Various - Birds and all Nature, Vol. VII, No. 4, April 1900

THIS curious bird has several local names. It is called the "stake-driver," "booming bittern," and "thunder-pumper," in consequence of its peculiar cry. It was once thought that this noise was made by using a hollow reed, but the peculiar tone is possibly due to the odd shaped neck of the bird. Gibson says you hear of the stake-driver but can not find his "stake."

We have never seen a bittern except along water courses. He is a solitary bird. When alarmed by the approach of someone the bird sometimes escapes recognition by standing on its short tail motionless with its bill pointing skyward, in which position, aided by its dull coloring, it personates a small snag or stump or some other growth about it.

This bird has long legs, yellow green in color, which trail awkwardly behind it and serve as a sort of rudder when it flies. It has a long, crooked neck, and lengthy yellow bill edged with black. The body is variable as to size, but sometimes is said to measure thirty-four inches. The tail is short and rounded. In color this peculiar bird is yellowish brown mottled with various shades of brown above, and below buff, white and brown.

It is not a skillful architect, but places its rude nest on the ground, in which may be found three to five grayish brown eggs.

The habitat of the American bittern covers the whole of temperate and tropical North America, north to latitude about 60 degrees, south to Guatemala, Cuba, Jamaica and the Bermudas. It is occasionally found in Europe.

Frank Forrester included the bittern among the list of his game birds, and it is asked what higher authority we can have than his. The flesh is regarded as excellent food.

A BROOKLYN naturalist who gives much time to bird-study told me that as his rooms became overfull of birds he decided to thin them out before the approach of winter. Accordingly he selected two song sparrows and turned one of them adrift, thinking to let the other go the next morning.

The little captive was very happy for a few hours, flying about the "wild garden" in the rear of the house – a few square rods where more than 400 varieties of native plants were growing. It was not long, however, before a homesick longing replaced the new happiness and the bird returned to the cage which was left upon the piazza roof.

The next morning the second sparrow was given his freedom. Nothing was seen of him for a week, when he came to the window, beat his tired wings against the pane, and sank down upon the window sill so overjoyed at finding himself at home that he was fairly bursting with song. His throat trembled with the ecstasy; the feathers ruffling as the melody rose from his heart and deluged the air with sweetness. His joy was too complete for further experiment.

The first sparrow was again released only to return at nightfall and go promptly to bed at the general retiring hour.

This hour, by the way, varied indefinitely; the whole aviary accommodating their hours to those of their master, rising with him and settling for the night as he turned off the gas. After this same bird was repeatedly sent out, like Noah's dove, coming home at evening, till after many days it came no more – an implicit confidence in the rightness of all intention doubtless making it an easy prey to some evil design.

A handsome hermit thrush from the same aviary, domesticated in my room, after an hour or two "abroad" is as homesick for his cage as is a child for its mother.

When this bird came into my possession his open and discourteous disapproval of women was humiliating. His attitude was not simply endurance but open revolt, a deep-rooted hatred for the entire sex. When, after long weeks of acquaintance, this hostility was overcome he followed me about the room, stood beside me at my work, and has since been unchanging in a pathetic devotion.

He plants his tiny feet in my pen-tray and throws the pens upon the floor. He stands on tiptoe before the mirror, staring with curious eyes at the strange rival till awe is replaced by anger and the brown wings beat in unavailing effort to reach the insolent mimic. When shown a worm he trembles in excited anticipation, his little feet dancing upon the floor, his wings moving rapidly, while he utters a coaxing, entreating syllable. The song is sweetest when raindrops fall or when the room is noisy and confused. I notice, too, that he is more tuneful before a rain.