The Ornithologist and Oölogist. Vol. VIII, No. 11, November, 1883: Birds: Their Nests and Eggs

In Short

This volume is an issue of a specialized monthly journal for amateur and professional naturalists dedicated to ornithology and oölogy—the study of birds and their eggs. Through technical field reports, migration charts, and sharp-tongued editorials, it documents the obsessive pursuit of bird identification, nesting habits, and egg classification across the American landscape. It has lasted as a primary record of the Victorian-era scientific mindset, reflecting both the rigorous observation required to catalog North American bird life and the burgeoning institutional politics of 1880s natural science.

The Story

The journal opens with a data-heavy migration analysis of the Mississippi Valley, a collaborative effort involving various station observers who track the arrival and departure dates of warblers and other migratory species. This section sets the tone for the entire volume: the world of the bird is one of exact dates, precise geographical limits, and taxonomic classification. The narrative then shifts to localized, intimate observations—individual enthusiasts reporting on their findings in fields, marshes, and forests. These include detailed accounts of the Ruby-crowned Kinglet’s pensile nest in Colorado, the colonial nesting habits of the Short-eared Owl in Massachusetts, and the discovery of a stray Clarke’s Crow in Dakota.

As the text progresses, the focus expands from field observations to the culture of the scientific community itself. The editor, Joseph M. Wade, delivers a combative assessment of the newly formed American Ornithological Union, criticizing what he perceives as elitism and the exclusion of "honest workers" who lack the institutional backing of big-city clubs. He champions the autonomy of the independent collector, celebrating those who, like Captain Charles E. Bendire, pursue field knowledge with tireless dedication rather than abstract theory.

The concluding pages return to the anecdotal and the experimental. Readers share stories of pet birds, such as a long-lived Baltimore Oriole and a particularly intelligent Rose-breasted Grosbeak, alongside notes on curious behaviors like the Downy Woodpecker’s winter housing. The issue closes with organizational news, including the formation of the Ridgway Ornithological Club in Chicago, signaling the continued growth of local societies. The arc of the volume moves from the cold, raw data of migration to the political friction of professionalizing science, finally settling into the affectionate, sometimes whimsical observations of people who spend their lives watching birds in their own backyards.

How It Unfolds

The migration census The volume begins with a comprehensive, multi-observer log detailing the spring passage of dozens of warbler species through the Mississippi Valley. It lists arrival dates at various stations, attempting to map the speed and route of these birds with mathematical precision.

The field reports Individual contributors provide granular descriptions of nesting sites, egg counts, and bird behavior across diverse states. These reports combine empirical data—such as egg dimensions and nest architecture—with personal anecdotes about the difficulty of securing specimens.

The institutional critique An editorial interlude breaks the flow of nature notes to address the professional tensions within the field of ornithology. The publisher argues against the "exclusive" nature of the American Ornithological Union, defending the rights of independent observers to contribute to the science.

The anecdotal records The final section compiles short, miscellaneous notes on bird intelligence, captive care, and rare sightings. These accounts reveal the human side of the hobby, showing how observers interact with birds in personal, daily settings.

The People

Joseph M. Wade, the editor and publisher, acts as the primary voice of the journal. He is a staunch populist who believes that the study of nature belongs to everyone, not just those in elite scientific societies. He stands firmly against what he views as the "Pharisee order" of the Cambridge-based ornithologists, insisting that the "bone and sinew" of the science are the independent collectors in the field.

Captain Charles E. Bendire represents the ideal of the dedicated, rugged naturalist whom Wade admires. Stationed in remote outposts like Oregon, he bypasses the internal politics of the East Coast elite, focusing instead on the practical task of "raking in" birds and eggs. He is presented as the ultimate authority on collections, a man who knows more than the city-bound scientists despite his geographical isolation.

J. M. W., a frequent contributor from Connecticut, embodies the analytical, sometimes weary, spirit of the veteran collector. His reports on "The Hawks of '83" illustrate the physical and intellectual toll of the pursuit, as he laments the loss of nests to bad weather and the wariness of birds that have learned to avoid human interference.

In Its Own Voice

"It matters little what you call him, the Blue Jay screams just as loud for rich and poor, for boy and man alike."

The editor makes his case for the democratic, accessible nature of bird study against the backdrop of an elitist scientific convention.

"Nature is truth. Science is a method of describing nature with the pen."

This succinct declaration defines the journal's philosophy, emphasizing that science is a human tool used to understand the natural world.

"Take some dark, cloudy day in May or June, repair to their haunts and they will be found lightly skimming over the surface of the ground seeking for food left by the receding tide..."

An observer describes the atmospheric, almost ghostly movement of the Short-eared Owl in its coastal habitat.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book explores the tension between amateur passion and professionalized science. It asks who owns knowledge about the natural world: is it the credentialed expert, or the person who spends every day in the marsh and the timber? The contributors are obsessed with the "truth" of nature—defined by accurate documentation—yet they struggle with how to organize that truth into a coherent discipline. The underlying question is whether science is best served by centralized, formal institutions or by the decentralized, widespread efforts of individuals who, in their own words, "saw their own wood" and "bring nature to our firesides."

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of science or the evolution of birding as a hobby will find this volume fascinating. It provides an unvarnished look at the Victorian naturalist’s world, where curiosity and a spirit of adventure were often inseparable from the act of collecting eggs and specimens. Today’s reader must be prepared for the period-specific attitudes; there is no squeamishness here about shooting birds to add them to a "cabinet," an act that was then standard practice for documentation.

The prose is dry but deeply enthusiastic, filled with the specific, rhythmic language of the field observer. It feels like flipping through the personal journals of a long-vanished community. While the migration charts may be difficult for the casual reader to navigate, the personal accounts—like the story of a Blue Jay’s comical confrontation with a mirror—remain timelessly entertaining. You are left with a sense of the sheer, quiet labor that went into building the foundations of modern ornithology. It is an honest, often prickly, and deeply human record of people who sought to map the natural world, one nest and one observation at a time.