the rear. The band of missionaries, with their horned cattle, rode along the flanks.
“I frequently sallied out from my station to look at and admire the appearance of the cavalcade, and as we rode out from the encampment, our horses prancing, and neighing, and pawing the ground, it was altogether so exciting that I could scarcely contain myself. Every man in the company seemed to feel a portion of the same kind of enthusiasm; uproarious bursts of merriment, and gay and lively songs, were constantly echoing along the line. We were certainly a most merry and happy company. What cared we for the future? We had reason to expect ere long difficulties and dangers, in various shapes, would assail us, but no anticipation of reverses could check the happy exuberance of our spirits.
“Our road lay over a vast rolling prairie, with occasional small spots of timber at the distance of several miles apart, and this will no doubt be the complexion of the track for some weeks.
“In the afternoon we crossed the Big Blue River at a shallow ford. Here we saw a number of the beautiful Yellow-headed Troopials, (Icterus zanthrocephalus) feeding upon the prairie in company with large flocks of Blackbirds, and like these, they often alight upon the backs of our horses.”[4]
Here is a vivid picture of a situation well calculated to stir the imagination and excite the enthusiasm of this twenty-five year old easterner on his first visit to the virgin West, and thoughts of ornithological discoveries were no doubt reserved for the future. Nuttall could not have been so distracted by the excitement incident to the departure of this wild cavalcade, since he had had several previous experiences of the wilderness, was an older man, and was by nature “shy, solitary, contemplative, and of abstract manner.” At all events he set the ornithological pace immediately at the start of the journey by discovering a new bird. Townsend’s silence in his ‘Narrative’ regarding this important event was of course due to courtesy to the discoverer who had not yet given his species to science.
In my account of Nuttall’s discovery of his “Mourning Finch,” I have assumed that the specimen he took in Jackson County is the type. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that in the absence of any definite knowledge regarding the type specimen it is presumed from his description that the specimen here taken was the type. The description referred to was published in the second edition of his Manual (the volume on water birds being a reprint of the first edition) which did not appear until 1840. It will thus be seen that this important species was allowed to remain in obscurity for six years while twenty-four other new species subsequently discovered on the trip had been described, as well as sixteen figured by Audubon in the Great Work, prior to the appearance of Townsend’s Narrative in 1839. Nuttall’s published description of the bird is merely the briefest possible outline of salient specific characters, no measurements whatever being given.
On his return to the East, two years in advance of Townsend, Nuttall had in his possession a quantity of the latter’s material for delivery to the Philadelphia Academy of Sciences, which Institution had helped substantially in financing the travelers. It was this material that Audubon sought so eagerly to possess, that his great work then nearing completion might not lack the new species.[5] Audubon had called on Nuttall, in Boston, in the hope of assistance from that quarter, and was promised duplicates of all the new species in his possession. It is said that five species were here secured, but the Mourning Finch was not included. Nuttall had reserved this discovery for his own book, and not only was posterity thereby deprived of an Havell engraving of the largest and handsomest of our Sparrows, but Audubon, being kept in the dark, was himself to later publish the bird as the discovery of his friend Edward Harris.[6]
On the same day that Townsend and Nuttall were so picturesquely entering the Indian country, Maximilian, Prince of Wied, who had spent the previous year on the upper Missouri, was making his way down-stream on his return to civilization. On May 13, 1834, when but a few miles from the northern boundary of Missouri, his hunters took specimens of a bird new to him. In the second volume of his published journal,[7] he says: “It was toward eight o’clock in the cool morning of May 13 (1834) that we stopped on the right bank of the river and landed on a fine, green prairie, beset with bushes and high isolated trees.... We found many beautiful birds, among which Icteria viridis and the handsome Grosbeak with red breast Fringilla ludoviciana.... At noon we reached Belle-Vue, Major Dougherty’s Agency.... To the naturalist the surroundings of Belle-Vue were highly attractive. The beautiful wooded hills had shady ravines and small wild valleys.... Many, and some of them beautiful, birds animated these lovely thickets, the Cuckoo, the Carolina Dove, the Red-breasted Grosbeak, Sialia wilsoni, several Finches, among which Fringilla cyanea and erythropthalma, and of about the same size a new species which at least in Audubon’s Synopsis of the year 1839 is not enumerated and which I called Fringilla comata (2)”[8] The (2) in the text refers to a note at the end of the chapter where a description of the Harris’s Sparrow is given in great detail, and where the statement is made that “this bird nests in thickets along the shore of the Missouri River in the neighborhood of the mouth of La Platte River.” The first volume of Maximilian’s journal, containing the record of his trip up the Missouri, was published in 1839, while volume two, covering the period when the Sparrow was taken, did not appear until 1841. Had he published both volumes simultaneously in 1839, his specific name comata would of course be current. It is interesting to note that though he took his first specimen just fifteen days after Nuttall had taken the type, and at a time when the bulk of the migrants had passed north, he had overlooked an opportunity of being the actual discoverer during the previous April, when he had been in the direct migratory path of the Sparrow at the season of its greatest abundance there.
