strations of astonishment and distress, much as a child who on an extremely cold day in winter, dancing with pain, complains that the door-knob has burnt his fingers. But though embarrassed by the situation, the young qua would repeat his efforts to get the frozen meat well down, until success resulted, when he would come for more; so that in this conflict of bird thinking, the judgment that the meat was good prevailed. In fact, this bird's experience with frozen meat was not unlike daft Jerry's first acquaintance with ice cream: “This pudding is good; but such a pity it got froze!"

A very impudent, bossy bird, did the young qua grow up. Through the winter months the arena of his daily exercises was the barn-yard, which also was the scene of occasional night activities quite annoying to the more orderly disposed denizens of the place. His movements, even when "feeling good," were always awkward, and in no sense graceful; while from the depth of his inner consciousness was evolved a conduct so absolutely graceless as to almost indicate a deep-seated depravity. He would pursue the domestic animals, harrying the poultry and the old dog, presenting his formidable bill to those who owed him nothing, not even their good will. He knew his young master well, and paid him a sort of deference which he did to no one else. But though there was a kind of attachment, affection there was none. In fact his master was simply his feeder, to whom he was drawn by a very active appetite; this craving for food satisfied, even his keeper was but little more to him than other folks.

At length the cold season was over, and my young friend was glad to know that he had wintered his charge safely. He had begun to speculate how much longer he would have to keep the young qua bird ere it would attain to the plumage of its parents. The spring is well advanced, and the pet is about ten months old. See it is looking skyward and southward. Nay, it seems listening. Sure enough, the cry of qua! is heard in the air. The herons are coming. That cry is from the avant courier of the returning community. As the young bird looks up it is evidently undergoing a change in its feelings. There is another cry as if from the second outrider of the approaching host. The pet heron seems well nigh beside itself. It has never seen the "sunny clime," but it has caught that mysterious passion, the semi-annual frenzy of these birds. Its bird nature seems suddenly developed -and the bird soul is now above pellets of frozen mutton, and

the communion of fowls and dogs. Now the qua cries are thickening in the air, and the herons are coming fast. All this is too much for the young bird, so he is on the wing too to join his tribe. Albeit kindnesses received, he has cut himself from the white man and his ways. One would like to know how, with his superior education, this young person conducted himself; also how those illiterates, the old quas, received him. Well, this much must be said, as affairs will prove in a few days-the youngster has rejoined his tribe on the eve of an event the most remarkable in its history, one which might afford scope for the best exercise of bird wisdom, whether inherited or acquired.

On my table, at this writing, lies a pretty egg, which seems to give inspiration for my task. It is really beautiful for its symmetry, also its one attractive color, with neither spot nor stain. The larger diameter is fifty-two m.m., or two and onesixteenth inches; the lesser diameter is forty m.m., or one and nine-sixteenths inches. Of the color I should have said above, it is a lustreless, waxy pea-green; though some call it a sea-green. And what an interesting object it is to me! and how sad is this interest! At the beginning of June in our Centennial year, 1876, my pupil who acted as guide to the heronry, brought me this egg, and with it the startling intelligence that the herons had gone! The community returned at the usual time, and had begun nesting. It happened that trade being dull in New Brunswick, many operatives were out of employment, and of these, not a few spent their time in a wanton destruction of the birds. Some went to the heronry, although strictly private property, and near the homestead of its owner, and in despite of his earnest remonstrances, a few shots were fired in the heronry. I am told that not more than two herons were killed. Had this happened away from their nesting place that would have been of less moment. But here in their cherished home, it was too much for these birds, so timid, and so circumspect. But have birds feelings? Who can doubt it? Doth not God care for birds? Verily, "your Heavenly Father feedeth them." What a resolution was that taken by these birds, every one of them. And how grandly prompt the performance. Fitting hour it was too for so sad an act -they left their home in the night-thus disrupting the bliss of the nuptial month by accepting a homeless uncertainty. That entire colony abandoned the spot where they and their ancestors had dwelt for fifty summers. In premature maturity one mother

bird at least had been compelled to lay her eggs, and then must leave them behind. And this pretty treasure on my table is one of them. Interesting, was it said? Nay, is it not historic, a memento of this remarkable exodus of the night herons from their almost romantic heronry at Three-mile Run, New Jersey. Do you ask, "Did they hold together as in a well-ordered retreat? And did they establish a heronry elsewhere? Or did the dispirited community dissolve itself into the isolation of single pairs? And finally, where did they go?" Well, just these are the questions which we are aching to find out. Meanwhile, let this much. go on the record, of the time, circumstance, and spirit of the exodus of this ancient colony of birds.

:0:

VARIATIONS IN THE NESTS OF THE SAME SPECIES OF BIRDS.

IN

BY DR. T. M. BREWER.

