numbers for many weeks, and after a longer or shorter absence as suddenly to return to their accustomed haunts. More particularly is this the case with our winter residents. It is generally supposed that these semi-migratory movements are in consequence of meteorological conditions, the birds having the power to foretell a change by recognizing it through alterations in inanimate nature, not appreciable by man, or more probably by electric conditions acting directly upon them, on the same principle that a gouty big toe is an excellent barometer. Granting that these sudden departures from a given neighborhood by any species of birds or by the birds generally are caused by a meteorological influence, operating on each individual alike, would they not then go as individuals from the locality where the influence is felt to one better suited to them, during the prevalence of the obnoxious conditions? Every bird would then become a mere automaton, wafted to and fro at the mercy of the winds and clouds. While I do admit that the weather is the determining cause of the birds' movements, I am convinced that the influence is exerted in a somewhat different way. These temporary migrations are not made individually, but collectively, the birds maintaining a close association, their numbers not varying between the times of their departure and arrival. No meteorological influence could produce a flocking of any species, as represented in a given area, previous to forcing or at least inducing them to quit the neighborhood. Now, if we allow to birds exact geographical knowledge of a considerable extent of territory, then experience will have taught them, without doubt, that a ravine extending at right angles to the track of a storm is a proper shelter while the storm or "spell of severe weather" lasts; and the atmospheric conditions pending the change admonishing them, the scattered birds would depart thereto and arrive singly from every quarter, congregating for the first time when safely in the protecting ravine; but this is not found to be the case at all. They congregate wherever they may happen to be, and this necessitates an uttered signal, understood by them. Once collected they determine their route and depart in company. In December last, as I have related, I met with two such flocks of migrating birds. In thus associating they must derive either benefit or pleasure, if not both. If benefit, it must be that a mutual understanding exists among them; if pleasure, there must be an interchange of the impressions made upon one to the other. That it is an audible interchange we all know, for flocks of mutes do not occur; that it is a varied expression of notes, peculiar to each species, is as well known; and so, judging these same birds from a human stand-point, they assuredly know themselves and understand each other, have definite expressions for certain conditions, have, in fact, the gift of language as the natural outcome of that power of thought which their methodical lives show they duly exercise. The presence or absence of food in any given locality is also rightly supposed largely to influence the stay or departure of all birds, either resident or migratory; but let us take the instance of the roving purple finches I have referred to. In this case there was doubtless an abundance of food available for weeks in the little wood in which they tarried for so short a time. They certainly did not remain long enough to determine that point, and so gave evidence of a predetermined journey to some particular point, towards which they were moving when I chanced upon them. On these same oaks and about the hill-side generally, scores of times I have seen these finches often for days together, and consequently finding sufficient food. When I last saw them they were not seeking out better feeding grounds than those they had left, but a locality otherwise more suitable. If, then, there is in the character of these migratory movements even a trace of predetermination, does it not bear directly upon the question of the conveyance of impressions from one to the other? and if the sounds they utter are closely related to their movements, can we conceive of these as having any other significance than that of being the means by which they express their thoughts, that their utterances are strictly a language? One can easily believe that an elaborate song is a pleasure to the little musician himself as well as all his hearers, and may be given, perhaps, with a wholly selfish intent; but not so can we explain away the endless chirps and twitters expressed during the ordinary routine of each day's existence. - Again, as bearing upon the subject of birds' flocking, together with their various "notes" or language, it is to be borne in mind that widely different species do not migrate together, but on the other hand, allied species and genera are thus associated, and there is a marked similarity in very many of the "calls" of these allied species, as well as identity in habits and preference for the same localities. And are not these facts, by the by, suggestive of the great probability that in the distant past the variations now existing in our widely different birds were far less in num ber, and that the influences exerted by endless external conditions have been in part the origin of the so-called species of to-day? But possibly speculation as to the origin of the specific variation in bird life is in vain; and coming back to the present, to see it as it is, we find far more that suggests laborious study than a life-time can accomplish; and that, too, without seeking for marked exhibitions of ingenuity on the part of the birds. Interesting as these are to the field naturalist, whenever met with, it is doubtful if such chance occurrences are really as instructive in one's endeavor to appreciate the mental endowments of birds as are their ordinary daily and seasonal acts. And again, as indicative, I think, of the existence of a mind essentially the same as our own, is that love of company of their own kind, which is so marked a feature of bird life. Birds may be associated and influenced pleasantly by each other's presence without being "flocked," as we say of gregarious species. After nearly a score of years of out-door study in the woods and about the fields, through the marshes and over mountains, I am well satisfied that the bird is eminently a social creature. One need but watch the busy warblers as they wander from twig to twig of our