RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD. 91 
As Thoreau says, his red wing marks him as 
effectually as a soldier’s epaulets. This scarlet 
shoulder cap is so striking against the bird’s black 
coat that the careless observer does not notice its 
border of brownish yellow, even when it shades 
into white, as it does in some of the western 
species. With Madam Blackbird the contrast is 
not so great, for she is not as pure black as her 
husband, having brownish streaks that, even at a 
distance, give her a duller look; and then her 
epaulets are more salmon than scarlet. Still the 
effect is pleasing, and it is only a matter of taste 
if we do not admire her as much as her spouse. 
I was unable to go to the meadows during the 
nesting season, and the next notes I find in my 
book were taken in the middle of June. Then 
the young were hidden in the grass, and the old 
birds followed us from spot to spot, screaming 
loudly as they circled near us, or hovered low over 
our heads. Perhaps their cries were to warn 
their children, for, although there were three of 
us, and we examined carefully all the places where 
they showed the most concern, we succeeded in 
scaring up only one rusty-coated youngster. 
Two weeks later, in the warm days of July, 
the red-wing’s seemed to have left the meadows for 
the trees that skirted the alder swamp, and fam- 
ilies of old and young were sitting with their 
cousin grackles in the willows and on the rail 
fence, while some flew up as I walked through an 
