BLUEBIRD AT NEST
After focusing my camera to within three feet of the post, and arranging a string attachment, I concealed myself in some bushes about seventy-five feet away. I waited patiently for ten minutes before the female left the tree and flew down to the fence. The male followed close after, and they hopped about the post and wires, getting nearer and nearer the nest, until the female flew straight into the hole. A snap-shot, just before she reached the entrance, was only partially successful, but shows very clearly the pose of the bird's head and neck while it was in the air. It was made in a twenty-fifth of a second with the lens stopped down to sixteen. I disturbed the female several times before she gained the desired position at the nest-opening; but, finally, the snap of the shutter helped bring to life one of my best bird-pictures.
A knowledge of the bird's nesting habits is a prime requisite in avian photography. Much patience is needed, as failures are very numerous. A camera which may be focused to within two or three feet is an absolute necessity in order to make the picture large enough. Most of my failures have been caused by the lack of bright sunlight, under-exposure, or movement of the bird the instant the picture was taken; but one good photograph is sufficient reward for many trials.
[A Tragic St. Valentine's Day]
BY ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
The cold wave reached us at Miami, on Biscayne Bay, Florida, in the night of February 12, 1899. It was preceded by severe thunder storms in the evening. On the 13th, Monday, it was very cold all over the state, with snow and sleet as far south as Ormond and Titusville. Our thermometers at Miami ranged from 36° to 40° during the day. As I sat in my room at the hotel, about four in the afternoon, I saw a bird outside my window, then another and another, and soon the air seemed full of wings.
Opening my window to see what the visitors could be, I found they were Tree Swallows (Tachycineta bicolor). Several flew into my room, others clustered on the window ledge, huddling closely together for warmth. There were hundreds of them about the house seeking shelter and warmth. They crept in behind the window blinds, came into open windows, huddled together by dozens on cornices and sills. They were quite fearless; once I held my hand outside and two of them lighted on its palm and sat there quietly. As it grew dark and colder their numbers increased. They flew about the halls and perched in corners, and the whole house was alive with them. Few of the guests in the hotel knew what they were; some even called them 'bats,' and were afraid they might fly into their faces or become entangled in their hair. One man informed those about him that they were Humming Birds, 'the large kind, you know,' but all were full of sympathy for the beautiful little creatures, out in the cold and darkness. A few were taken indoors and sheltered through the night, but 'what were these among so many?'