Like its sister flycatchers the Green-crested is not a good natured bird and will even quarrel with individuals of its own species. Even its voice is fretful, especially when from its perch it is waiting for an insect to pass by. It seldom perches higher than from fifteen to twenty feet from the ground, and while standing constantly twitches its tail and frequently utters a note that Mr. Chapman describes as a single spee or peet.
It is a beneficial bird, for its food consists of insects except in the fall when it feeds to a limited extent on wild berries. It will occasionally visit orchards where it has learned there may be found a plentiful supply of food to its liking. When an insect is sighted, like the other flycatchers, except that it chooses a low rather than a high perch from which to watch, it flies outward and with an upward sweep seldom fails to catch its prey in its open bill, which is suddenly closed with a notably loud click that seems like an expression of satisfaction over the result of its efforts.
The drooping branches of several kinds of trees and shrubs are selected by the Green-crested Flycatchers as suitable sites for their unpretentious homes. The nests are semipensil, being attached by the rim to the fork of a small limb or to two parallel limbs. They are shallow and so loosely constructed that frequently the eggs may be seen from the underside. As this Flycatcher breeds nearly throughout its range, the materials used in the construction of the nests varies greatly. In southern states where Spanish moss is common it is one of the chief constituents of the nest. In more northern district, stems of plants, small roots and fibrous materials are used. These are loosely woven with blades of grass, dry flowers and the catkins of the willow. Not infrequently the hanging catkins, decayed fibres and the loose ends of stems and blades of grass give an untidy appearance to the home of this useful and interesting bird.
GREEN-CRESTED FLYCATCHER.
(Empidonax virescens).
Life-size.
CHARACTER IN BIRDS.
In a delightful article called “Character in Birds,” Mr. Torrey gives many instances of bird traits that show distinct differences of nature in various species, and which lead one to recall others that have fallen under observation. Mr. Torrey does not mention, for instance, a peculiarity of the redeyed vireo, which is as marked as its persistent and rather tiresome note; that is, its almost intolerable curiosity and fussiness, qualities which it carries to such an extreme that they become absolutely comic. I think I have never seated myself to watch the nest of any bird, that a redeyed vireo has not appeared on the scene and scolded me; and the moment a bird utters a cry of alarm a redeyed vireo is sure to appear with his fretful air of “Oh, dear, what is the matter now?” ready and willing to take a hand in any rows that may be going and quite sure to make more fuss than the really aggrieved party; and oddly enough seeming, in one instance at least, even to resent the noise that the troubled bird was making, for one day when an indigo bird, that I had tormented by watching its nest, had chippered and chattered until he had brought every bird in the neighborhood to see what was the matter, a redeyed vireo, after prancing around for a time, flew at the distracted indigo bird with a very cross squawk, which said as plainly as words, “Do be quiet, can’t you?”
The vireo’s action in this case was in marked contrast to that of a thistle bird which came up warbling and gave me a careless glance, and then flew away still singing, but as the noise continued he came back presently and perching on a twig above me, bent his bright head to look at me, saying, “swee-et” in a long-drawn, inquiring way, with a little break in his voice which was singularly endearing, as are all the ways of these charming creatures; after inspecting me again he disappeared, but at a renewed outcry from the indigo birds he came warbling back once more. This time he paid little attention to me, having apparently satisfied his curiosity on that point on his former visit; but seeming to divine that there must be some reason why the indigo bird should make so much fuss, he began to examine the tree which held the nest. Suddenly he discovered the nest, and after a start which expressed surprise and interest, he flew up and hovered over it for an instant and then flitted away, warbling. Redeyed vireos seem to be always restless and irritable, and perfectly sure that you mean to do them or their nests some harm, and it is sometimes quite distracting to go into a certain piece of woods where they are very plentiful; the moment you enter it they begin their distressful “please, please,” uttered half pleadingly and half crossly. One is sure they must be near a vireo’s nest, yet may pass beneath it day after day, and though looking for it fail to find it, if there are no young ones, so skillful are they in concealing their beautiful nests. These are among the most fascinating of bird cradles, particularly in this piece of woods where there are many birch trees, from which the vireo obtains fine, silky shreds of the beautifully tinted bark and weaves into the nest with the most exquisite effect, giving unusual delicacy of color and texture. The redeye has also the most remarkable