Nuttall himself had overlooked an opportunity of discovering the bird twenty-four years earlier, and had his attention at that time been directed to birds as well as plants, he would no doubt have become acquainted with the species. Referring to the Journal of his companion,[9] John Bradbury, an English botanist, it is found that they passed through this region during the spring migration of 1810, and while Nuttall’s absent-minded preoccupation in collecting plants was a standing joke among the voyageurs, Bradbury was somewhat more alive to ornithological possibilities, and has left many entertaining, and a few valuable notes on the better known birds. They had spent April 8th and 9th at Fort Osage, now Sibley, Jackson County, Missouri; and the writer knows of no more certain place to find Harris’s Sparrows in early April than in the timber and thickets of this bottom land.
The Lewis and Clark party had passed through this region in June, 1804, and again early in September, 1806, and Thomas Say of the Long Expedition had been here in August, 1819. Maximilian was therefore the first ornithologist to enter the range of this species while the birds were in transit.
The last “discoverer” was Edward Harris, in whose honor Audubon gave the bird its vernacular name. The memorable voyage of Audubon and Harris, together with Bell, Sprague, and Squires, up the Missouri River in 1843 is too well known to require comment. A few quotations will serve in connection with the story of the Sparrow. On May 2 the party passed the point in Jackson County, Missouri, where Nuttall and Townsend had left the river nine years previously. Early the next morning they reached Fort Leavenworth. After leaving this post the boat was stranded on a sand-bar from 5 o’clock in the evening until 10 the next morning, giving the naturalists considerable time to do some collecting in the neighborhood. In his famous journal[10] of the voyage, Audubon says under date of May 4: “Friend Harris shot two or three birds which we have not yet fully established.... Caught ... a new Finch.” And on the next day he states: “On examination of the Finch killed by Harris yesterday, I find it to be a new species, and I have taken its measurements across this sheet of paper.” In volume seven of the octavo edition of his ‘Birds of America,’ where the new species taken on the trip are described, the remarks under the Sparrow are as follows: “The discovery of this beautiful bird is due to my excellent and constant friend Edward Harris, who accompanied me on my late journey to the upper Missouri River, &c., and after whom I have named it, as a memento of the grateful feelings I will always entertain towards one ever kind and generous to me.”
“The first specimen seen was procured May 4, 1843, a short distance below the Black Snake Hills. I afterwards had the pleasure of seeing another whilst the steamer Omega was fastened to the shore, and the crew engaged in cutting wood.
“As I was on the look-out for novelties, I soon espied one of these Finches, which, starting from the ground only a few feet from me, darted on, and passed through the low tangled brushwood too swiftly for me to shoot on the wing. I saw it alight at a great distance, on the top of a high tree, and my several attempts to approach it proved ineffectual; it flew from one to another treetop as I advanced, and at last rose in the air and disappeared. During our journey up stream my friend Harris, however, shot two others, one of which proved a female, and another specimen was procured by Mr. J. G. Bell, who was also one of my party. Upon our return voyage, my friend Harris had the good fortune to shoot a young one, supposed to be a female, near Fort Crogan, on the fifth of October, which I have figured along with a fine male. The female differing in nothing from the latter.
“All our exertions to discover the nest of this species were fruitless, and I concluded by thinking that it proceeds further northward to breed.”
