When Nature made the bluebird she wished to propitiate1 both the sky and the earth, so she gave him the color of the one on his back and the hue2 of the other on his breast, and ordained3 that his appearance in the spring should denote that the strife4 and war between these two elements was at an end. He is the peace-harbinger; in him the celestial5 and terrestrial strike hands and are fast friends. He means the furrow6 and he means the warmth; he means all the soft, wooing influences of the spring on one hand, and the retreating footsteps of winter on the other.
It is sure to be a bright March morning when you first hear his note; and it is as if the milder influences up above had found a voice and let a word fall upon your ear, so tender is it and so prophetic, a hope tinged7 with a regret.
"Bermuda! Bermuda! Bermuda!" he seems to say, as if both invoking8 and lamenting9, and, behold10! Bermuda follows close, though the little pilgrim may only be repeating the tradition of his race, himself having come only from Florida, the Carolinas, or even from Virginia, where he has found his Bermuda on some broad sunny hillside thickly studded with cedars11 and persimmon-trees.
In New York and in New England the sap starts up in the sugar maple12 the very day the bluebird arrives, and sugar-making begins forthwith. The bird is generally a mere13 disembodied voice; a rumor14 in the air for tow of three days before it takes visible shape before you. The males are the pioneers, and come several days in advance of the females. By the time both are here and the pairs have begun to prospect15 for a place to nest, sugar-making is over, the last vestige16 of snow has disappeared, and the plow17 is brightening its mould-board in the new furrow.
The bluebird enjoys the preëminence of being the first bit of color that cheers our northern landscape. The other birds that arrive about the same time—the sparrow, the robin18, the phoebe-bird—are clad in neutral tints19, gray, brown, or russet; but the bluebird brings one of the primary hues21 and the divinest of them all.
This bird also has the distinction of answering very nearly to the robin redbreast of English memory, and was by the early settlers of New England christened the blue robin.
It is a size or two larger, and the ruddy hue of its breast does not verge22 so nearly on an orange, but the manners and habits of the two birds are very much alike. Our bird has the softer voice, but the English redbreast is much the more skilled musician. He has indeed a fine, animated23 warble, heard nearly the year through about English gardens and along the old hedge-rows, that is quite beyond the compass of our bird's instrument. On the other hand, our bird is associated with the spring as the British species cannot be, being a winter resident also, while the brighter sun and sky of the New World have given him a coat that far surpasses that of his transatlantic cousin.
It is worthy24 of remark that among British birds there is no blue bird. The cerulean tint20 seems much rarer among the feathered tribes there than here. On this continent there are at least three species of the common bluebird, while in all our woods there is the blue jay and the indigo-bird,—the latter so intensely blue as to fully25 justify26 its name. There is also the blue grosbeak, not much behind the indigo-bird in intensity27 of color; and among our warblers the blue tint is very common.
It is interesting to know that the bluebird is not confined to any one section of the country; and that when one goes West he will still have this favorite with him, though a little changed in voice and color, just enough to give variety without marring the identity.
The Western bluebird is considered a distinct species, and is perhaps a little more brilliant and showy than its Eastern brother; and Nuttall thinks its song is more varied28, sweet, and tender. Its color approaches to ultramarine, while it has a sash of chestnut-red across its shoulders,—all the effects, I suspect, of that wonderful air and sky of California, and of those great Western plains; or, if one goes a little higher up into the mountainous regions of the West, he finds the Arctic bluebird, the ruddy brown on the breast changed to a greenish blue, and the wings longer and more pointed29; in other respects not differing much from our species.
The bluebird usually builds its nest in a hole in a stump30 or stub, or in an old cavity excavated31 by a woodpecker, when such can be had; but its first impulse seems to be to start in the world in much more style, and the happy pair make a great show of house-hunting about the farm buildings, now half persuaded to appropriate a dove-cote, then discussing in a lively manner a last year's swallow nest, or proclaiming with much flourish and flutter that they have taken the wren32's house, or the tenement33 of the purple martin; till finally nature becomes too urgent, when all this pretty make-believe ceases, and most of them settle back upon the old family stumps34 and knotholes in remote fields, and go to work in earnest.
In such situations the female is easily captured by approaching very stealthily and covering the entrance to the nest. The bird seldom makes any effort to escape, seeing how hopeless the case is, and keeps her place on the nest till she feels your hand closing around her. I have looked down into the cavity and seen the poor thing palpitating with fear and looking up with distended35 eyes, but never moving till I had withdrawn36 a few paces; then she rushes out with a cry that brings the male on the scene in a hurry. He warbles and lifts his wings beseechingly37, but shows no anger or disposition38 to scold and complain like most birds. Indeed, this bird seems incapable39 of uttering a harsh note, or of doing a spiteful, ill-tempered thing.
The ground-builders all have some art or device to decoy one away from the nest, affecting lameness40, a crippled wing, or a broken back, promising41 an easy capture if pursued. The tree-builders depend upon concealing42 the nest or placing it beyond reach. But the bluebird has no art either way, and its nest is easily found.
About the only enemies of the sitting bird or the nest is in danger of are snakes and squirrels. I knew of a farm-boy who was in the habit of putting his hand down into a bluebird's nest and taking out the old bird whenever he came that way. One day he put his hand in, and, feeling something peculiar43, withdrew it hastily, when it was instantly followed by the head of an enormous black snake. The boy took to his heels and the snake gave chase, pressing him close till a plowman near by came to the rescue with his ox-whip.
There never was a happier or more devoted44 husband than the male bluebird is. But among nearly all our familiar birds the serious cares of life seem to devolve almost entirely45 upon the female. The male is hilarious46 and demonstrative, the female serious and anxious about her charge. The male is the attendant of the female, following her wherever she goes. He never leads, never directs, but only seconds and applauds. If his life is all poetry and romance, hers is all business and prose. She has no pleasure but her duty, and no duty but to look after her nest and brood. She shows no affection for the male, no pleasure in his society; she only tolerates him as a necessary evil, and, if he is killed, goes in quest of another in the most business-like manner, as you would go for the plumber47 or the glazier. In most cases the male is the ornamental48 partner in the firm, and contributes little of the working capital. There seems to be more equality of the sexes ............