habit of arranging the nest so that it shall be quite hidden by the leaves, often with one leaf which serves as a roof and protects the young or eggs from sun and rain; and if they would only keep quiet they would usually be quite safe, but instead, the moment any one appears they make so much noise that attention is attracted to them at once, and you begin naturally to look for the cause. Even then it may be some time before the nest is discovered, as there are usually only one or two points from which a view of it can be obtained and a single leaf will sometimes quite conceal it. Possibly there are circumstances in the life of a redeyed vireo which, if known, would account for his irritability and egotistical belief that all eyes are upon him with evil intent; but our eyes are dull, and one could wish at times that his trials, whatever they may be, might sweeten his temper. I do know, at least, that redeyed vireos are much tormented by that plague of bird life, the cowbunting, which delights in laying her eggs in the redeye’s nest; and nowhere could they be placed where they would cause more discomfort, for the vireo’s nest is a delicate structure and none too large for its own nestlings. I think the cowbird often injures the nest when she lays her egg, as she probably gets in and out of it with more or less haste, being hurried by the aggrieved owners, for not only do the young vireos fall out of the nest, but even the interloping cowbird sometimes falls out before he is able to fly and meets his death by a tumble before he is prepared to leave the nest.
One summer I was watching a hawk’s nest and was always greeted by the angry cries of the redeyed vireos, who never ceased to scold at me and the hawk, and so upset a nervous, but well meaning at least, flycatcher that it, too, joined in the abuse. Sometimes when the hawk flew away the vireos would follow him for quite a distance through the trees, scolding in the most dismal manner and showing little fear of the great, fierce creature, who they seemed to know could not catch them among the thick branches of the trees. But one day I was amazed to see a redeyed vireo actually on the lower part of the hawk’s nest. To be sure the hawk was absent, but he had a swift and silent way of returning that made it seem a rather dangerous bit of bravado. The redeye often has a most uncomfortable habit not only of quarreling with any neighbor that will quarrel but also of squabbling with each other even during the time that they are engaged in caring for the young. One summer a pair of them, having a nest in a tree near the house, were so quarrelsome and kept up such a persistent clatter that they became really tiresome. It must be admitted, however, that in this particular case they had cause for being irritable, for they were trying to bring up a cowbunting besides their own family, and perhaps each thought the other was to blame for the misfortune. Indeed it took little imagination to think that their perpetual squabbles were caused by mutual recriminations in regard to their voracious foster nestling. Poor vireos! They fought with each other and everyone else, but particularly with a phœbe which had a nest near by, and was also tired and fretful from overwork and perhaps fond of a row himself, for he had an aggravating habit of coming into a little tree just below the vireos’ nest and twitching his tail in the rather inane manner peculiar to phœbes, and that was all that was needed to throw the vireos into a perfect fume, and they responded instantly, flying at him wrathfully and were promptly met by a kindred spirit. It was a most unreasonable business, as neither wanted anything that the other had, and seemed to prove that all they needed was an excuse to show their ill temper. These same vireos had a very real cause for rage and fear in the presence of the red squirrels, and they never failed to pursue and scold one the moment it appeared. Their whole life seemed so uncomfortable and their perpetual fussing was so wearisome that it was difficult to feel proper sympathy for them when their affairs ended tragically. But they were most devoted parents, and as such must have credit, though their domestic arrangements seemed squalidly inharmonious and were so pronounced that no one living in the vicinity could help knowing all about them.
Thistle birds, like the vireos, are very apt to appear in response to any call of alarm or annoyance from their neighbors, but their interest seems to have a sweet and kindly spirit, very different to the acidulated attitude of the redeyed vireo. In truth the most marked characteristic of these little beauties is a peculiar loveableness and their gentle cheeriness makes them ideal companions. They have a delightful habit of appearing in June in flocks and congregating on the white sandy beach of the lake, reminding one of the clouds of yellow butterflies that come to the same place at certain times of the year. At this time the male thistle bird sings in a perfect ecstacy of joy and love; but of all their attractive qualities none is so endearing as a habit they have late in the fall of singing as they fly high up, mere specks, their exquisite ethereal notes drifting down sometimes with the first snowflakes as they go joyfully to meet the storm and the night.