The work in which this supposed discovery was announced was published in 1844, four years after the second edition of Nuttall’s ‘Manual’ appeared. Since this manual was the first American work on ornithology, excepting Wilson’s, to go into a second edition, it was presumably widely known among ornithologists, and it is not easy to understand why Audubon and his coworkers were in ignorance of their lack of claim to Nuttall’s Mourning Finch.
During the twenty-five or thirty years following Audubon’s visit to the Missouri haunts of the Sparrow, practically nothing was learned of its life-history or distribution, and the few scattered specimens that were taken were all from the same general region. A specimen furnished by Lieut. Couch, taken at Fort Leavenworth on October 21, 1854, formed part of the material used by Prof. Baird in his epochal work in 1858, as did another taken at the same point on April 21, 1856, by Dr. Hayden, of Lieut. Warren’s Pacific Coast Surveys party. Dr. Hayden took three other specimens further up the river in the same year. Dr. P. R. Hoy, who collected in the type region in 1854, took a specimen on May 7, and on May 13 met with a troop of fifteen or twenty. There are a few other records from the Missouri Valley and one from Texas (Dresser, Ibis, 1865) prior to the numerous ornithological activities of the early seventies. Dr. J. A. Allen, collecting in the interest of the Museum of Comparative Zoölogy, had his headquarters at Fort Leavenworth during the first ten days of May, 1871, and found Harris’s Sparrows exceedingly abundant in the bottom timber on the Missouri side of the river. He added a few field notes on behavior, appearance, etc, and took a series of specimens. Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway state that from the time of its discovery in 1834 up to 1872 but little information had been obtained in regard to the Sparrow’s general habits, its geographical distribution, or its mode of breeding, single specimens only having been taken at considerable intervals in the valley of the Missouri and elsewhere. In 1874 Dr. Coues brought together all the available data in his interesting article on the bird in ‘Birds of the Northwest,’ but was able to add nothing in determining the bounds of its habitat, which he gave as “Region of the Missouri. East to Eastern Iowa.”
It was not until ten years later that enough information had accumulated to warrant an attempt at defining the limits of its range and the periods of its migration. This was done by the painstaking and accurate Wells W. Cooke in the first volume of ‘The Auk,’ in 1884. In this article, ‘Distribution and Migration of Zonotrichia querula,’ he was able only in a very general and indefinite way to give the western and southern extent of the range, but the eastern limits remain practically as he defined them.
In 1913 Professor Cooke noted the interesting peculiarity of the migration of the Harris’s Sparrow in the interval that elapses after the first spring advance. He states[11] that the birds become common along the Missouri River in northwestern Iowa soon after the middle of March and yet it is not until early May that they are noted a few miles further north in southeastern South Dakota and southwestern Minnesota. He adds that the dates suggest the probability that these March birds have wintered unnoticed in the thick bushes of the bottomlands not far distant, and have been attracted to the open country by the first warm days of spring. This theory is borne out by the facts as observed by the writer in the Kansas City region. The birds are present in this vicinity during even the most severe winters, but keep to the dense shelter of the Missouri bottoms. During mild and open winters a few scattered flocks may even spend the entire season until spring in the hedges and weed patches of the prairie country.
This Sparrow has always attracted attention in the field by its large size and conspicuously handsome appearance, as well as by its sprightly and vivacious manner and querulous notes, but it has seldom been the subject of special notice in the literature of American birds. Its bibliography is chiefly confined to diagnostic listing in formal works on ornithology, brief annotations in faunal lists, and occasional mention in published field notes.
During the thirty-four years that have elapsed since Prof. Cooke’s article of 1884, the Sparrow, as a migrant, has become well known to ornithologists. Its narrow migration path, the center of which in the United States is approximately down the 96th meridian, has been worked out; the wide extent of territory covered by stragglers has been fully reported;[12] the food habits of the bird while on migration have been thoroughly investigated and the results published;[13] the nest has been seen once,[14] and young just out of the nest have been collected,[15] and the general region of the breeding ground itself is known to be where barren tundra meets the edge of the timber between Hudson Bay and Great Bear Lake. But the eggs yet remain to be discovered.
NOTES ON THE STRUCTURE OF THE PALATE
IN THE ICTERIDÆ.
