174 DOWN THE MEADOW. 



Perliaj)s, too, even more destructive than the 

 death by hunger that year is the death which I 

 am assured is common in all years about Wash- 

 ington, and doubtless other places ; death at 

 the hands of man — for the table. Who could 

 eat a bluebird ! It is bad enough to doom the 

 bobolink to the pot after he has changed his 

 coat and become a reedbird, and given some 

 reason for his fate by his unfortunate fondness 

 for rice. But what excuse can there be for 

 bringing the " Darling of the Spring " t^ this 

 woeful end? 



To the deserted orchard came but one bird, 

 a phoebe, and I believe his object was to retire 

 from the world, for he was the most modest bird 

 of his family that I ever saw. He dwelt in an 

 obscure corner, and never so much as tried the 

 peak of the barn, which was temptingly near. 

 When he called it was almost in a w^hisper. I 

 saw no indications that he had a nest or a family, 

 and I am inclined to think that he was a misan- 

 thrope and a hermit. 



Under my window on the other side came a 

 vesper sparrow family. Three youngsters in 

 bright new coats, quite unlike the worn and 

 faded hues of their parents' dress. On the 

 stone wall, or perched on a telegraph pole, close 

 to the solitary insulator on the summit, the 

 singer poured out his sweet little song, ending — 



