Scarlet tanagers are often hardly more agreeable in their marital relations than the redeyed vireos, and though no doubt they vary greatly in this respect, those that I have noticed showed a decided coldness, occasionally varied by marked crossness. And the wooing of a scarlet tanager is sometimes most amusing, for the female is, or pretends to be, amazingly indifferent and it must take a courageous lover to persist in spite of her severe manner, but male tanagers are gifted with persistence and do not seem to go unmated, and they make most devoted parents, though it would hardly have been expected of them after their seeming indifference during the incubating. One pair of tanagers that had a nest close to the house, and so could be constantly watched, were never on really friendly terms with each other, sometimes quarreling outright, and only seeking each other’s society when some danger seemed to threaten their young ones. Then the female seemed glad of the presence of her mate. Young scarlet tanagers are very confiding and gentle in their ways, and do not seem to have much fear of man here. There are always several of these pretty creatures flitting about in the evergreens near the house at the season when they are old enough to begin to take care of themselves, and they often alight on the hammock ropes or sit on the branches quite near me, looking on with bright, interested eyes. They have little playful ways that are rather unusual in a young bird and remind one of kittens. Sometimes when a shred of the arbor vitæ bark hangs down above them they will play with it, using their beak as a kitten does its paws, and their voices have an almost plaintive sweetness that adds greatly to their attractions.
Next perhaps in fussiness to a redeyed vireo may be counted the phœbe; and there does not appear to be quite so much reason for the phœbe’s unhappy frame of mind, for on the whole their nests seem rather safer than those of most birds, built as they so often are in sheltered places about the houses and barns. But though the nests escape the young phœbes are very liable to come to grief, and their elders nearly wear themselves out when the young first leave the nest, which they often choose to do on a very stormy day. Phœbes are pugnacious, too, and carry on feuds among themselves year after year, those on the east side of the house always quarreling with those on the west side, and when they first come back in the spring there are frequent conflicts, noisily carried on in midair, which continue at intervals until both parties are too busy with their nests and young to attend to other things, though even then, if an idle moment occurs, they promptly take advantage of it to have a brush with each other. There never seems to be any particular advantage gained on either side; so dismal as they seem about it all they no doubt rather enjoy the excitement afforded by these little interludes.
Young phœbes show none of these aggressive qualities, and have the most gentle and attractive manners and a peculiar air of innocence that is most captivating. If the parent phœbe brings up an insect all the nestlings, who may be sitting in a row on a branch, wave their soft wings and squeak. The parent inspects them for a moment and then feeds one. The instant the old bird has decided which shall be fed the rest subside and wait quietly until her return. There is no pushing and crowding or following the parent.
The slate colored junco is another of the essentially cheerful spirits, yet has a remarkable sedateness and self-possession, such as one is sometimes surprised to find in people of particularly quiet and gentle dispositions. And he has one habit that has made him very dear, for he always appears in the fall and remains until quite late in the season. During this time he haunts the evergreen trees in front of the house, coming back there every evening to sleep or to seek shelter from a storm, announcing his arrival with low twitterings and restless games of play. If one goes under the evergreens after dark and gently shakes a branch there will be a slight fluttering of wings and disturbed sleepy notes from the juncos. They love to feed in the drive which runs in front of the house and in the thickets of rose bushes that creep up to the windows, coming close to the veranda and eating any crumbs that are thrown out for them, and even on the wettest day looking trim and contented and bringing with them a sense of companionship which can be only appreciated by those who have lived much alone, when the different creatures come to be better known than they can be where there are people constantly distracting the attention.
The Kentucky cardinal, though I have known it but slightly, made a very vivid impression because of its gentle pensiveness. I once spent a few months in a little village in Florida and flocks of these exquisite creatures appeared from time to time in our garden and in different places that we visited. They were always rather tame, coming near us and feeding on the ground, uttering plaintive notes that reminded me of the cedar bird and which suggested a much smaller bird. The cardinal’s manner had something so sensitive and touching about it that it appealed to me at once and made the lovely strangers as dear as though they had been known a lifetime. They were never hurried or excited and I never heard a cross note or saw the slightest indication of any friction among them; but their whole manner was colored with sadness—a quiet, unobtrusive sadness. Even their song was tinged with it and it was curious how these brilliant creatures left on the mind a sense of “going quietly” and being subdued, which made them the greatest contrast to the absurd redwinged black birds with whom they often shared the umbrella tree.
Hundreds of other instances of bird character crowd into the mind, as one writes, and the air seems again full of airy creatures each with his or her small personality standing out from all the rest in bright contrast, some grave, some gay, some cross, and others kind, but all beautiful and full of interest.
Louise Claude.
Frowning, the owl in the oak complained him
Sore, that the song of the robin restrained him