BY ALEXANDER WETMORE.
The curious keel-like, angular projection found on the palate in the North American Grackles of the genus Quiscalus, recognized as one of the prominent characters distinguishing that group of Blackbirds, is a structure that can hardly fail to attract attention when the mouth is examined in freshly killed specimens, or in birds preserved in spirits. Recently, certain observations made in the field on these birds, which will be recounted later, recalled this structure to mind and the writer was led to make a somewhat detailed study of the palatal keel in the Grackles, and finally to examine the appearance of the palate in other members of the family Icteridæ. In these studies, carried on in the United States National Museum, there have been available suitable specimens representing all of the leading genera with the exception of Clypeicterus, Ocyalus, Lampropsar and Macragelæus. In all, one hundred and thirteen species belonging to thirty-one genera have been examined.
Fig. 1. Head of Quiscalus quiscula æneus.
a. Palatal keel (about natural size.)
Study of skins of the genus Quiscalus shows that the palatal keel is developed as a compressed projection from the roof of the mouth, slightly behind the center of the commissure [(Fig. 1)]. Viewed from the side it is truncated in front, forming an angular projection that has a tendency to become toothed at the tip. Posteriorly it lowers to merge finally into the level of the palate. The anterior margin is sharp, and the posterior portion is thicker and stronger. The entire ridge is developed as a fold in the horny sheathing of the palate, and the surface of the premaxilla underneath is smooth and flat with no indication of a bony ridge to support the keel.
From the examination of museum skins it appears that the palatal ridge begins to develop in juvenile birds a short time before they leave the nest, at a stage when the body is well covered with feathers, and the incoming tail feathers have attained a length of 20 to 25 millimeters. In such birds the keel appears as a very slightly raised ridge that forms a distinct line on the palate. The bill at this time has reached about three-fourths of the length attained when the bird is adult, so that the beginning of this ridge appears to be located far forward, though it occupies the same position in relation to the external nasal opening that the fully developed keel does in the adult. In the dried skins the ridge is somewhat indistinct, but it is possible that it may be more readily apparent in living or recently killed specimens.
In birds that are almost fully feathered and that are about ready to leave the nest the bill has become stronger, the raised palatal line is heavier, and has a rounded anterior end that forms a marked projection and then continues to merge with the palate in front. In older specimens, able to fly but with the rectrices only 95 to 105 mm. long, the palatal ridge was better marked, being broad and strong basally and more slender toward the point. In a few of the specimens of this stage examined the cutting angle seemed well developed, but in others it was less strongly indicated. In birds that were fully grown but still in juvenal plumage the ridge was well developed but not so prominent as in adults. In some the basal portion was broad and rounded, verging toward the formation of palate found in the genus Megaquiscalus. In others the anterior cutting angle was more prominent but the entire ridge had only attained from one-half to three-fourths of its full height.
No one apparently has raised the question of the possible function of this keel, developed as described above, so that it seems proper to record here certain field observations made by the writer that indicate the use of this structure. As might be expected it serves in securing and preparing certain parts of the food. In December 1917, near Stuttgart in eastern Arkansas, during a time when the ground was covered by a light fall of snow, flocks of Bronzed Grackles were found feeding among small groves of a pin oak (Quercus pagodaefolia). The ground under these trees was nearly bare and the birds were working about searching for the small acorns that had fallen and were partly concealed under leaves and low plant growth beneath the oaks. The Grackles were tame and with a pair of binoculars it was an easy matter to watch them at close range. The acorns were picked up, held in the bill and pressed firmly against the keel on the palate, then released, turned slightly by means of mandibles and tongue, and then again gripped strongly. In this way the acorn was rotated until a line had been impressed entirely around the shell. With a little further manipulation the shell dropped off in two halves and the kernel was swallowed entire without further preparation, though frequently it was gulped down only after some effort. After watching one feeding flock for some time I clapped my hands sharply to startle them and then examined the ground where they had been at work. Scattered among the leaves were many acorn shells, most of which had been cut in two in a line transverse to the longitudinal axis. Some had fairly smooth, clean-cut margins, while others were roughened and jagged. In searching through the leaves I picked up one acorn still intact that had been dropped by one of the birds, perhaps when the flock was frightened up, in which a line had been impressed entirely around the center. In this the impressions of the palatal keel were distinctly visible.