'N the present brief paper I propose to deal more with facts than with theories. I leave to others to make such deductions therefrom as may suggest themselves. When one cannot, to his own satisfaction, point out the reasons that can fully account for indisputable facts, it seems to be the safer course to be content with only taking cognizance of natural phenomena, just as they impress our senses. The legitimate scope of the naturalist is first correctly to describe isolated facts as they present themselves. To seek to investigate the laws that unite these, though always tempting, is not always safe. The homely advice: "Never to prophesy unless you know," is applicable to the case. There is no worse bondage to the student of nature than to be a slave to theory. The danger of a "little learning" is of its leading to unwarrantable deductions, and then the temptation to color facts to suit preconceived opinions may become one of the besetting weaknesses of our human nature, against which it behooves naturalists especially to struggle manfully.

From time immemorial the theory has been prevalent, and generally accepted, that the constructions of all animals, man. excepted, are the inevitable results of a faculty called instinct. On the other hand it is claimed that all the constructions made by man are due to another faculty known as reason. To this I am

not prepared to assent without many qualifications. Thus broadly stated it is entirely inconsistent with innumerable facts. The architectural achievements of very many kinds of birds, their variations and their deviations, their skill, their wonderful adaptations to varying circumstances, all point to intellectual action much higher than a mere blind instinct. The wretched holes, the degraded lives, on the other hand, of the Papuans and the Australians are surely not evidences of reason, properly so called. Their homes are infinitely below those of nearly all the feathered tribes, and show no advance. A few years ago it was discovered by accident that within fifty years there has been a wonderful change in the manner in which the common house martin of Europe builds its nest. Formerly their nests were globular in shape, with a small rounded opening, hardly large enough to admit the parent birds comfortably. Such are all the old nests in museums, such the descriptions of all writers, half a century ago. These nests were inconvenient, only one bird could come at a time to the opening to be fed. Long before the young could leave their nest, they must have been uncomfortably crowded in their ill-ventilated and close quarters. Some time within the half century this entire species has made a great advance and wonderful changes in the whole style of their nest. Instead of a sphere, the nest is simply hollow, semi-oval, roomy, airy and comfortable, stronger in its attachments, with increased facilities for access, better protected, both from the rain and from enemies. Unfortunately no one observed just when this remarkable change in their architecture took place. We know not if it was gradual or sudden, or how long it was in becoming general. But surely no one can pretend that all this was the result of mere instinct! Wallace maintains that no bird can succeed in constructing a nest in the same manner as its congeners, if it has not first learned their method, either from its own parents or from others of its kind. From this it would appear that birds brought up in confinement, from their nests, cannot construct nests like those of their fellows who have always been at liberty. Without attempting to decide how far Wallace's theory may be well founded, I can give two instances that have fallen under my own observation, that have an indirect bearing on the general need of instruction in other things than making a nest. A young cedar bird fell from its nest and was so severely injured that it never obtained the use of one wing. It was fed from the hand and remained wholly dependent on the care

of its benefactor. It never would attempt to feed itself even with food all about it, and when it was transferred to other hands died of starvation in the midst of abundance. Nearly the same occurred with a young mocking bird, who always insisted upon having its food held to its mouth. The latter died young, but the cedar bird reached maturity, and was two years old without learning to feed itself.

That

It is contended by some naturalists that the nests of young birds are invariably poorly made and not well situated. This, however, is a belief that it would not be very easy to verify. birds of the same species do not always build their nests alike, that under varying circumstances they will vary their style in a very remarkable manner, is a matter of not unfrequent observation. Thus the cliff swallow, in wild tracts of country, and in its original haunts, constructs, with much labor, a long nest, shaped like an inverted retort, with the entrance from below. On Green Island, one of the Grand Menan group, I saw a large colony availing themselves of two boards put up for their convenience, and about half a foot apart, under the eaves of a barn, and all building open cup-shaped nests as unlike their typical nests as can be conceived.

In the last number of the Nuttall Bulletin, Mr. Brewster contributes a very interesting paper on the nesting of the yellowthroated warbler, Dendroca dominica. The nest found by Mr. Brewster was on a stout horizontal branch of a southern pine, set flatly on the limb. It was a well made—an unusually well made nest, the framework being a few twigs and strips of bark into which had been worked a beautiful soft felting of moss and silky down of plants, all neatly and firmly compacted. I have seen the nest and am inclined to the opinion that it is probably the typical style of this bird, whenever it builds in a region where the abundance of the Spanish moss does not tempt it to make use of that growth, and there to build a totally different nest, with no other framework than the long fibres of the moss afford. In the appendix of the Ornithology of North America, I refer to several nests of this bird built in this latter manner, taken by Mr. Norwood C. Giles, of Wilmington, N. C. Several of these nests were obtained and well identified, and sent with their parents to the Smithsonian. Unaware of this positive identification, Mr. Brewster very naturally infers that Mr. Giles must have been mistaken. But this was not So. His identification was complete, and only adds another re