Late in October, 1882, a Downy Woodpecker excavated a hole in an old cherry tree, near a much used door in my yard, of the size and shape of its usual nest, and occupied it nightly for more than six weeks. In April following a pair of Bluebirds took possession and reared two broods of five birds each; but now, October 2d, ’83, the Woodpecker has occupied his old quarters for several nights and frequents the locality during the day. This habit of the Downy in making a winter home is a new one to me.—John M. Howey, Canandaigua, N. Y.
Least Bittern.
While collecting on a large marshy meadow in this vicinity on June 10th, 1883, I started a Least Bittern from a clump of flags. Thinking there might be a nest there, I commenced searching and soon found it. It was a mere hollow in a bunch of matted flags scantily lined with water grass, and contained two fresh laid eggs. In shape and size they resembled eggs of the Yellow-billed Cuckoo. In color they were of pale blue, almost white. Fearing other collectors might find them I took them, though probably not a complete set. I also secured the bird. I afterwards secured three more finely plumaged males on the same meadows, which are now in my cabinet.—Charles H. Neff, Portland, Conn.
Nests and Eggs of the Birds of Ohio is delayed for want of fresh nests and eggs to draw. This is a work of sterling merit.
The Hawks of ’83.
The first March walks in the woods showed that many of the old hawks’ nests were “winter killed?” Weakened and disintegrated by the action of the constant snow and ice, they had been tumbled from the trees by the last fierce breath of winter. So at the outset it was clear that to secure the annual complement of eggs would involve wider and closer search than usual. Though shadowing them closely, I was finally baffled as to the nesting-places of several pairs of these evicted hawks, and the season’s work gave but eighty eggs against over 100 for the year before. Still the hawks were as common as ever and will continue so, doubtless, as long as their chief quarry the red squirrel is so abundant here. In this series the sets of Red-tailed were all in pairs, and the Red-shouldered all in trios—the Red-tailed of course being larger and less showily marked. In average sets of borealis one egg will be plain and the other nearly so, while in a large series of Red-shouldered there will be some half dozen types constantly recurring, many gradations, and a few sets of absolute brilliancy. Though the season was cold and late, the Red-tailed bred as early as usual, while its congener showed itself as heretofore affected by extreme weather in the breeding season.
In blowing the incubated eggs of B. lineatus, three sets were found which held one stale egg each. It is not clear that cold or wet caused this, but it is true that a wet season makes the Buteo’s eggs dull and nest-stained. A single heavy rain, occurring when the clutch is just laid, affects their brightness and beauty. And full sets suffer by comparison with single eggs taken when laid, as every day of exposure fades all hawk’s eggs. So the series of ’83 is uninteresting and dull as a whole, while ’82, which was a dry season, presents a uniformly showy lot. To remove nest-stains is not easy. If freshly laid the markings will at once wash out of the eggs of Fish Hawks and Buteos, so the corner of a damp cloth only should be used on the plain surface between the markings. Dr. Wood says soap and water are cheap and should be freely used. But as eggshells are porous, soap is at once absorbed in the shell and afterwards when heated comes out over the surface in yellow, waxy exudations.
The Buteo’s eggs of this season were all from the old haunts of last year, and presumably most of them were from hawks’ which had been often robbed. I also took sets of Cooper’s Hawks and Marsh Hawks from old birds grown wary by the loss of many clutches. Tuesday, June 26, I took a set of three bright eggs of Sharp-shinned Hawk from a new nest in a secluded swamp after leaving them vainly seven days for a larger set. A pair of Sharp-shinned with unfledged young were shot in a hemlock clump within the city limits, in July this year, by milkmen, who nailed the hapless family on the side of a barn as scare-crows. Now, if I had only gone through the grove in June, as I always have done in former years, the old birds might be alive to-day, and my collection the richer by one more set of Sharp-shinned hawk’s eggs.—J. M. W., Norwich, Conn.