When attention was once attracted to this manner of feeding other incidents were noted in which the palatal keel was brought in play. On one occasion on the streets of Washington a Purple Grackle was observed attempting to split open a kernel of corn dropped from some passing dray. The bird held this grain in the slight notch near the center of the bill and pressed it against the angular keel. The grain proved refractory, as it snapped out several times, dropping 8 or 10 inches away, to be seized and again compressed. Watching until it had been dropped I frightened the bird and secured the kernel of corn. On one side four grooves impressed in the hard outer surface were visible showing where, and with what force, the sharp keel had been applied.
Apparently the palatal ridge develops with the gradual growth of the bill, and becomes fully functional shortly after the immature bird is left by its parents to its own resources in securing food. It seems to be fully grown in all by the middle of September. In many adult specimens the ridge shows signs of heavy wear from the nearly constant use to which it is put. In some the cutting angle was well rounded in front from constant abrasion, while in others the anterior margin had become irregular and broken. In one specimen the thin lower margin of the compressed keel was entirely worn away, leaving a low rounded projection in which the two sides of the fold by which the keel had been formed were clearly visible, with a line of separation between them. It was interesting to note that the palatal ridge was usually well worn in old adults, taken in late fall or early spring, belonging to the northern races (Quiscalus q. quiscula and Q. q. æneus) while little or no wear was apparent in similar specimens of the southern form (Q. q. aglæus) from South Carolina and Florida. The data available from the examination of a small number of stomachs of this form from Florida show a preponderance of insects and fruits with very little mast or grain, a fact of interest, but one that is not fully substantiated as the material available is small.
Among near relatives of Quiscalus quiscula a slightly developed palatal ridge was encountered in Megaquiscalus macrourus, where the projection was broad and well rounded posteriorly, and narrow in front with the lower margin acute, forming a sharp keel. In some specimens seen this keel was slowly reduced until it merged smoothly with the palatal surface in front. In others the anterior margin was obtusely declivous. The obtuse anterior cutting angle projected below the margins of the tomia for nearly a millimeter in a few individuals, and in these occasional specimens the resemblance was striking to those bills of Quiscalus in which the ridge was most poorly developed. Juvenile specimens of Megaquiscalus m. macrourus from Fort Clark, Texas, that had been collected just after they had left the nest, had the palatal ridge already well indicated though only about one-half developed. In the slender-billed forms known as Megaquiscalus tenuirostris and M. nicaraguensis the palatal keel was much as in M. major though slighter and less pronounced.
In Blackbirds belonging to the West Indian group known as Holoquiscalus a raised line was also more or less developed. In general the growth was similar to that in Megaquiscalus as the posterior portion was broad and rounded, while anteriorly the ridge was narrowed and the lower margin became acute. There is some variation in the size of this anterior portion; in a few the crest is obtusely declivous in front, approaching the condition found in Quiscalus, but never with the keel produced so that it projects below the plane subtended by the cutting edges of the tomia.
The discovery of a peculiar knoblike process on the palate of the mexican orioles belonging to the species Icterus gularis was one of the really surprising discoveries made during a more or less cursory examination of the palate in various species and genera of Icteridæ picked out at random, and it was the finding of this structure in an Oriole that led to a detailed examination of all of the material available. In Icterus gularis the palatal ridge is from 1.2 to 1.5 millimeters high at its anterior end [(Fig. 2)]. The entire structure is broad and somewhat flattened. The ventral surface is slightly rounded, the sides slightly sloping, the sides and lower surface joining at a sharp angle. In front the ridge is abruptly truncated at its ventral margin where there is sometimes a slight tooth or projection. Below this point the anterior surface slopes abruptly, and then passes over into the roof of the palate. The ridge is about two millimeters broad, and there is a slightly indicated raised line on the ventral surface for three-quarters of its length behind. From this description it may be seen that this blunt projection is entirely different from the sharply keeled ridge found in Quiscalus.
Fig. 2. Head of Icterus gularis yucatanensis.
b. Palatal knob (about natural size.)
