James Russell Lowell

James Russell Lowell

Summary

Portrait of James Russell Lowell James Russell Lowell My Garden Acquaintance

Wilson's thrush comes every year to remind me of that most poetic of ornithologists. He flits before me through the pine-walk like the very genius of solitude. A pair of pewees have built immemorially on a jutting brick in the arched entrance to the ice-house; always on the same brick, and never more than a single pair, though two broods of five each are raised there every summer. How do they settle their claim to the homestead? By what right of primogeniture? Once the children of a man employed about the place oologized the nest, and the pewees left us for a year or two.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of James Russell Lowell James Russell Lowell My Garden Acquaintance

The robins, by constant attacks and annoyances, have succeeded in driving off the blue-jays who used to build in our pines, their gay colors and quaint, noisy ways making them welcome and amusing neighbors. I once had the chance of doing a kindness to a household of them, which they received with very friendly condescension. I had had my eye for some time upon a nest, and was puzzled by a constant fluttering of what seemed full-grown wings in it whenever I drew nigh. At last I climbed the tree, in spite of angry protests from the old birds against my intrusion.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of James Russell Lowell James Russell Lowell My Garden Acquaintance

Lumberers have a notion that he is harmful to timber, digging little holes through the bark to encourage the settlement of insects. The regular rings of such perforations which one may see in almost any apple-orchard seem to give some probability to this theory. Almost every season a solitary quail visits us, and, unseen among the currant bushes, calls Bob White, Bob White, as if he were playing at hide-and-seek with that imaginary being.
Source: Gutenberg

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