elm-trees to note how humanly they act when two chance to meet face to face while passing around the large branches: a moment's halting, a cheery twitter, a still more emphatic adieu, perhaps their parting note, and they separate to continue their untiring search for insects. Capture, if you have the heart to do so, a nest-building bird, and place it in a cage, near the site of its unfinished home. See with what painful curiosity its puzzled mate endeavors to comprehend the mishap, and fearless of the cage itself, with what close scrutiny it is examined, in hopes of finding some available crevice through which the captured bird may escape. Note with what care an abundance of food is brought to the prisoner, showing that the bird realizes some of the difficulties into which its mate has fallen. The utterances of both, too, are at this time worthy of the closest attention. They are not simply the sharp chirp of fear on the part of the captured bird, but a varied intonation, characteristically responded to by the bird at large; and one cannot fail to interpret it as an appeal for assistance. I have experimented in this cruel manner many times; and while the caged victim was confined, its mate proved faithful, and the character of every act under these peculiar circumstances, in connection with their utterances, confirmed my belief that their vocal power has been evolved for the same ends and largely meets the same requirements that the power of language accomplishes for man. Let us now view bird life from another stand-point. There are not a few indications to show that birds are not victims of predestination, such as some worthy people are unhappily deluded into supposing themselves to be, but, being quite free to choose, exercise not a little forethought, especially in spring, in predetermining their movements, in part, during the coming season. How else, for instance, can we explain such a fact as the abandonment of a partly constructed nest and rebuilding elsewhere, usually on the same tree? I have so closely watched orioles while building, that I am confident that a nest nearly finished was abandoned not from experience of its being of too easy access to enemies, but because subsequent thought suggested the possibility of such an occurrence, and therefore the change of position was decided upon. Such instances are quite common; and strangely enough these abandoned nests are not utilized in the manufacture of another, but are left, I believe, as a blind to the enemies, which now are happily but few, of this particular bird. In one case the delicate branches of a weeping-willow being found too slight for the weight of the nest when occupied, another branch some few inches distant-as nearly as I could determine, about a foot was brought into use, as an additional support, by carefully interweaving a long string with the body of the nest, and then carrying it up and attaching it by a number of turns and a knot to the branch above. Thus secured, the nest sustained the weight of the young when fully grown and both the parent birds. The little warbling fly-catchers that build a semipensile nest in the fork of delicate twigs have been known to do precisely the same thing, especially when the cow-pen bird (Molothrus pecoris) burdens them with an egg that when hatched taxes severely the strength of their slightly built nest. Here we have forethought, for while the nest, in the case of the orioles, was sufficiently secure for the proper care of the eggs, and would sustain the additional weight of one bird, they knew that when the young were well grown and required the care of both parents in feeding them, then the nest must needs be stronger than they had originally made it. Can we consider it probable that the same idea of future insecurity occurred to both parent birds simultaneously? Yet they worked together in the addition made to it. Rather the idea, occurring to one, was com municated to the other, and the chirps and twitters of a whole afternoon were their sole means of communication. Here, have we not, without overstraining our imagination or at all taxing our credulity, a veritable glimpse of mind in birds? Further, is it not an indication of a high order of mental power? These birds were not simply pursuing the ordinary routine of nest-building, but actually carefully considered the future and its possible mishaps, and guarded intelligently against them. The senseless persecution to which our common crow has been subjected by short-sighted farmers for it is in reality a most valuable bird to the agriculturist has rendered it exceedingly shy and cunning. This is well known to every one who has ever seen a crow, at least in our Middle States. While timidity has doubtless become hereditary in all our birds, and is increased in every individual through imitation of the parent birds, which themselves act not only from hereditary impulses, but from experience, on the other hand cunning is not necessarily an inherited trait, as it differs so greatly in individuals, but is an acquired one; and can we be mistaken in considering that this same cunning on the part of some is recognized by the masses, and being constantly associated, they naturally learn to defer to the better judgment of the superior birds. On the other hand, crows, as men, soon learn to realize their superiority over their fellows, if they possess any, and quickly assume the position of leaders. In some very similar way, I believe that crows have developed through their experience as persecuted creatures that power of organization executive ability we call it in mankind - through which they are able to maintain their numbers and escape destruction. It may be urged that superior cunning ought likewise to have been evolved among our game birds, inasmuch as they have been far more persecuted, so that they too might have successfully baffled their tormentors and maintained their ground. I can but say that to some extent it probably has, but that they may have less active intellects, and their being so unintermittingly pursued has had a depressing effect; while on the part of crows, persecution has resulted in acceleration of the development of mental powers. Contact with man, it is easily seen, has sharpened the wits of many of the lower animals, to such an extent in some, that like the crow they can resist him; while others, like the great auk, perhaps through want of energy, have perished. Birds are not naturally given to excesses in eating or drink |