Examination of other orioles shows that Icterus gularis stands alone in respect to this development as there is nothing found in other species that approaches it save for a broad, low, rounded projection, slight but distinct, that is found on the palate in Icterus xanthornus. In Icterus laudabilis and I. prosthemelas there is a very slightly raised median ridge developed on the posterior part of the roof of the mouth. In twenty-eight other species belonging to this genus the palate exhibits no peculiarities worthy of mention. This structure in the bill in Icterus gularis is constant in its presence, and serves as a trenchant character distinguishing it from other orioles, or in fact from any other members of the Icteridæ that have been available for examination. The differences pointed out above, together with others of lesser importance, seem to be of generic value. It is therefore proposed to recognize for this species the genus name
Andriopsar Cassin.[16]
Type.—Ps[arocolius] gularis Wagler, Isis, 1829, p. 754 (type locality, Tehuantepec, Oaxaca).
Diagnosis.—Medium-sized Icteridæ with short, heavy bill; a prominent knoblike projection on the posterior median portion of the palate, broad and somewhat flattened in general form, with abrupt sides, truncated in front, sometimes with a tooth or notch at the anterior ventral angle, about 2 millimeters broad and from 1.2 to 1.5 millimeters high in front; depth of culmen at base nearly equal to one-half length of culmen (varying from slightly more to slightly less); tarsus slightly longer than culmen from base; middle toe with claw equal to two-thirds, or slightly more, of length of tarsus.
One species in which three subspecies have been described is at present known to belong in this genus. These will stand as follows:
- Andriopsar gularis gularis (Wagler)
- Andriopsar gularis tamaulipensis (Ridgway)
- Andriopsar gularis yucatanensis (Berlepsch)
At present there is no information on the feeding habits of these orioles available but it seems certain that they will show some striking peculiarity in choice of food or in manner of securing and handling it when the life history of the species is better known.
In conclusion I desire to give a brief summary of the condition of the palate in other Icteridæ where comment is necessary. In Euphagus carolinus and E. cyanocephalus there is a slight elongate ridge of low elevation, rounded posteriorly more acute in front, and not projecting as far as the level of the tomia. This raised line is slightly more pronounced in E. carolinus than in E. cyanocephalus in spite of the fact that the latter has a heavier, stronger bill. The species known as Ptiloxena atroviolacea has an elongate, narrow, slightly elevated ridge on the posterior portion of the palate, rounded behind and more or less acute in front, but with too low an elevation to be considered a highly specialized structure. Sumichrast’s Blackbird (Dives dives) has a palatal structure somewhat resembling that of the genus Holoquiscalus save that the entire ridge is shorter.
With regard to others, Tangavius æneus has a slight ridge, that becomes stronger behind, extending for two-thirds the length of the palate. A similar ridge in Molothrus badius is less developed at its anterior end than in the preceding genus. In Molothrus fringillarius (one specimen only examined) this ridge is still less in development. In Molothrus ater, the cutting edges of the tomia do not extend below the level of the palate, and there is a rounded swelling behind the center; in Molothrus atronitens only a very slight ridge is present, and finally in M. rufo-axillaris there is no peculiarity worthy of mention. Nesopsar nigerrimus shows a well marked rounded ridge on the posterior part of the palate that merges into the anterior surface without becoming produced as an angle. Xanthopsar imthurmi shows a slightly developed posterior ridge, while in Agelaius phœniceus (including gubernator) there is a very faint swelling at the posterior end of the palate, that becomes much more pronounced in A. tricolor. Agelaius thilius and A. icterocephalus show a faintly raised median line, that in the latter species is broadened and rounded posteriorly. Amblyrhamphus holosericeus has a long, low, keeled median ridge, and in the three species of Sturnella there is an elongate keel, that is rounded behind and acute in front. In Curæus aterrimus the palate is on a level with the edge of the tomia, and has a low rounded bulge on its posterior surface. Trupialis militaris and T. falklandicus have a slight rounded posterior ridge, that is absent in T. bellicosa and T. defillipi, and finally in Gymnomystax melanicterus there is a low, narrow, keeled ridge on the posterior part of the palate, that merges gradually into the surrounding level in front. None of the other species seen present any marked peculiarities.